A fun article based on a recent interview!
Tag: writing
January Scenes
Scenes from just outside my studio (eagles filmed through my studio window). This is where I draw my inspiration, the endless well. North Idaho is snow country which can be tough but it is also incredibly gorgeous.
I had a friend in college named Andrew Hofmeister. He was a retired art professor at Washington State University. He was a huge artistic influence on me, I wish I would have told him that. At the time he owned a family vacation home on Flathead Lake in Montana. He let me stay up there periodically, in the basement of his cabin. Mr Hofmeister told me “be inspired but don’t let the view dictate your painting”. I think about that a lot, I hope he would appreciate my work now. I am pretty directly influenced by nature but it is the mood and movement of paint that are my key subjects. Now I have a studio and live roughly half way between WSU and his former cabin in Montana.
Morning
A vibrant little painting from February of this year. I was painting a lot of color studies and smaller works. always a useful approach before working on larger paintings. A faster way to experiment with color, value, composition and concepts than a big panel. Of course in the end I just moved on without following many of these threads.
Home
To be back home. One more summer day. The cool breeze and bold light. You reveled in the simple pleasures. I can not bear it, I will forever miss you.
Dark
Shout into dark, deepen the word.
Wind
Apology is the word for you. Moments gone to time and dust. Tongue still dry it whispers dark. Howling low it knows the tune.
Antiflame
Drawn to Dark, you antiflame. Vibrations will not stop, still it turns. Threaded and lost in the eddy of fear. My bleeding gums shine bright.
Cycle
Cycle
Night repeating as burned out day. Floating above dream’s breath. A loop then ride before the flames.
Whisper
Rushing winds on stagnant water. Life’s elements decay in dark. Reaching out, your friends now gone forever. The shutter dulls a ceaseless pain. There was a time I may have whispered into you.
Ode to Time
There is a spark I feel and it is a precious thing. As the building crumbles the fire flares inside. I am a painter, an art form dead generations before. I don’t care the flame shall be nurtured, it calls my name.
brian sostrom 