About

For the past thirty years, I have spent most of my time painting outdoors, executing each work at one pass in various environments. Throughout the past fifteen years I’ve painted New England’s landscape, building strong relationships with its unique agriculture, cities, machinery, development, and often, its decline and abandonment. I’m convinced that the development of my art is directly related to my intimate knowledge of these places, and therefore constitutes my most substantive education.

I am interested neither in sentimental imitation of nature, nor in minute technical specificity. I paint to investigate the history and current use or disuse of a particular space, building, or environment. I infuse the archeology of a place into my work, reimagining what contributions once took place there. I am driven to chronicle the use and misuse, the forgotten and mundane, our collective impact on the natural and manufactured environment. I have come to understand the importance of regional authenticity, and of having intimate knowledge of place.

In the past few years, I have pioneered portable, large-format surfaces for outdoor alla prima oil paintings, modifying my truck bed so it can transport and protect multiple painting surfaces with dimensions exceeding 40″ x 80″.  Because my impulse is to execute a painting in one sitting, brushes not only became less effective technically, but also in terms of what I wanted to communicate.  The use of paint rollers lends itself perfectly to the actual sensations of the painting, unlike the traditional use of brushes, which to me seem too constrained and likely to hem in a far-reaching response.  The roller is an expression of my desire to connect more closely with the tactile and expressive physicality of my painting.

I cannot stress enough the physicality of this work, the almost Herculean task required to execute these paintings.  Hauling and setting up huge painting surfaces along roadsides, the wind of fast-moving traffic whipping me, my fifty pounds of lead-shot easel ballast straining to hold the whole rig together with a chain like Jacob Marley’s… the steep hillsides, the cellar holes with bats flying back and forth overhead, and the abandoned buildings with wood soft enough to sink down into – none of these deter my art, but only participate in the conversation.

Seeing Earth and Sky from LEI LEI on Vimeo.