Blog / 2024 / Peachy

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

For six weeks over the summer, I had a job. For the first time in 21 years, I had a boss that wasn’t me. I was working for another artist doing detail painting. It was skilled work, it was paid well, it was mostly pleasant, but still it was a relief when it was over, because the work was extremely repetitive—as in we were painting the same thing over and over and over.

So much so that it made me wonder what I would do in my own studio if I was repeating myself.

I started out with six versions of the same painting—and when I say “same” I mean it. I consciously chose to make the same marks on each piece of paper. The only variation was in the marks themselves: in the slight differences in the pressure I put on the brush or in the amount of paint I used.

But as I built up the layers I let myself go a bit, enjoying the variations on the theme. I was liking the idea of small differences inspiring a more nuanced way of looking at the images, inspiring a new kind of art appreciation.

We, as a society, aren’t encouraged to interact with visual art—or most art really—not on a deep level. For example, unless you’re a painter yourself, you probably don’t get up close to an artwork and look at all the brushstrokes and how they’re layered to create a visual effect.

But when you’re presented with images that are similar, the small differences stand out. They invite a viewer to look more closely to see what exactly is different. Sort of like those “spot the differences” games you used to find in kids’ magazines. It triggers the parts of our brain that compare. And while I’m not generally a fan of that way of thinking, comparing is a beautiful thing in this case because it can help people have stronger opinions about the art they’re seeing. You might get invested in the idea that one of these peach paintings is better than the others and then you look more closely for ways to explain your preference.

And there are things I love about each piece, like the pit in this one. It has a lightness the others don’t. In this one, I’m obsessed with the white brushstroke that shows through the blue in the background—actually I really like all of the background. Here, the skin of the full fruit is, I think, the most successful of all the paintings. In this piece, it’s the marks in the upper right that please me especially. And in this one, it’s the flesh of the half peach that looks particularly good to me. It’s abstracted—not hyperrealistic—but still captures the look of that flesh well. Here, it’s the slice I like. At the red center, where the slice once touched the pit, it looks just like when you manage to pull the slice off the pit without a fuss.

It seems a simple sort of gesture, making six similar paintings, but there are layers to it, for my audience, of course, but also for me. Iterating like this was a welcome distraction. The repetition of it made it more meditative than other kinds of painting. It helped me find my center as the tension and chaos of American politics, world wars, and global warming keep knocking me about. In my studio, for the space of six similar paintings, things were just peachy for a bit. And that was nice.