Skip to main content

James Erikson:Quartet @ LGTripp Gallery


Installation view of Quartet, paintings by James Erikson

A Song For You, 2012, oil on canvas, 72 x 66 in.

Finding A Place, 2012, oil on canvas, 72 x 66 in.



From the Artist's Statement:

I am drawn to the simple forms of monuments and monoliths but also to their deep connection to life and death. My paintings are not about particular monuments or monoliths but I do want them to function on a similar, basic human level emotionally. I hope they are reflective of the contemporary human experience.


Sunday Morning April, 2011, oil on canvas, 56 x 54 in.

Slow Morning, 2012, oil on canvas, 54 x 56 in.

Golden Window, 2012, oil on canvas, 72 x 66 in.

Scholar's Stone, 2012, oil on canvas, 72 x 66 in.

From an installation of Small Paintings, oil on canvas or linen.

From an installation of Small Paintings, oil on canvas or linen.

From an installation of Small Paintings, oil on canvas or linen.

From an installation of Small Paintings, oil on canvas or linen.

Finding A Place (detail), 2012, oil on canvas, 72 x 66 in.




James Erikson: Quartet
January 5 - February 23, 2013
47 N. Second Street
Philadelphia, PA 19106

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Retrospective: Sylvester Stallone - Paintings 1975 - 2015

Sylvester Stallone, Untitled (Michael Jackson) , 2010 Real Love: Paintings 1975 - 2015 Opened on May 16th Musée d'Art Moderne et d'Art Contemporaine Place Yves Klein 06364 Nice cedex 4 For more information visit artnet news .

Franz Kline: In Color

Franz Kline (1910-1962) is often pigeonholed as a "black and white" painter. Above is a selection of work by the Ab-Ex master in which color merges with gesture and at times takes center stage.

After Lorca By Ted Hughes

Arshile Gorky, Dark Green Painting , ca.1948, oil on canvas, 43 3/4 x 55 1/2 in. © 2009 Estate of Arshile Gorky/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. AFTER LORCA by Ted Hughes The clock says "When will it be morning?"   The sun says "Noon hurt me."  The river cries with its mouthful of mud  And the sea moves every way without moving. Out of my ear grew a reed   Never touched by mouth.  Paper yellows, even without flame,  But in words carbon has already become diamond. A supple river of mirrors I run on   Where great shadows rise to the glance,  Flowing all forward and bringing  The world through my reflection. A voice like a ghost that is not   Rustle that dead in passage  Leaving the living chilled,  Wipe clear the pure glass of stone. Wipe clear the pure stone of flesh. A son...