Jerri Finch deals in dreamscapes, at least to my eye. In a sunny room full of windows and a floor reminiscent of Vermeer, the door opens right onto the wavy ocean, upon which glides a carefree sailboat, moving past a Maine background of pointy firs.
In a similar dream, a somewhat made bed sits right against the sill of a pair of tall paneled windows, the same wavy ocean just on the other side of the glass, a combination guaranteeing enchanted sleep. The mood is soft and airy in both, the light and color intermingle in pleasing composition.
Another seascape, Fog, renders the soft secrecy of a moment in time.
Garden inspired Spring Sun is heavily textured impressionistic daubs of color that shimmer with warm sunlight.
“I am surrounded by such inspiration. The ocean, my gardens and fields around my home offer a never-ending supply of possibilities,” says Finch
Kris Engman seeks to map the color of Maine. In her own words, “a certain light condition is struck and the sense of the territory is explained.” As a rambler of the woods, I am familiar with that light she speaks of—it’s usually a slanting light, adept at highlighting things, like her blossoms, brambles, weeds and tree branches, and the delicate tracery of birches against a dark background of green. This is where she shows us Nature’s intimate moments, for they can last but seconds, as “something more than ordinary.” You catch your breath, an electric thrill that you are there to witness such fleeting accidents. And she has captured these, as well as they can be captured.
“I was trained as an undergraduate to try and become comfortable taking chances. Risk taking is the key—being willing to dangle your legs over the precipice…to allow yourself to fail.”
Kay Sullivan is an observer of the turn of the seasons as the earth makes its way around the sun and tilts back and forth giving us the cyclic changes of light and color. “The life of the artwork is my mark-making… Through the movement of my hand, my place here in time is obvious. These marks are evidence: I am present, I am here.”
Hearing these words, the ochre hand prints of a Paleolithic artist I saw in the caves of France’s Dordogne region flash through my mind. Even though the two artists are separated by a gap of some twenty thousand years, it is the same sentiment: Homo sapiens striving to make his or her mark upon the indifferent wave of time.
Sullivan’s skyscapes are moving slashes of energy, in cirrus, stratus, and cumulus cloud formations that seem to both overwhelm and compliment the landscape. The conifers emulate the stretching of the clouds, while the rivers meander on their placid glassy way. Or the water itself offers its own version of the heavens in wavering reflections.
There are many other artists featured on our website. Watch for future discussions on this blog.
Staff Writer for the Belfast Creative Coalition and author of Callie’s Revolution.