Sometimes another artist not only inspires you but can through their work create a relationship in a sense. Hopper is such an artist for me. When I was working on my thesis I was forced to contemplate and reflect on what I was painting, why I was painting it, and how I painted it. I had had teachers in a sense "misdiagnose" my work. One in particular kept insisting my work was about color. I insisted my work was about light and the sensation that the physical space portrayed in the painting created in the viewer when they looked at it. While researching my thesis and striving to find a way to explain my work in a way that gave it a sense of validity, I found myself drawn to Hopper over and over again.
At first I was drawn to Hopper for his ability to convey a sense of feeling in his work that made it transcend a literal landscape. Many people focus on his handling of light. That's where I started too, but then I started delving deeper, noticing more things, and seeking out an understanding of his thought processes. And this is where it edges in on being a relationship between he and I. Any artist that inspires others in a sense continues to be a working artist. Alive or dead, their contribution to the collective culture is not over. Whether or not they would be happy about this is a question I can't answer. But powerful artwork continues to speak out to future generations long after the artist's time on this earth.
In the book Hopper's Places, the author went back and photographed the locations made so famous by his paintings. She showed us how time and Hopper himself transformed these places. Items removed or moved, simplification of surfaces for effect. As a young artist I found this enlightening when it came to how one was able to interpret a scene when capturing the landscape.
Recently, I noticed another subcategory or theme among his works and that was his seeming fascination with portraying both the interior and exterior within the same painting. It occurs over and over. In Nighthawks, Seven A.M., Room in Brooklyn, Woman in the Sun....over and over. You are inside the room with him and looking out the window, or you are outside and able to peek in. It creates a sense of voyeurism in his work.
I find that I enjoy playing with that line between the interior and exterior as well. Unlike Hopper, however, the lack of figures in these works removes that sense of voyeurism. Instead I feel like I strive for a balance between man and nature, the construct and the natural world that if left unchecked will consume it. It's a fascinating juxtaposition between what we build and what lies outside.
The barn at Atsion, that I have painted several times and photographed more than any other structure, for me is fascinating as it lies on protected state forest land and yet it's not really preserved, it's decay is just ever so slightly slowed. In the latest painting I've done that balance between inside and outside, man versus nature, interior and exterior is more blurred than ever. The doors have been gone as long as I remember, as I child I remember there being a roof (but was there, I honestly don't know), and there's a fence that I can't cross.....its protected land. But its protected from man, nature more and more digs its hold into the land at Atsion. Its a distinct contrast to the town of Batsto down the road. Batsto still has windows to look through.....
When I paint windows I'm usually looking out, because its human nature to obscure the view looking in. In Hopper's paintings the curtains are always open wide or conveniently missing. Other than my paintings staring out from my studio, my windows from the outside usually never allow a view in, its distorted or hidden in darkness. Instead I use open structure like porches or doorways or bridges to create the illusion of interior and exterior; to question that line between what it truly means to be "inside".
This relationship between Hopper and me, its very one sided. I go back to his work over and over and I take what inspiration I need but I don't look at his work with that intent. I'm minding my own business, painting my own paintings and then one day I'll be flipping though my books and reading about his work and I notice these things, and I realize that even though I wrote my thesis 20 years ago, I've stayed true to what I have been trying to convey all these years. I look at so many artists and I have so many books, but this guy...for some reason I get him. I understand being in that room and looking out, or being outside and wanting badly to look in.
I find that there is something truly wonderful when you do manage to create a piece where you can truly grant your viewer an all access pass; a view into that dual world that is the interior/exterior. And with that access, the artist can actually control just how much or how little they really want to share.
Edward Hopper, Sun in an Empty Room, 1963.
Edward Hopper, Sun in an Empty Room, 1963.
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