CONTEMPORARY EXPLORER

  Looking back over the painting made during this year, It still amazed me that no consistent style had emerged in my efforts. There’s lots of reasons for this. I like to many types of art to be tied down to one, painting is not my main advocation, outside distractions of life, dare I mention lack of talent.  I discarded the last one. Artists call it finding your voice, your own signature, a new language, being on a different level. It’s like that in any profession. You hope to reach a point when what you do is unique, automatic and dynamic in impact. Perhaps we all strive for that. Still there is the life spirit of trying to reach and discovery of what you might find. So it’s important for me to keep the brush and pencil handy, To continue to be drawn in by the works of the greats. To dream of my own renderings. Sometimes I look back on my early paintings and think they are better, bolder, maybe more me. All before I began searching for my voice, worrying about fame…

  Its been said that “a fool is one who drives the highways of life believing the road signs are true.” Easy divorce, fast good food, ambulance attorneys who always win. There just messages for the masses supported by wood and steel, some lighted to read by night. No one ever looks behind the messages as cars whizz by. You never get the sign offs. The only thing real about them is their frames. They keep in place the ever changing messages that scream at you. The sign backs have a certain art of their own, all wearing the marks of time. They say you should always look behind the message, perhaps we always should.

  I enjoy painting as a break from my photography and writing. It’s not to say that I am talented, but sometimes results surprise me. Even my painting instructor Allen Reamer once said looking at me, “Anyone can produce a good painting given enough time.” However, I often tell my art friends that I paint to remind myself that I can’t paint. The fact is painting more than other art forms takes you away from the realities of the world’s day to day. Part of that is the complexity of the craft, the multitude of material, color and technique choices. They all combined to absorb your thought and time. I love to buy “how to do it” books on painting that cover A to Z. Usually, there is a list of suggested paint pallets, brushes and canvases. I always find things I don’t have. Off to the art store I go. Truth is that if Picasso had as many different paints as I, he would still be alive and painting. You never have enough art supplies. You run into other artists at the art store who gladly s...

You can call it what you want, concrete, cement, mud or as the French call them marques beton. One thing certain is that as soon as it’s laid down, marks and cracks appear.  Egyptians first used cement in 3000 BC, Romans also made wide adaption of it as a building and road foundation.  Today, we often associate it with the roads we have. There are over 2.9 million miles of paved roads in the United States. In Africa there are only 500,000 and latin America 1.0 million.  We have a wealth of easy transit here, long ribbons of gray horizons. We usually take gliding over it for granted. Not realizing the distinctive marks and cracks from use. They all are a footprint to our lives, leading to and from its many destination. There for some future to make sense of them and where we were going... Video and Photos by David Young Studio Four Art © 2026 Music “Funaholic” by Flitz & Supre  

  Years sometimes take their toll on ambition and pursuits. You get to a point when you start to think why try, who cares? This is so true with art efforts. Still Famous artists produce great work in the twilight of their careers. Art influenced not only by their talent, but by life experiences, deeper in meaning, closer to emotion. You only have to think of the great songs “Hurt” by Johnny Cash or “A Song for You” by Leon Russell. The photographer Saul Leiter gave up photography mid career to paint. In later years, the experience led him back to photography with a greater understanding of color, perspective and fullness. It fostered his most famous photographs. For most of us though we are not on a track of fame. Our art efforts are largely just that, efforts. Overlooked is how those efforts reflects our being. They represent how we see life, what it means to us, and the special beauty we find along the way. Early cave dwellers painted hand prints to let others know that they live...

  Eastway Crossing strip mall lies across a vast parking lot like a bleached whale, its major tenants long gone. Only a few small senate spaces are occupied. Life though still stirs there with the help of a creative group of artist entrepreneurs. Sometimes overlooked are the importance of artists to the economy. They will never move the dial in terms of major impact, but play a key role in changing a city. Artist seek out low rent and available space. You often find them flourishing in these edges of a city. Places in transition where their efforts and endeavors hold things in place until major change happens. Often these places grow with their efforts over time. Maybe as with Eastway, a small bookstore starts, then a coffee shop, a poetry bar, and surplus art supply. All built around painters, photographers and writers. A mix that attracts those seeking new experiences. The irony is that as these places on the edge redevelop, the artists are pushed out. Creative types are seekers ...

  We live in a time when there is an abundance of things, but that also can mean an abundance of same. When it seems one shopping plaza with the standard fare of box stores abuts another one just down the street with the exact same offerings. The human spirit begs for more. You find yourself rejoicing at even small differences where the patina of the city has painted scenes to study in between the same…

  Rain fell outside, but there was cheer in the museum workshop. We were there for painting lessons by Vivian. We each worked from an easel. We were assigned the task of bringing in a photograph, trying to reproduce it on canvas with paint and brush. I brought one of my “Wall Mark” photos, hoping to produce an abstract work. Perhaps the words of Leonardo DeVinci inspired me to document these marks with my camera. The patina left by the ebb and flow of life and traffic in the city. Leonardo wrote in “A Treatise on Paining” that staring at and studying closely marks unlocked creative genius. So I hoped anyway. Vivian ran her classes like a boot camp. She moved between our easels with a dramatic flare. To her, a painting was never  completely finished. He comments always pointed, urging more effort. We all feared her sending us to the side table to practice making color charts. She looked at the abstract painting rendition of my photo and back at the photo. “I like this photo, th...

  ALEX AND THE VANILLA PLANT - Sometimes your camera can lead you to unexpected gems of life. Leslie is just a wide place in the road before jumping onto the freeway. The only notable thing, an abandoned convenience store. In the empty parking lot, a simple man had set up a card table and was selling small plants. His looks gentle like a man of soil and earth. I knew not where he grew his plants or his background, except for the aging faded car he drove. Still here he was, holding court to all that passed proudly showing his plants. He reached toward me with one, “smell it?” He ask. It smelled of vanilla, “that’s it,” Alex said. I later learned that growing a vanilla plant was not easy. You had to have the just right combination of Temperature, humidity and light. The last being the most important and delicate. The plant required 8 to 12 hours of bright light each day, but harsh light would burn the leaves and steal the special scent of the plant. He went to get another plant to sh...

  The end of a rainy day of tasks. A grabbed meal from the market buffet. We sat at the eating shelf looking out at the parking lot. Our recycled boxes of food and plastic forks in hand. Maybe it was the rain, the colors, the cars passing and swaths of people blurred by the evening lights. It sent my thoughts back to other places we had been, Seattle, Paris, Vancouver. Places were it rained and the meals we shared. Were tables were elegant and forks silver. Elegant was not here. The chairs too short to be comfortable, maybe a Bezos thing, I don’t know. It was his store. A gruff short Russian sat four chairs away speaking Russian, sometimes slapping a hand on the eating shelve. His deals still happening. To the right a group of market employees sitting at a table. Contemplating their future I guessed, but not speaking of it. My thoughts returned to memories of the past, to maybe repeating those grand times. I wondered if she thought the same, but here we were. A common market, a pla...

  There is no Lost and Found Department for people. Thoreau once said, “Not until we are lost, do we begin to understand ourselves.” Sometimes though it’s difficult to reach that lofty goal. Feeling lost can seem like drowning. I ts been said that as many as 60% of people in the US feel loneliness. The reasons run deep. Rapid changes in society and the workplace can make you feel shoved aside, a failure, frozen in time. The digital world which pushes bounty and pleasure can leave you grasping for a foothold in the good life it promotes, when at the same time yours is crumbling.  There is no one solution for this. You have to create your own Lost and Found Department. One where you look up from what media is saying you should be. To recognize that it’s not all about money and fame. Where you realize the real currency to finding yourself are the love and relationships you build over time. Perhaps the best place to start is loving yourself.

THE LAST BLUE NOTE I watched again the travel show by Oliver Weber “On The Rails.” The opening episode where he takes the train across the deserts of Mauritania, the most impactual. Oliver makes copious notes in his journal as he travels, even running into another traveler who also journals, adding watercolor sketches between lines. There is so much in this that is me, trains, travel, the desert and art. I have the tools, the journals still blank, the kit of colored water color pencils, a brush to add water, and a pocket of money for the ticket. All things that could fill my life cup with to savor and share. It’s like listening to a jazz player waiting for the last blue note to finally stir you into going. The train from New Orleans will be in Charlotte at 5:49 am tomorrow. It will travel to NY City passing through DC, Phili, Durham, Richmond and places in-between. I wonder each morning why I am not on it. Maybe still waiting the last blue note before I go…  

They call it by various names, expressive painting, freestyle, gestural, abstract. It calls upon you to let your actions run wild, your movement making marks and lines. Ones you can find meaning in later or not at all. Easy Right? The problem is that disconnecting your movement from your thinking is tough. You find your brush hand fighting with your mind. One will not give up on the other. When you paint though, you sometimes find your most free marks on pallet paper, edges of easels and canvas sides. Painters call these leavings. Some study them for hours finding new patterns of marks and colors to use in the next painting. Jackson Pollack became famous for his drip paintings. He discovered the technique by watching paint drip from a stir stick and observing its random marks. A famous painter I knew always took pictures of left marks. He explained how he had become so popular that patrons wanted the same type of painting over and over again. The only freedom he had were the side marks...

  Art is full of movement, technique, and styles. Three that have lasted since the early 20th century are collages, assemblage, and montages. Some ask if these are art at all. Are they true creations or merely curations? You wonder if Picasso and Braque debated this while they did assemblage work which they eventually coined as “cubism.” Artists are always pressed to explain their techniques. Assemblages are three dimensional works produced largely from found objects. Montages are often associated with film work and other mediums where short series are combined. Both these techniques lend themselves to narratives. The art tends toward telling a story.  Collages, on the other hand, are simply gathering of pieces of the world. A photograph, label from a shipping container, a torn painting, Colorful pieces of paper, written text or marks. The artist never intends to tell a story, but instead create a visual impact. The collages are the most freeing because of this. They are wonde...

  The camera is a tool for seeing the world. You find yourself drawn to certain things as you photograph. Some are dramatic and bold, others you find in quiet moments. All the patina, scrapes and colors seemingly crying out for understanding. Sometimes they are gathered in simple objects like found metal parts or sheets. I once has a art studio along Airport Way in Seattle. Across from the studio sat a small triangle shaped lot filled with metal. An old worn sign you could barely make out read “All Metal.” Often the owner of the yard sat in his office, a small industrial light illuminating his desk. Old trucks, some still with barrels of metal on them, parked near by.  Overtime, I learned bits and pieces about the place. The business there forever. Scrap metal all sorted and marked. It came from Seattle buildings gone and vessels parted out. Artist had discovered the place long ago. They often could be seen sorting through the stacks of metal for the just right piece for their...

  Ever since the TV series Portlandia, the Rose City has gained an image of being different, even strange. There is a feeling of artsy in the young people and the many small businesses catering to the Portland way. In recent times, the nature of the place has led to problems, drugs and homelessness. Still it remains a wonderful place to explore. The city has a wealth of low profile buildings especially in the Northwest and East Side portions. Colors and contrasts abound. There is nothing here that say “the same.” No ditto buildings piled against other ditto ones.  They say that good photography is born out of finding stillness and studying all aspects of a scene. The contrasts of people, buildings and vides in Portland teach a different dance for your camera. Some of the contrasts are just meant to be together, others stretch the mind to blend and understand. It all works out though, as you walk this wonderful city and find yourself dancing it’s side streets.

  A good parking garage can make the day, especially if they are well designed and close to popular venues. Many though are dark places, often ill planned and underused. Every crime drama seems to have one, the infamous garage scene. Candy Man, Fargo, Death Sentence, Terminator and Furious 7.  While your in them, you can imagine most anything. Shapes and sounds pull at your mind. Shopping center garages often sit largely empty for most of the year, only to fill to the edges during Xmas shopping season, adding to the uneasiness of them. Few have the smoothness and finery of the building they serve. The contractor leaving rough marks, the architect making it the last thing they design. Over the years, some become blights on the city, no longer serving any purpose. Still the ones that do still work are indispensable.  Developers are always cautioned to not pay the contractor until the garage is finished. Good advice, as many look like they are not. The darkness is not a frie...