SWANN MODERN
SWANNMODERN
175 HUSTIS ROAD
THE HOUSE
OUT FROM WITHIN Tiny green bursts dance through the woods and land on black lines filling the canvas with an infinite number of greens, no doubt humbling the ghost of Van Gogh. Among the hundreds of thick crusted oaks and modest maples, a single young willow cries tears of bright lime green that never drop. Happy purple pokes up its courageous head, sometimes through cold white, as if to better hear the logic-defying cacophony of birdsong. Crocus not planted by human, just magically relocated, perhaps also drawn to the extraordinary beauty within an ordinary wood. The soft mint green of the giant granite table rock-flipped there with precision by a rusty dinosaur backhoe-is now warmed by high noon summer sun, a massive bench for viewing the landscape paintings no museum can purchase. Deep red dots appear in the thorny green of the raspberry patch. Summer olympics underway. Humans v Birds. Up with the sun, feathered darts dive from heaven into the juicy thicket. Sweating humans clad in denim lumber in and manage a morsel or two, wondering only momentarily if worth the red slashed forearms, and happily resolved that Birds will take the gold. As always. One by one each green gives way to its hotter palette companions creating an action painting that will not live long, but with earnest gusto offers a time of intense reflection in preparation for imminent and fierce subtleties. Falling thick and thin strokes from the wheel’s red to yellow, some mixed with complements, slowly layer to reveal an intense pointillism woodland floor. Dizzied and unable in the moment to envision a less vibrant masterpiece, but still recalling a more perfect union of outside and inside approaches. Bright impasto has turned to a flattened raw umber carpet. Only shades of charcoal marks in varying widths and angles remain, slashing in vertical rhythm the gentle curves of misty mountains, that repeat the grayscale found within the house made for seeing out. Humans and trees wait, unmoved and undaunted by the ensuing harsh sleep. Wet bedcovers turn trunks to glossy black. Icy sheets pulled close flash intermittent glimmers of silver. Rare mornings show off gently curving limbs, from huge to tiny, wrapping them in a snow skin that clings for life--a film negative of yesterday. Warmed by a white hot winter sun the flakes tire, some sooner than others, leaving white spotted limbs, the warning to relish this elusive eye treasure. And in a blink, back to black Kline-style strokes of passion on a beloved white canvas that succumbs to Mother Earth’s thirst and melts into her with the warming sun. An evolving sleeping beauty of softened contrasts, to be enlivened year after year with tender kisses from tiny green bursts. Carinda Swann. 11.19.17
THE HOME
House designed and built by Carinda Swann Book design and photography by Frank Famularo
This document produced by monographiq.com
Š 2016 Frank Famularo