There are two occasions I can think of where a painting actually stopped me where I was. The first of two paintings that moved me was “Split” by Kenneth Noland, and the second was Vincent van Gogh’s “Wheat Field with Crows.”
Split
When the Frist Center for the Visual Arts (now called the Frist Art Museum) first opened in 2001, my Granddaddy bought me an inaugural membership. One of the first exhibits was called Modernism and Abstraction which featured works from the Smithsonian collection.
I remember going back to that exhibition repeatedly over the course of that summer. I’m sure I got my money’s worth that summer alone.
There was one painting that has stayed with me ever since. “Split,” by Kenneth Noland. The size is monumental — it is nearly 8 feet by 8 feet. The pattern is striking: lavender, red, and black acrylic paint poured directly onto raw canvas. So it was painted on the floor.
The slightly off-center design got my attention with concentric circles and squares and a ragged edge that keeps my eye going around and around without stopping. It makes me think of an oroboros — the symbol of a snake or dragon consuming its own tail. The colors almost harmonize but they somewhat clash with each other. There is something primal about it that I can’t quite put my finger on. It is somehow stable and chaotic at the same time.
Almost an 8-foot square, the size alone commands attention. Ever since seeing this painting, I have painted larger and larger pieces. 25 years later I am finally working up the nerve to paint on such a large scale.
This was my first real introduction to abstraction. Sure, I had studied it in school and had seen similarly large abstract paintings by Gerhard Richter in Dallas a few months before, but getting to spend time with this several times over the course of a summer made an impression on me. It would be another 15 years before I actually embraced abstraction.
One thing I keep rediscovering in life is how many things keep coming back to us. Life really is like this circle — we cycle around the same things until we learn from them.
Wheat Field with Crows
A few years later, also at the Frist, I saw Van Gogh’s “Wheat Field with Crows.” I don’t remember when it was, but few paintings have brought me to tears the way that has. What really hit me was how heavy the sky is in the painting.
I think knowing it was one of the last things he painted made it have a deeper impact on me than it would have otherwise. I think he shot himself in this same field. He died a few days after painting it.
When I look at this painting, I can see the heaviness on his heart. The brushstrokes are so dense and the brush was so loaded with paint that each stroke seems like it was put down with tears and agony and weariness. The sky seems to push down on the wheat and knock it over and there’s no room to breathe.
And these black crows descending seem to be waiting for something terrible to happen. Are they harbingers of death? There are two mysterious bright orbs in the sky, but even their brightness is dull. Are they the sun and the moon?
Suddenly I was longer in the gallery, but in Vincent’s shoes, trapped by that same sky. I found myself weeping in front of this, burdened by a terrible agony.
I think this shows how powerful a work of art can be. These are just two that have made an impression on me over the decades – one for its scale and composition, and another for its emotional drama.
In my own artwork I try to capture that same sense of awe and drama, and pass it on to you. It’s almost like I am documenting dreams that are waiting to be made real. The common thread through it all is that is a window to another place, either a place you want to visit, or a place you want to return to. The result is something atmospheric and ethereal.
I’ll bring some of these to the 100 Taylor Arts Market on August 15 and the 615 Fine Art Collective Fine Art Bazaar in August (location TBD.)
If you find yourself coming back to one of my paintings, I’d love to talk. Just message me and I can send you collector details, photos with the art mocked up in your space, or payment options.
So what’s an artwork that has had a profound effect on you?
What was your reaction to it? How has it stuck with you? Let me know in the comments! Be sure to share, like, and subscribe so we can keep this conversation going. See you soon.
This post was based on two other posts I wrote years ago, and updated as a newsletter and published as a video on YouTube.
