A collection of trees.
An arboretum is a multifaceted combination of nature and artifice. A “collection,” by definition, of natural objects not intended to coexist, but do so under the artificial shepherding of an outdoor museum. They are, in fact, false representations of the natural world. They straddle the conceptual realm of realism versus abstraction.
This painting is autobiographical. I know it’s a cliché, as nearly every artist will claim the same intrinsic function. However, I set out to purposely insert specific references to places either utilized in previous works, or awaiting such use in the archive of images I kept on hand in the studio. This was a form of “exorcism” whereby I scoured my photos, drawings, paintings and digital resources for the raw material. My plan was to include all or part of everything “tree” from this archive until I reached a stalemate. The match between the painting took six months of exclusive work and ended when I could no longer see a “move.”
pathetic fallacy: The attribution of human feelings and responses to inanimate things or animals, esp. in art and literature.
The allusions crowd my thoughts about the results of this match. Unlike other landscape paintings where I had an actual reference point in real experience from which to base my assessment of the finished work, this painting has no such real place. It is an impossible garden. My other landscape paintings aspire to what Kenneth Clark coined “the landscape of fact,” where the forms and references to the natural world need to be recognized, believable, and illustrative of the natural world, as an essential function of their message. Arboretum is a fantasy world. Although each element adheres to standards of realistic depiction, the overall composition could not be construed as factual.
I’m somewhat strident in my conviction that if you give a viewer enough clues, they will discern a meaning on their own, and if not, then it’s not for them and time to move on. There’s a point in the life cycle of a work of art, where the original intent and/or system goes its own way, despite “the plan.” That point was reached for me only when I stopped painting. Along the way, there were the inevitably conscious decisions to create compositional balance, order, and clarity in the work, as I would with any other. But the system I devised had a life cycle of its own, without the usual cadence of beginning, middle, and end. Now that I’ve finished, I’m in the same place as a viewer-left to fend for myself in the woods, a place both beautiful and fraught with ambiguity.