Because sometimes I get an idea in my head and it won't "let go" until I've realized it.  

      The first five here are responses to the illustrative painters of the early 20th Century, especially Maxfield Parrish.  He was, perhaps, most famous for what have become known as the "Girl on Rock" paintings, though those environments were as often arboreal as mineral.  I trust I haven't been too slavish in creating my "girls' " images; my effort was to create works that have a similar over-all tone or effect,  while including, perhaps, a bit of the dramatic.

     The Model Dreams, utilizes a photo taken during the  Into The Maelstrom  photo session, and is a bit of a "cross-over," that combines (or perhaps muddles) a little of Parrish with a pinch of Alphonse Mucha.

     The four music related images came about because some songs inspire some distinct pictures in my brain, and I wanted to work these out in fact.  I also wanted to explore more the idea of images being more a little more "illustrative" and less "snapshot."

      I first heard "Terminal Frost" back over twenty years ago when A Momentary Lapse of Reason was just out.  From that first hearing I had an image like this in my head, but it took the interim to arrive at a creative point where I could really attempt to "put down" what I was seeing behind closed eyes.  It's not exactly what I imagine, but it's damn close.  Maybe I'm being to literal when I use an ice field for a song entitled "Terminal Frost," but that's what I always saw.  Yes, the idea for the faint spray of rainbow hues is directly influenced by George Hardie's prismatic image for The Dark Side of the Moon album art.

     Impromptu:

     Many of the popular painters of the first half of the last century have been dismissed as being "mere" illustrators.  Parrish, Mucha, Rockwell, Phillips, Leyendecker, and others all were subject to falling respect in the post-World War II decades with the rise of the post-Modernists, the Abstractors of various ilk, and even the Pop or Op artists.   Instead of painting being inclusive, or even art being inclusive, there were lines drawn (no pun in -- O.K., pun intended) in the artistic sand, with "fine" art on one side, and "illustration" on the other.  Accessibility was not what "fine" art was necessarily concerned with.  I guess you could call this the rise of the Hero Artist, who believed that artworks should be challenging - challenging to execute and to view.  Art should make you think!  It should be hard!  It should call into question the current culture, or at least call to account the affectation of the last generation of artists.  Warhol versus Rothko anyone?  

     Fortunately, I think, with all these works still around, we can choose for ourselves what art is, and for myself, if I need someone to explain it, it doesn't work for me.  Something as "illustrative" as a Parrish or Rockwell painting can be the subject of rumination, too, as well as a pretty picture to hang on the wall.  The artistic endeavors undertaken by Parrish or Rockwell required consideration of light and color, contrast and composition, lay-out and execution, just as any other work needed.   Indeed, Parrish's compositions were very carefully crafted, utilizing the ideas of classical relationships between elements.

     A couple of years ago, while visiting the Metropolitan in Manhattan, I wandered into a gallery that was hung with works that I could only appreciate from an academic angle.  I don't recall the artist's name, but he had laboured to create his own paper, then covered those sheets with black oil pastel.  Completely - covered - with - black.  From the smallest, which was about two feet square, to the largest, which was something wall-sized like 12 feet by 18 feet or something, they were black.  I just had to shake my head.  I can respect the making of one's own paper, but I don't get the black.  Maybe someone could explain it to me, but then it wouldn't be accessible to me.  Not really.  

     I think the sheer volume of visitors to the Met shows that all kinds of ideas of art are important, whether the religious explorations of cathedrals, the portraiture of Sargent, or free-form sculpture, and that people do want this variety.  Clothing is art, too, if the reception of the McQueen exhibition is any indication; it had to be extended for weeks due to the overwhelming public response.

     So anyway (how do I conclude this which has suddenly become a short-form essay?) my inspiration does indeed come from the "illustrators."  They created worlds that were both realistic and yet fantastic, that were pleasant to see and could also convey an idea or further a story.  If you knew what you were looking for, they could even have messages embedded in the elements of the composition.  They might be as subversive as anything that was abstracted later, and yet for those not "in the know," these works were still good.  

     My inspiration comes from landscape artists, and portraitists, and photographers.  I like to believe that all those works bear in my mind when I sit down at this infernal electronic box and start to work.  I hope mine can be both enjoyable and provoking of some ideas.  

     Was that a sound in the wood?