THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY
By Craig Smith
The New Mexican
For David Linn, color is a paradox. On one hand, his artist's eye acknowledges that color infuses the world. On the other, the mesmerixing dreamscapes Linn likes to put on canvas find their real expression in subdued hues.
That's why shades of ash, brown, black, white and gray predominate in The Physics of Purity, Linn's show at Turner Carroll Gallery. In that pale context, the occasional green or rust tone stands out lke a full moon at midnight.
"Monochromatic is the way I see things, the way I make sense of a thing," Linn said from his studio in Elk Ridge, Utah, an hour south of Salt Lake City.
"Color is the veneer that exists on the surface of objects, I tend to strip (color) away to get the the core of whatever it is I'm looking at."
Linn definitely does that, to the point I wondered if he'd been frightened by a silverpoint-and-red chalk drawing as a child- so selective, but enticing, is his palette.
"I don't know about silverpoint, though I've always lived things like that," he said thoughfully. "Though I was drawn initially to the late-Renaissance and Baroque arists, and I certainly never was frightened of anything they did." I grew up as sort of an art nerd. I went to museums as much as possible, checked out art books from the library multiple times. But the tonalities I come up with are closer to early photography" than to silverpoint.
The decision to paint as he does, Linn said, was "conceptual." His early and later academic studies involved lots of color, but through "a series of stumbles," he became drawn to the lack of it. "Color carries with it a lot of psychological baggage," he said. "I discard hat and deal with other issues."
That may be easy to say, but it's a bit hard for a viewer to accept: Linns images are packed with psychological possibilities and viewer-driven implications, expressed in his chosen icons. Among them is a male figure, or figures, apparently involved in journeying through some fantastic landscape- a field of rocks, a darkling plain within a limitless horizon, a mysterious pool in the apparent middle of nowhere.
The men are uniformly nude from the waist up, and barefoot: their abdomens and thighs are dressed, or wrapped, in layer upon layer of bindings, like bandages or mummy wrappings.
And virtually all of them carry nimbuses of light around their heads, or halos. One wonders whether it is reflective of a spiritual projection, or a personal aura or simply a natural phenomenon in Linn's inner world.
"I steer clear of the word 'archetype,' but there are these things that occur in all cultures," said Linn of his images. The wrappings, he said, originally came from the fact that he enjoys the way drapery interacts with the human form. But "I wanted to articulate it in a way that didn't refer to any particlar time or culture. I wanted to creat symbolic clothing; some sort of covering that exists on a spiritual level.
"My paintings deal with wandering through a metaphysical wilderness," he added. "The clothing suggests a state of preparation, a protection, or a veil of some sort."
And the nimbus? "I'm driven by spiritual concepts," said this active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. "The faces are all undefined, thy're dark, veiled, obscure, because I didn't want to distract from any possible dialogue with the work by specific features. The halo around the dark head accentuates that effect.
"You have divine influence existing alongside darkness- not darkness in terms of bad or evilm but as "through a glass, darkly," he said, quoting Paul's first letter to the Corinthians.
Another thing faund in Linn's oeuvre are rocks, whether single, double, or whole field of them. From that, "you'd think I grew up on the high steppes," he joked. "But I grew up in Northern California. I spend a lot of time mountain climbing and backpacking. I draw on those intense spiritual experiences you tend to have high above the timberline."
Linn's works have emotional content, but they are not uncontrolled blotches. They are carefully detailed and technically astute, especially in terms of human motion and anatomy.
"I've taken a lot of figure drawing," he said. You can't get an MFA in painting" (which he holds from Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah) "without having concentrated on the essentials for a long time. But I find in terms of general painting technique, I'm primarily self-taught. I had established much of that before I began graduate school."
Linn confesses to many influences, from the great narrative painters of the Renaissance to the American Hudson River school and such site-specific installation artists such as Cristo and Smithson. But having found his own expression, the 42-year old artist intends to keep on mining it.
"I'm really not interested in doing something that is overtly 'contemporary,' because the world we live in today is finite, it has an end. In a somewhat clumsy way, I try to create things that exist outside any given time frame."
Linn has done large scale work in the past, but for the Turner Carroll show, his work is generally measured in inches rather than feet.
"A small painting, conceptually, can seem much more massive and expansive than a physically large painting," he said. "You approach a small painting and the scale causes you to become still and fixed and allows your mind to engage seldom-used faculties in comprehending whatever is in the painting.
Several of his pieces for The Physics of Purity are 8 by 10 inches; others are somewhat larger, at 22 by 20, or 30 by 42 inches. One of the latter, The Lesson, is especially gripping despite its relatively modest dimensions. In it, a single tree stands in what appears to be a plaing; there are low brown hills at the horizon. And a blank, tan-colored sky above.
The Tree has lost its only two branches, and from its center, a single large bough of growth springs up. The branches stand upright on the ground as they've fallen, and look startlingly alive, as if they are striding about their parent trunk. An unsettled feeling pervades the work.
"My art is a distillationg of who I am and what I've experienced," Linn concluded. "Ive found the more personal and genuine I am with my own work, the more people are moved by it.
A paintbrush becomes a 500 pound weight if I'm doing something not in my heart."