Yet there is a quality in the watercolors that disagrees with the suggested allegory. Suffused with air and sun, they convey delight, lightness and a bunch of other positive feelings . This cheerfulness flows from a different starting point, one that couldn’t coincide with that of the theme of loneliness. I think it is up to the viewer to resolve the arising conflict — and I actually believe that ignoring it may prove to be a good strategy. Instead of trying to reconcile the two ways of viewing, it’s possible to alternate between them, at the viewer’s whim. I like that flexibility, and I think that it speaks of the artist’s own.

The singular theme would appear to exclude composition from playing a major part, but enter the colors and claim compositional territory. It is interesting that the rather pale colors end up serving the paintings in terms of space rather than light or palette — but perhaps not surprising. The windows are basically collections of geometrical forms – very fortunately arranged abstract pieces. The diffused colors, though provide thematic background, can be approached as geometrical additions dispersed in areas across the paper. This “color deconstruction” adds another dimension to the artwork. Perhaps it compensates for the inability to peek in and see what happens beyond the panes, the curtains and the reflections.

Lines play an important, but underlying role. They criss-cross he windows yet somehow stay out of sight, bury themselves into the theme. I think that the lines add another dark aspect that works quietly against the sun and the light, and adds tension to the whole premise. Lines in such close disposition are bound to allude to prison bars and jails – allusions that elucidate the paintings from a completely different angle, and, in a way, put them to the test. By isolating a trivial everyday object the artist lays bare a series of emotions, associations and experiences that are nothing trivial, and all uneasy and complex.

The artist upholds a tension between the illuminated and the color-rich shaded areas. The crab is a bomb of color on a white sand background — will it explode, or reach the water safely? The sun contours the fish and the boats, creeping on the surrounding colors, making them small and unstable. The powerful illusion of light and the fast brushwork, especially in the boats piece, add a notable impressionistic touch. I have been looking at the boats for half an hour before noticing the big black blot beneath the closer boat — which I think proves that the color scheme works effectively, despite the lack of flexibility of the watercolor.

The crab and the fishes owe their liveliness to the artist’s eye for movement. The animals appear to be in motion, complemented either by an expressive shadow, or other fish. As fits such themes, the paintings rely on humor for thematic interest: the slant threatens to knock the crab off its feet and put the critter in a comic — for us — situation. The fishes, swimming around in a crowd, appear in a funny pattern that is both familial and familiar. The high viewing angle allows us to absorb the rich oranges. Despite the sea setting, the artist gives us an aquarium simulation.

I like these pieces for their harmony and their light, summery feel. The word “effortless” gets thrown about a lot recently, but there is definitely a dash of that ease here — achieved, no doubt, with considerable effort. The artist finds points of interest and complex shadow without making them the sole focus of the compositions. These paintings are about the waves — of water, of sand, of light. Holly Lombardo aptly condensed the warmth and spirit of summer into several sunny watercolors.

There is something folkloric about these trunks and branches. They are impressionistic stylizations of trees that can be comic and admirable at the same time; they resemble clumsy trolls who look menacing at first only to reveal their soft nature later. I have had the privilege of reviewing several paintings of trees, for instance by Robin Neudorfer or Casey Klahn, but I don’t think any of them so readily invited such a warm, homey association — despite the lack of foliage, the snow and the cool blue. To me it seems as though the trolls just went out to have some fun and soon would return into their lairs to drink mead and tell stories.

There is a compositional rigor to it all: the paintings carefully balance chaos with calm by clear-cut borders. First, sharp angles between various tree parts generate a sense of urgency and aggression while the woods seem to move and expand, as the general upward direction indicates. Second, all these movements and threats are either pruned by the frame or carefully contained by the trees themselves: the branches aim at the local center of the piece (where the trees concentrate) or above, where they collide and in a way neutralize each other. Finally, bordering trunks (or lowest branches) enwrap the entire display and isolate it from the rest of the piece, proving how harmless the show really is.

Thus the paintings are divided into compositional segments, more violent ones including criss crossing lines and sharp edged triangles and the quiet ones consisting of wavy patches of snow or curved lines contouring a forest or a river bank. It is interesting that snow, after melting, turns into water which in turn would feed the trees and put on a coat of leaves on them. Trees with foliage — trolls appeased with mead — are no longer menacing. A scene in the painting above, where the river water divides (or in fact connects) between the woods visually foreshadows this paradigm. Eventually, the trolls get their mead — and we get our story.