Because his abstractions in progress bristle with visual interest—including an icing of drips and tangles of wild line—as each work moves toward its conclusion, Gwaltney plays the role of an editor, eliminating anything that he feels stands in the way of expressive clarity.
Artist Chris Gwaltney, who began his career painting figures, has recently returned to abstraction for his solo exhibition ELEMENTAL. Although a longtime admirer of Bay Area Figurative art—Gwaltney treasures a watercolor nude by Nathan Oliveira that hangs in his bedroom—he has recently observed that abstraction opens up a deeper engagement with his audience. “Abstraction demands more from the viewer,” he explains. “Because the image doesn’t supply the story, the viewer is willing to look within and say, ‘I don’t know why I like this, but I do.’” Gwaltney finds it satisfying when his viewers feel free to respond to his abstract paintings on an emotional level. In fact, Gwaltney considers it his primary job as an artist to deliver paintings that transmit emotions.
For Gwaltney, who remembers getting in trouble for marking up the kitchen wall as a kid, each new blank canvas is an invitation to examine why he started drawing in the first place. Beginning without a particular subject in mind, he usually starts with a vertical brushstroke that carries the slightest suggestion of a human figure. After that he may block in a big area or add a sweeping arc. Gwaltney works attentively—adding paint, scraping and blending, trying to generate what he thinks of as “arguments” between the emerging colors, lines, and textures. “The job of the painting is to talk back,” is how he puts it. When things are going well in the studio he plays lyric-free alternative music, but when he needs to work through difficulties he will turn on talk radio to engage the other side of his brain. A natural athlete who surfs and golfs, Gwaltney brings a certain physicality to his art that shows up in the confidence of his bold brushwork. When improvising details, he summons up another athletic capability: an intense sense of focus.
One recent painting, Sandcastles, features a crest of gestural blue and green brushstrokes hovering above a nuanced field of gray. Punctuated by thin ribbons of underpainting that peek through the canvas, it suggests counterbalancing vibes of contemplation and awe. Gwaltney is very much in charge of the formal aspects of this composition; he wants his viewer’s eyes to start at the top and then meander downward. Experienced this way, the painting comes across as an abstract current of pure feeling.
Another way Gwaltney generates emotion is to pair two panels that have disparate energies. Using the notion of the “purposefully accidental,” he sets up an aesthetic conversation that just keeps going, raising questions along the way. To put it another way, he likes to contrast and counterbalance energies. This sense of difference—of argument—asks viewers to figure things out. If they find themselves extra surprised, or a little discomfited, they are doing it right. Similarly, Gwaltney likes to look at what he leaves on the easel at the end of his painting session and feel a little bit disturbed. After spending some time doing other things—like being a good dad, husband, friend, and grandfather—his hope is to return to the studio and like what he sees.
Because his abstractions in progress bristle with visual interest—including an icing of drips and tangles of wild line—as each work moves toward its conclusion, Gwaltney plays the role of an editor, eliminating anything that he feels stands in the way of expressive clarity. “I think that what great poets do is distill feeling,” he comments. “I want to do the same thing in painting and present the absolute essence of an emotional state.” Because of his rigorous quest for pure feeling, viewers of Gwaltney’s work should understand that the essence his art is this: what is left is what is needed.
John Seed, Art Writer
