Paul Wicks

Artist’s Statement: Windy Version

In 1879, in northern Spain, a little girl changed our understanding of what art is, for all time. Her father, Marcelino de Sautuola, enjoying idle wealth, was studying bones and flints in a cave at a place called Altamira. His young daughter, Maria, playing beside him in this cave, discovered what wealth really is. She uncovered a passage to a lateral chamber with paintings of bison on the ceiling. Further inspection revealed hand prints and outlines, carved bones and anthropomorphic figures (images of people).

Dismissed at the time as a hoax, it took several decades to convince people that they were looking at the artwork of people who lived 15,000 years ago. Once you accept this, your perception of the images becomes ballistic.

We’re told that fine art can be recognized by a balance between consistency and contrast; tone and texture; regularity and asymmetry. This is undeniable, and a good introduction to the subject. But those cave paintings remind us of the difference between what art looks like, and what it is.

You’re struck, not only by the beauty of the red, yellow, violet, ochre, and black shading, but in particular by the connection between you and the person who created the image. You see, in the artist, what you want to see in yourself: appreciation of beauty, skill, the value of memories, and reverence for the bounty of nature.

Mostly, you get a chance to see through the eyes of someone just like you, cutting through a thick slab of time as if it wasn't there. Tele-presence, empathy, connection; the touch of a hand long since turned to dust. Someone cried for these people; laughed with them…possibly you.

Art would never again be a boast, an allegory, or a mere icon. In truth, it never was. An image, whether it’s a rococo cherub, an expressionist splash, or an Edwardian daguerreotype, is a direct connection between your eyes and someone who’s sharing their vision with you. It reaches through time to touch you; to share a human feeling, as simple or complex as it may be.

People today argue about the medical extension of life or whether, as we’re assured, we’re already immortal souls. It’s worth discussing, but in my view, we’ve been in possession of demonstrable immortality for at least the 15 thousand years it took for the Paleolithic artists of Altamira to reach out to you, here, today. It's easy to misplace, but it's been there all along.

The images I’ve created through the years are of moments in time, not so much captured as preserved.

I mean to share a feeling, and less often, a thought. Don’t look for meaning. Just look. If you don’t find an emotion, you’re not looking in the right place. Whatever I meant, you'll feel.

Often, you’ll find peace, quietude, or surrender. Other times, you’ll find irony supplements. They’re good for you. Deep sorrow and exuberant joy are no strangers, either.

If you develop an affinity for one image, you might want to mate it with another, for balance.

Sometimes I mount a lonely search for these things; you should be able to see that. On rare occasion, they find me.

The images presented here are created using both traditional and modern methods and tools. The Unappreciated truth is: they’re all technology. It’s unfortunate but unavoidable that people choose to bring religious fervor to the battle over what’s become known as the digital divide. It seems to me that there are plenty of things worth struggling for, and this isn’t one of them.

For purists, I’m happy to produce “traditional” reversal prints (or even dye transfer prints, should a patron have the means to commission a print as expensive as a good used car). I’m also pleased to offer small, inexpensive prints so that everyone can share the feelings my images offer.

While I dearly appreciate the attention of collectors, as a graphic designer, I’m delighted to hear from people simply wishing to compliment their home or office decor.

Most often, I use 6 X 17 cm transparency material. This is the better part of 7 inches wide, so that the resulting print will convey the clear impression of actually “being there”.

If a very large print is desired, I’ve found the truest means of depicting what I intended involves a digital scan transferred to archival color photo paper. These prints up to 96” wide are tack-sharp and generally more faithful than exclusively chemical methods.

I have not forsaken traditional black and white film and paper, but neither do I shrink from entirely digital imaging. And while I have trouble accepting the prints that ink jet printers spit out, there is a descendant of this technology, (the 7 color pigment print), that produces images of astounding clarity, vibrancy and archival permanence.

But forget all that. Choose one of these images. Get in front of it. Sit down, if possible. What do you feel? What will your descendents feel if given a chance to view the same image? I felt that too, at the moment that the image preserves.

Funny thing about moments in time: some people think that you can never get them back. I tend to disagree. The past and the future can touch. I’d love to show you, today and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Paul William Wicks - January 2004