I've always been attracted to the complexity of modular synthesizers. Their dozens of switches and knobs with tangled patch cords trigger strange otherworldly sounds that feel abstract and contemplative. I've also been awestruck by the illusionism and gracefulness of painted drapery in the work of the Flemish Primitives like Jan Van Eyck.
My paintings combine these inspirations. The complexity of the machine fuses with the ethereal tone of classical European religious painting. Intertwined with bursts of distortion and abstraction, these flowing curtains of knobs and switches create a sort of psychedelic fraying of reality. A visual music erupts as the paintings' visual illusions make the viewer playfully question what is real.
This union is ultimately inspired by ideas from contemporary thinkers Donald Hoffman and Iain McGilchrist. Both claim that our contemporary worldview is obstructing us from a deeper connection to reality.
Hoffman suggests we don't see reality as it truly is. Instead we create or invent a mental map or mental model of reality. He claims that we are mistaking our map for reality. So the synthesizers are metaphors for how we create this model of reality. Perception is a kind of interface with the real using all sorts of metaphoric switches and dials to create a "map" of what our senses detect. In some of the paintings many well known visual illusions are used like the vase/face illusion and the duck/rabbit illusion. They point out how the viewer must decide which version of the image, or in other words, which mental model they prefer to see. The book goes on to suggest that even our idea of space and time can also be seen as a mental model or mental map that we have invented. The synthesizers are superimposed on various curtains in the paintings. The curtains suggest that our mental map is actually obstructing our consciousness from something deeper. This is similar to Hindu ideas of "maya" where the world that one experiences is seen as misleading as far as its true nature is concerned.
McGilchrist writes that the hemispheres of the brain have different modes of attention. The right hemisphere deals with the global picture, including the periphery and the background. While the left hemisphere deals with the local, what is right in front of it, in the foreground. You might describe these as broad-beam (right) and narrow-beam (left) attention.
McGilchrist makes the case that the left hemisphere has taken over our minds and reshaped the world in its image in a way that is good for neither humans nor the planet and everything that lives on it. It's a way of thinking which is reductive and mechanistic. The left hemisphere treats the world as a simple resource to be exploited. It's made us enormously powerful. It's enabled us to become wealthy, but it's also meant that we've lost the means to understand the world, to make sense of it, to feel satisfaction and fulfilment through our place in the world. The left brain pays sharply focused attention to detail and sorts and organizes people and things into neat, orderly categories. But McGilchrist says the left brain doesn't understand relationships. It's the right brain that understands context and the big picture like our relationships with others and how we fit into a complex, non-linear world in which everything is connected.
The synthesizers depicted are the heralded Emerson Moog Modular and the Buchla 100 from the late 1960's, and the Serge Paperface, and the E-MU Modular System from early 70's. They all have their roots in a convergence of cold war government research and the Psychedelic era of the 1960's. They are technical fetes of engineering that want to "plug-in" and connect with some type of mysterious deeper reality.
The painting of the dark blue Emerson Moog Modular doubles its width as a mirrored image of the instrument. It creates a larger and more symmetrical composition that gives the painting a more secure and ordered composition like that of a traditional European religious painting. Its modular components, dials, and ports create a machine-like order and dense abstract rhythm while its orange and blue cables curve and dance like the curvy lines of paint of a Brice Marden abstraction. Its scale envelopes the viewer like the theatricality of a Renaissance fresco. Some areas of the painting also dissolve into textured abstract pattern that reminds the viewer of visualized sound waves or some sort of glitch in the curtain's illusion. The theatre backdrop support of the painting furthers Hoffman's ideas by referencing the invented nature of the stage.