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The world as we know it has changed so much in the last 20 years. The technological advancements we expected have for the most part come to pass, and we are living in a highly charged world where the search for meaning has become extremely elusive. Those looking for personal meaning cannot help but become mired in the complexities of contemporary society, which has become thoroughly enmeshed in systems of communication, politics, and issues relating to ethnic and sexual conflict that distract us from the greater importance of our lives. In 2020 we are facing the most profound challenges to our existence. Coronavirus has affected every aspect of our lives. With culture supposedly frozen in order to slow the surge in virus cases, how does consciousness develop? We are now more self-conscious of who and what we are than we ever were before. Our newfound stasis has produced a circumstance perfect for the reevaluation of the concept of consciousness.


Dee Solin has chosen this interval as an opportunity to address these conditions in her art. Her new series “Exploring Consciousness” represents a full statement towards addressing ultimate meaning in this era of crisis. Each work in this series utilizes three basic elements: a central sphere; a square area surrounding and subsuming it; and a mass of swirling, ideogrammatic, interconnected glyphs that permeate the other forms. The dynamic between the forms is commingled with her use of color to create a series of alternating contrasts. The structure of these paintings may appear overtly simple, but it’s within the context of appearances that complexities emerge. The circle within a square that each painting presents is a symbol of the dualistic nature of existence, presenting both inner and outer selves, inner not necessarily being more private but ultimately a deeper, more primal self.

The circle is the “Vita Activa” where urges that fulfill needs for survival exist. The urge to fight or to procreate are the best known among these. In contemporary terms, we can think of them as our need for fulfillment in physiological terms, that in turn, take on our need to succeed in any endeavor, to beat out any competitor, and to gain the prize that is offered, whether that is money, fame, or the passionate attention of a love interest. Language resides in this space as validation for the satisfaction of deep-seated needs, and as a tool toward their achievement. Once such needs are fulfilled, language ceases to be equally necessary. Such is perhaps the case in addressing the appeal of an art work, which is first visual, then at least suggestively tactile, and finally it is metaphorically dimensional, expanding beyond mere form into a meaning that each person can take as their own. This is the artist’s gift to the world.

The square is the “Vita Contemplativa” which is the residence of intellectual thought, where language actively constructs, and justifies, the further distances of considered existence. This is where the urges are limited by their entry into polite society, where norms are instituted, and ideas expand beyond the Id. It’s where our urges get is into the most trouble if they are not adequately adjusted. Yet there is intense satisfaction in the fulfillment of contemplation, of the thinking and dreaming of all things relative to the raising of human consciousness.

The third visual element of these paintings is the one that connects the others. It appears like a lattice, extending in all directions and covering all extremities. This is perhaps best observed as an expression of language. It also invites a symbolism of cosmic characteristics, such as the Quarks that compose all matter, or as the primal dark matter that scientists now understand connect all the larger planetary systems from one distant galaxy to the next. It’s best understood as a symbol for connection commingling with vibration. Solin uses it to best effect in her succeeding canvases.


Each of these works achieves a powerful effect that is separate but equal. As Solin evolves the ideas behind her formal elements, she also progresses in expressing what she calls Chromatic Contrast, a defining feature that connects the primal to the raised consciousness. Color is what defines and characterizes everything in existence. Even objects glimpsed in extreme darkness show some elements of color, and it is by our recognition of this quality that we are most apt to judge what we experience. The subject and uniformity of the image plays upon our senses, and invites our visceral response to scale. The circle in the center of each painting is so overpoweringly present that it takes on a persona, or at the very least, an imprimatur of cosmic gravity. It could be a portal into a different reality, or a structuring of our reality like a map, of which the glyphlike structure is an innate example.


No. 1 presents the circle as pale blue, paler than a blue sky, covered completely in her elemental lattice as a bright red. The lattice extends into the outer square of dark blue, but reverses as it travels beyond the edge pf the sphere, becoming a shadow, and darkening the areas it obscures. Here we have a very active image showing an energy being expended at all points, the Active area showing as more intense due to its red color. This is the red of fire, or blood. Not the brightest flame but the most poignant.

In painting No. 2, we have an even more intense visual image showing the emanations of the elements throughout the combined symbols. In this version the red glyphs of the center have moved beyond the edge of the sphere, so that the entire image looks like it’s either on fire, or the energy that flows between all connections is flowing with a more powerful intensity. The alteration of perception from one painting to the next finds the viewer intensely engaged with a movement of forces flowing beyond forms, and becoming easily overwhelmed by the colors.

No. 3 moves again into different evocative territory. It becomes more muted by merely toning the color of the lattice from a bright red to a murky gray/green. There is light here but no burning. Illumination is paired to an intimate calmness. Perhaps the Activa is sleeping, even dreaming. The area beyond is still blue, like an azure sky or the deepest of seas.


No. 4 is like a sea change, as the saying goes. Both the Activa and the Contemplativa are covered by the lattice, but now it seems to unite them although they are still represented by different chromatic suggestions. The Active appears white, like snow, like a blank sheet of paper, or a fine mist obscuring all sight, though in fact it is a metallic aluminum so affected by reflection, --what we may call Chromatically Fugitive--that its whiteness fools the eye. The Contemplativa has gone from blue to black, from the blue of dreams to the black of nightmares. But as black it’s more honest, if more savage. Though contemplation can be structured, it only ends when we open our eyes. It is the darkness of the unknown mind, perhaps connected to the Ancient mind. The whiteness of the Activa shines forward into this outer darkness, its primal purity making the black seem gray. The unknown is not fear but unsureness.

In No. 5, the circle turns a deep red, the crimson of roses or lips. This red core is passionate but true. The core of ancient urges pulses with a passionate intensity. Beyond it the former graying of the darkness is now two layers of the void, the blackness of the beyond with the suggestion of the edges of the lattice forming a net to catch all uncertainty or a filigree of lace to decorate infinity.

In conclusion, let us not confuse contemplation with a lack of passion. The best sort of contemplation is equally engaged on all levels with the truths: primal, intellectual, and otherwise, that inform and energize our lives. It is thought that at any moment can be converted into action, and likewise it is a cumulative acknowledgement of the powers that surround and infuse us as active participants not only in our individual lives, but for each of us as a member of the human race. The importance of our roles as conscious beings swings upon the symbols we choose. The archetypes of the sphere and the square represent Interiority and Exteriority. Like a world that pulses with the dynamism of a billion souls, the sphere represents potential. The square on the other hand, represents order. Its’ hard and fast edges and sharp corners create a boundary for that potential, either to delimit it according to certain assumed values, or to provide a zone through which potential must past in order to become greater. Solin’s new series provides an experience by which we may transcend our current crisis. The first step is the most important.

(1) The terms used here are borrowed from Hannah Arendt’s The Human Condition (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1958)


Voyage (OUM-17), 2019; Oil, flashe, colored pencil, graphite on ledger paper mounted on linen; 75 x 52 inches

The thrill of the unknown is the innocent face of a mystery that only broadens when we give it credence. We are taught that mysteries exist ‘out there’--as in somewhere beyond ourselves, in distant reaches and on planets and territories beyond our understanding. What we do not know about ourselves is the true mystery, constantly being visited by artists like Karla Knight, who reveal the secret codes and symbols that unite us all in both knowledge and fear.

Her current exhibition “Notes from the Lightship” at Andrew Edlin Gallery displays a dozen works unique for being simultaneously non-objective yet indicative of a technologically driven and descriptive reality. They read like a cryptic language that invites our curiosity yet offers no key. To decipher them we must look deeply and profoundly into the underlying structure of clues that bind them.



Spaceship 6, 2017-19 Colored pencil and graphite on paper; 30 x 30 inches

Knight plays with images that are totemic despite being caricatures. She combines them together with other series or aggregates of signs that allude to a hidden meaning. Her paintings are like languages waiting to be translated. Looking for an ancient culture we accidentally come upon one that could only have been made in the future. Knight puts us in our place, mining the romance of mystery while making a game of our heightened expectations.



Three types of images stand out in Knight’s paintings, and though depicted in a stylized manner, they are no less impressive for not being a mundane real thing portrayed in a naturalistic style. Eyes, planets, and spaceships all appear with progressive uniformity and accrual in each of her works. Like the collage element in the Combines of Robert Rauschenberg or a reverse-exposed element in a photogram by Man Ray, they take on a faintly sublime character. They are both cat and mouse in a chase toward an unknown future in which presence trumps consciousness. Just by being there, repeatedly there, they force us to confront Knight’s reality, in which a reckoning with mysterious forces is not just something to read about in comic books.


Spaceship Note (Life in Space), 2019 Colored pencil, flashe, and graphite on paper; 20 x 14 inches

According to her own story, Knight’s own father was obsessed with theories about UFOs similar to the superstitious controversies that attended Witch Hunts of the 17th Century. A secularised society, compartmentalized and power mad from the top down, produces aggregates of outliers whose fascination with an idealized other manifests as the desire to escape a perversely hegemonic society in which they are otherwise powerless to fulfill a satisfying role. One can only enter into dramaturgically excessive scenarios to narrate such an origin story. Looking at her paintings, one wants to reason them out, define particulars, and receive their constituent parts as an archived knowledge.


Each work adds to the constituent layers of possible meaning, outpacing our ability to interpret what we are seeing. Knight herself denies the importance of interpretation. She keens to the concept of “living with the unknown.” So are her paintings meant to attend to these mysterious details serially depicted in much the same way as Monet described haystacks, lines of poplar trees and flowers in his garden? Knight leads us down the garden path into trackless depths where fear, aesthetic or otherwise, has no role to play. There’s a beauty in the unknown.



Fleet 1 (Gray Matter), 2019 Oil, flashe, colored pencil, and graphite on ledger paper mounted on linen; 44 x 80 inches


"Twister" (2019), Oil on canvas, 78 x 57 inches

March 24, 2020 COLOR RUSH: THE PAINTINGS OF BERNHARD BUHMANN "Twister" (2019), Oil on canvas, 78 x 57 inches, When Clement Greenberg first espoused the notion of flatness in art, he never suspected it might find its most ideal model in computer screens, which can display color in a pure form unadulterated by the marks of gesture or the illusion of depth. This was decades away from his knowledge. One can trace the paintings of Bernhard Buhmann at Marinaro Gallery all the way back to Barnett Newman, Al Held, and Morris Louis. Hiis painterly constructions achieve a hybrid state in which a sort of lackadaisical geometric layering meets a subtle anthropomorphism aided by his titles. The paintings take two sizes, one nearly monumental and the other intimate. Of his larger paintings, I chose Twister and The Chatterbox, 2019, both with oil on canvas, measuring 79 by 57 inches. Buhmann has an esthetic affinity for the proscriptive appeal of right angles, especially as they can be used to delineate borders and peripheries creating spatial tension, into which he can then introduce pictorial motifs that create, despite the overall flatness of application, an impression of layering and depth. His titles add context and humor to the viewer’s experience. In Twister we have a large painting measuring nearly six feet across by nearly seven feet. The large bands of strong color that encircle it originate near its lower center with burgundy so dark it’s nearly black; and moving clockwise in a rapturous almost serpentine fashion, it alternates to red, orange, and yellow. At the center, which is painted separately, with a faded lighting, is a checkered field, like a tablecloth or tiled floor. Buhmann likes to lend his painted constructions a degree of entity or agency, so here he adds a pipe, two feet, and one hand, all minimally depicted, as if by afterthought. The Chatterbox is organized not in a circular fashion but has plates of distinct colors stacked one atop the other, as if to imply the superficial characterization of this particular portrayal. This character also has feet and a pipe, but the color plates are organized so as to give a face to it that is more overtly depicted. One eye of green stares directly at the viewer, while the other, of blue, droops, as if closed or looking askance. Below the eyes the mouth area is also in green, and a mouth sticks open, as if in continuous chatter, a thin line of orange giving it a macabre appeal similar to Phud from The Beatles’ cartoon extravaganza “Yellow Submarine” (1968).


"The Chatterbox" (2019), Oil on canvas, 79 x 57 inches

Of the two examples that exemplify Buhmann’s smaller paintings, there are Model S and Mad Man, both with Oil on canvas, measuring 27 ½ by 16 ⅛ inches; one from 2019, the latter from 2020. These are even more visually complex. The first has more sections, and its not meant as a person but a vehicle, with wheels below where feet usually are. Despite this effort it still comes off as implying an entity of sorts, although that is perhaps more a product of perception. It’s inherently difficult to give ourselves over to pure matter except when we have no choice. If we can project some semblance of our own proprietary agency, we will. Therefore a window becomes an eye, a wiper becomes an arm; and a light shining from within becomes intelligence or mere consciousness. Either way it is beautifully painted with shades of sky blue, turquoise, purple, grey-green, and umber all denoting separate areas or constituent parts.

"Model S" (2019), Oil on canvas, 57 x 78 inches

Mad Man does the most with the least detail and the most amount of mood. We have another wheeled figure, separated into upper and lower hemispheres, a solid real green below, and above globular forms at the midsection which could either imply eyes or breasts, we have a progressively fading degree of the same color, suffused by an aura of pinkish orange, creating a tension between a very male color associated with military khakis or lockers in barracks, and one that is more associated with women’s makeup or colorful summertime clothing. As the dark area fade upwards, they lose all hardness, and at the top is a pinkish sun gazing down.

Buhmann’s characters, if they are to be seen as such, are in a way Miroesque, appearing at first like abstract fields of color that transform into complex visual constructions replete with areas that fade and evolve into other colors, creating a narrative of mood within a single figure. The peripheral details that fill them out into discrete entities serves to make them altogether more ambiguous. In Buhmann’s universe hard edges contain colors that dictate behavioral responses, and when they are less hard, or made more pictorially ambivalent, they slacken to allow the viewer control in the pleasure of their perception.

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