PAINTINGS 111 - 120
These pages are in the process of being created -- check back for updates.
NOTE: These pages are best viewed on a screen larger than a cell phone in order to really see the paintings. It's important to take your time looking at these paintings, to go slowly and let your eyes and brain digest them over time. I've never been interested in making paintings that reveal themselves easily or that are about one thing. I've always loved paintings that can be discovered and then rediscovered, seeing different things each time you look at them. This website is going to be here for a long time so you can take your time, which will make a huge wonderful difference in the end.
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No. 111 -
A World Traveler Called Jake (RIP)
Acrylic on museum board - 18-1/2 in. x 7-5/8 in.
Friday 4/5/1991 - Collection of the Artist
No. 112 - Somebody Once Told Me What a Great Day It Can Be -
Portrait of Olga With The Artist
Acrylic on plywood - 10-5/8 in. x 9 in.
Friday 4/5/1991 - Private Collection
No. 113 -
The Last Time I Saw Your Face
Acrylic on plywood - 7-1/4 in. x 9 in.
Tuesday 6/20/1991 - Collection of the Artist
No. 114 -
When Clouds Were My Only Salvation
Acrylic on plywood - 7-1/4 in. x 9 in.
Tuesday 7/2/1991 - Private Collection
No. 115 -
Queen of All Seas
Acrylic on masonite - 13 in. x 11-5/8 in.
Tuesday 7/2/1991 - Private Collection
No. 116 -
Motorat
Acrylic on plywood - 9 in. x 12 in.
Tuesday 7/2/1991 - Collection of the Artist
BROWNING PAINTINGS 2ND SOLO SHOW
5/1991 San Francisco, CA
Olga and I (and Larry) hanging the 2nd Solo Show
Browning Paintings 2nd Solo Show - Photo 1 of 8
Browning Paintings 2nd Solo Show - Photo 2 of 8
Browning Paintings 2nd Solo Show - Photo 3 of 8
Browning Paintings 2nd Solo Show - Photo 4 of 8
Browning Paintings 2nd Solo Show - Photo 5 of 8
Browning Paintings 2nd Solo Show - Photo 6 of 8
Browning Paintings 2nd Solo Show - Photo 7 of 8
Browning Paintings 2nd Solo Show - Photo 8 of 8
My 2nd Solo Show was a triumph, with lots of my friends and family showing up. They brought their friends too so I ended up selling a lot of paintings during the opening, always a good thing. As I wrote in the story accompanying Painting 094, The Dogs Are The Least Of Your Worries, my work associate Keith invited me to set up custom curtain walls with additional lighting to stage the show in his live-in warehouse space, located south of Market St. in San Francisco, CA. Thankfully my engineering idea to utilize temporary curtain walls held up nicely and the show remained open for a few weeks without any misfortunes taking place. I was very happy and energized after this show, and more ready than ever to continue developing new ideas for paintings along with traveling to Manhattan, NY to see if I could find a gallery interested in representing and showing my work.
No. 117 -
What Microwaved Music Must Sound Like
Broken Canvas No. 13
Acrylic on canvas, twine and wood - 36 in. x 36 in.
Wednesday 2/26/1992 - Collection of the Artist
Detail 01 of Painting 117
Detail 02 of Painting 117
Detail 03 of Painting 117
Painting 117 on display in a group show.
As I mentioned in my story about Painting 107 - Broken Canvas No. 12, I could not possibly have prepared myself for the compositional frustrations that greeted me during the painting of What Microwaved Music Must Sound Like - Broken Canvas No. 13. It was the first time I really struggled with both how this Broken Canvas was sculpturally fashioned, along with what the painting was supposed to look like or be. I installed additional twine and canvas pieces after I had begun painting in order to figure out the composition - something I never had to do before. I changed the overall color scheme three times, adding and subtracting painted elements in a desperate attempt to have the painting evolve successfully. With most of my paintings there's a degree of uncertainty, sometimes having to re-paint parts that didn't work out the first time. But I had never been as stumped and perplexed as I was while working on Painting 117. This lovely creature of a painting frustrated and baffled me more than any painting I made before or after.
There's sometimes a degree of uncertainty during the course of making art that is crippling to any kind of artist - an uncertainty which is hard to explain to non-artists. So much of being a painter relies on having a high degree of confidence in your ability to create paintings. So when the painting itself is fighting both you and your confidence to create it, it's a very difficult place to live in. I would often think, "What the hell is happening here? Why can't I figure this out? Are you kidding me?!" It was hard to know where I the painter ended and where the painting began. There's nothing less inspiring than painting something you hope is going to work, only to have to repaint it three more times hoping desperately to understand it better and really see what it needs. And thankfully I finally figured it out - this painting that demanded my last ounce of patience and willingness - and eventually saw what it wanted to become and arrived at the end of the ordeal.
Even after this painting was finally finished it sat there seeming to silently mock me for the next six months. It taunted me from it's pure strangeness of being borne completely out of my frustration. But then I fell in love with it, of course, and even learned to love and respect all the frustration that came with it. Painting 117 taught me to never assume an easy ride with my art (especially the Broken Canvases!) and how to persevere no matter how tough the going got.
No. 118 -
In Granny's Kitchen
Acrylic on plywood and canvas - 12 in. x 9 in.
Friday 7/10/92 - Collection of the Artist
No. 119 -
Bushwacked
Acrylic on plywood and canvas - 12 in. x 9 in.
Sunday 10/13/1991 - Private Collection
No. 120 -
Every Last Drop Of Smugness
Acrylic on plywood and canvas with tub diverter handle - 12 in. x 9 in.
Friday 7/10/1992 - Collection of the Artist
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