Liz Ainslie - Edie 2 (oil on linen, 12" x 9", 2016
My painting titles are extracted from ambiguous snippets of found speech. I listen to the radio or conversations I hear in public, extracting phrases and separating the words from their original context. This process mimics my painting practice where abstractions are formed from abbreviations, clipped motion, and interrupted horizons. Every summer I make small observational drawings while immersed in the upstate New York landscape. A hiccup in the translation from eye to hand to paper captures my attention. The act is a flawed means for recording the moment. This curious imperfection is the seed of my work.
My painting titles are extracted from ambiguous snippets of found speech. I listen to the radio or conversations I hear in public, extracting phrases and separating the words from their original context. This process mimics my painting practice where abstractions are formed from abbreviations, clipped motion, and interrupted horizons. Every summer I make small observational drawings while immersed in the upstate New York landscape. A hiccup in the translation from eye to hand to paper captures my attention. The act is a flawed means for recording the moment. This curious imperfection is the seed of my work.
My painting titles are extracted from ambiguous snippets of found speech. I listen to the radio or conversations I hear in public, extracting phrases and separating the words from their original context. This process mimics my painting practice where abstractions are formed from abbreviations, clipped motion, and interrupted horizons. Every summer I make small observational drawings while immersed in the upstate New York landscape. A hiccup in the translation from eye to hand to paper captures my attention. The act is a flawed means for recording the moment. This curious imperfection is the seed of my work.