Essex IV - 2000
oil on linen
48 x 56 inches (121.92 x 142.24 cm)
Joseph Richards It has been twenty years since I first started concentrating on mechanical subjects for my paintings. During that time, I had painted some railroad subjects yet had paid scant attention to locomotives. That is until 1991, when I encountered a steam locomotive that was running on a scenic line. The sight and sound were very exciting and the complexity of the machinery was like a wild abstraction. The intricacy of the locomotives movements was a marvel to see. I was reminded of my childhood when I used to watch these giants working in the local switchyards. Back then, I was a bit frightened by them. They seemed almost to be living entities. Even standing idle with their steam up, they were never silent -- they panted, grunted and hissed. I knew I wanted to paint these truly remarkable machines. Over the past few years, I have painted a number of locomotives and found that there is a segment of the collecting public that is just as fascinated with them as I am. My research has informed me of the fact that there are nearly two hundred of these grand old machines still working. They may not be hauling freight over the mountains but they are hauling passengers on excursions; they are still doing their thing. Joseph Richards, 1998
Whoopee - 2002
acrylic on canvas
45 x 70 inches (114.3 x 177.8 cm)
ANGELS & OUTLAWS Dramatic, seductive, and playfully describe Robert Anderson’s new series of sprawling pulp inspired paintings, Angels and Outlaws. Coming off the spurs of his earlier Pulp Western series, these new works are an extension of his vibrant style, combining images of the old West with Hollywood cowboys, pin-ups and characters from pulp fiction covers of the 1940’s. In this series however, theme and technique have evolved to create an even more risqué and evocative collection of highly charged canvases.
Robert Anderson, 2002
Mantle - 2002
oil on canvas
30.5 x 32 inches (77.47 x 81.28 cm)
Lance Richbourg My father played in the major leagues for eight years. He was signed in 1919 by John McGraw and played professional baseball until 1938, the year I was born. In the 1960's, when I lived in Los Angeles, I painted portraits from life. I once showed them to Ivan Karp of OK Harris Gallery who said, "Nobody paints from life anymore but the neo-petit-bourgeois." Because I painted portraits, I accepted a commission to do a series of caricatures of politicians faces on the bodies of baseball players. These were intended to become a series of politician baseball cards. The voting record of the subject would be printed on the back. Nothing came of the cards commercially but it caused me to think about a photo I had of my father sliding into home against the background of a packed stadium. An umpire leaned in from the left and the on-deck batter was leaping in excitement on the right. This moment of high action seemed strangely still. I was reminded of a Greek temple pediment or a modern dance tableaux. This photo became the source of my first baseball painting and it took me two years to paint. To some extent, I thought the process of painting it could transport me to that place and I could see my father play. I completed the painting in 1972. Baseball has been the primary subject matter of my work ever since. It was generally assumed that I must be a devoted fan of the sport, but this was not true. I hadn't thought much about baseball since I played second base in high school and even then I didn't particularly care about watching a game. The emotional connection, beyond the connection with my father, must have developed when I was nine or ten years old when my father played for and managed a local semi-pro team. They played on red clay infields in northwest Florida. I was the batboy and swept out the wooden bandbox stadium after home games. Those who care about baseball may be relieved to hear that I now enjoy watching baseball. I've come to learn about the game from doing the paintings. I would debate anyone that baseball is far superior to any other sport in terms of its beauty, intricacy, the broad range of skills required to play it, and because of its clarity and its subversion of time. As an artist, I have been satisfied with the formal possibilities of depicting the light and space of the playing field and the variety and grace of player movements amidst explosive action.
Lance Richbourg, 2002
Capt. Paranoid - 1996
silver gelatin print
10 x 8 inches (20.32 x 25.4 cm)
In telling a story, the context is just as important as the subject. The audience can witness the oppositions and differences: past and present; wealth and poverty; power and impotence. The idea is for the images to be more than mere information or emotion but the conversion of emotion into eloquence. Visceral and compelling elements come together to express the meaning of the scene. The result is not just a mirror of life but a factor added to that meaning.
. Wayne Onyshko, 2002
SOOK JIN JO
The Reason The Desert is Beautiful
is Because a Well is Hidden Somewhere - 2001
oil, mixed media on paper
11 .75 x 14.75 inches (29.84 x 37.46 cm)
Sook Jin Jo
The reason the desert is beautiful is because a well is hidden somewhere
A world exists, even if it is small.
collecting, rice paper, tracing paper, discarded paper, touching, tearing, cutting, painting, dots, traces, crumpling, building, layering, sewing stapling…form and texture…..
I create a paper collage by thinking, "The reason the desert is beautiful is because a well is hidden somewhere." When I was younger, I loved this line from "The Little Prince" and wanted to live by making many wells in my work and in my life.
. Sook Jin Jo, 2002
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