JEFFREY HESSING: Paintings and Musings
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JEFFREY HESSING: Paintings and Musings Pucker Gallery • Boston FERRIES II, 2002 Oil on Canvas 3 1 50 /4 x 76 /4 " JEFFREY HESSING: JH509 Paintings and Musings he artist is an adventurer. He may live always in one place, but even still he travels the roads of imagination, expression and creativity. A painter, by nature of his craft, is not bound by the limita- T tions of place and time. He may come and go, both figuratively and literally, to wherever he pleases. What his imagination cannot conceive, his freedom and mobility will allow him to find. What he finds is then transformed by the limitlessness of his vision. Jeffrey Hessing has lived and worked in southern France for twenty years, and the area’s rich history, culture and landscape have been the subject of his painting. Bold swaths of color and spontaneous brush movement have characterized his paintings of Provence over these years. Recently, Jeffrey has brought this exuberant style to other settings. As in the case of Italy and Monaco, the colors in his paintings seem to echo the brilliant landscapes and cultural fervor of those areas. However it is in his cityscapes of New York and Boston that we see the paintings, not as naturalistic images of place, but as exercises in adventure. Here we see the artist as both traveler and guide – literally bringing his oils and canvas to new sites – and figuratively bringing his viewer to a more imaginative and expressive view of a once familiar place. NEW YORK he terrace was about 4 feet by 6. There were seemingly endless rows of them above me and below. Like white chocolate ‘After Eights’. It was the thirty T fourth floor, 300 feet above the street, with the city throbbing and pulsating below. With my easel set up there was just enough room to squeeze by side- ways with my back against the railing. The first time my heart was pounding and even after ten or twenty times a day I never got fully used to it. By the time I set my equipment up on the terrace the sun was sinking into the urban haze. The gray-blue city slowly transformed into radiant golden yellow. The sky, the river, the buildings were all glowing. Growing up in NY I always found it a visual wonder. Wide avenues walled by skyscrapers, streetlights blinking successively into the distance. At night thousands of windows are fired by col- ored lights. The energy of the city would rush up and wash over me in waves. The exhilaration, fear, excitement and love for my home town in all it’s grandeur. NEW YORK Each evening, spent from the day, I’d imagine painting the city at night. When the evening arrived and all was prepared, I was confused to discover that, obvious as this may seem, it was dark. The city lights were sparkling before me, I was all set to go, but I couldn’t see the canvas. In all my visualizing of this moment I hadn’t thought of that, nor planned for it. I worked on, the result of which is still somewhat of a mystery to me. New York is my hometown and there is enough subject matter for a lifetime. NEW YORK TRILOGY, 2001 Oil on Canvas 1 Three Panels 18 /4 x 15" each JH495 NEW YORK NIGHTLIGHTS II, 2002 Oil on Canvas 1 63 /4 x 51" JH510 NEW YORK A WALK IN THE PARK, 2002 Oil on Canvas 3 63 /4 x 51" JH511 FIRST VIEW FROM CORTONA, 2003 Oil on Canvas 21 x 32" JH547 TUSCANY t was dark by the time I arrived at the house in Tuscany. At ten PM my hostess was just starting to eat dinner. The pasta, parmesan, sausage and last years home made wine were on the table in I the garden. We sat up late in the candlelight catching up on old times and getting to know my fellow guests. I went to bed in eager anticipation. There are few things that I love as much as wak- ing in a new place and starting right to work so that I discover it with painter’s eyes. The view that greeted me in the morning surpassed my expec- tations. Her garden sloped down to an olive grove with about forty trees. They were pruned low for maximum production. Over the tops I could see the whole valley and distant mountains, blue in the morning mist. There were four fig trees scattered among the TUSCANY olives. They were the sweetest and most unusual figs I’d ever seen, small, green, and perfectly round. One of my greatest pleasures was to walk down and pick them for breakfast in the warm morning sun. I was taken to several other houses to paint and everywhere we went you could see for fifty miles over a rural patchwork of hills rolling to the mountains. TUSCAN SUN, 2003 Oil on Canvas 21 x 25" JH546 THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD, 2003 TUSCANY Oil on Canvas 12 x 16" JH544 ITALIAN VALLEY, 2003 Oil on Canvas 15 x 18" JH545 GOOD MORNING TUSCANY, 2003 Oil on Canvas 15 x 18" JH543 y paint box is quite different from the briefcases security was accustomed to seeing in the building in Government Center. I was given my pass and negotiated a series of elevators to the M 38th floor. The president’s office was furnished in leather and wood with four large paintings, all by the same artist. The most striking thing about it was that one wall, perhaps thirty feet long, was all glass, floor to ceiling overlooking Boston Harbor. It was like being in permanent flight. There is so much to see from that height; hundreds of buildings, cars, boats, BOSTON the islands and waterways. It takes a while to sort it out, to know where to begin. It starts with the first brush stroke, then the next and soon my thoughts quiet down, doubts disappear and I become one with vista, BOSTON like a mirror reflecting, without thought or preconception. Acting automatically from the eye to the heart to the hand. On returning from my first trip to Europe I wondered where to go next? Where to live? New York seemed too big, too hard, daunting. I’d only been to Boston for one day several years before. It seemed like a nice place. I thought I’d move there. I was only 23 years old. That’s how decisions were made in those days and, I confess, occasionally still are. Boston is my adopted home in the US. In my many travels I still consider it to be one of the sweetest, most gentle and beautiful cities. During my last painting trip it rained everyday yet looking out over the rooftops of Back Bay it hardly mattered. Everything changes color in the rain and we can see it in a new light. I am always touched by the graciousness of the people who open their homes to me so that I can share their views of the city. THE BOATHOUSE, 2003 Oil on Canvas 1 38 /2 x 57" JH550 BOSTON BACK BAY, 2003 Oil on Canvas 1 1 57 /2 x 32 /2" JH526 BOSTON V, 2003 BOSTON II, 2003 Oil on Canvas Oil on Canvas 3 1 18 /4 x 15" 28 /2 x 20" JH520 JH517 BOSTON THE CHARLES, 2003 Oil on Canvas 1 1 44 /2 x 63 /2 " JH525 BOSTON BOSTON IV (DIPTYCH), 2003 Oil on Canvas 1 15 /4 x 38" JH519R BOSTON IV (DIPTYCH), 2003 Oil on Canvas 1 15 /4 x 38" JH519L VIEW FROM A DINING ROOM, 2003 Oil on Canvas 1 1 39 /4 x 31 /2 " JH527 BOSTON WILLOWS, BOSTON GARDEN, 2003 Oil on Canvas 1 23 /2 x 29" JH531 BOSTON BOAT HOUSE, 2003 Oil on Canvas 1 23 x 23 /2" JH534 BOSTON I, 2003 Oil on Canvas 28 x 24" JH516 rance is renowned for it’s wide diversity of landscape. A short drive in any direction will lead you to a totally different terrain. F Just one hour west of Nice, before you even officially leave the ‘Alps- Maritines’ the narrow stretch of land between the sea and the foothills of the Alps opens up. The first vineyards run right down to the beach. Rows of centennial palms accompany them to the sea. A little further past Saint Tropez and the vines can be seen descending the hillsides like armies of dwarves. One more hour on the road and we are in the heart of Provence. In the Voucluse and the Luberon there are large valleys surrounded by hills and mountains and dotted with small villages. Each village is different and special. Roussillon is perched on a giant red rock in the middle of a flat plain. The ruins of an ancient village PROVENCE consisting of round stone huts made without mortar, is found just outside Gourde. La Coste is perched on the side of a mountain with a view of the entire region. It is topped by the chateau of the Marquis de Sade. PROVENCE The road that winds through these villages to Avignon is called ‘La Route de Lavandre’. The purple fields of lavender wave like breaker’s coming in off the pacific coast. You can walk into the middle of a field and the earth is deep blue-ish purple as far as you can see. In all my work for the past twenty five years I use only three OVERLOOK, 2003 Oil on Canvas colors, five tubes; two reds, two blues, one yellow, black and white.