John Stevens
My work comes from my subconscious, a web of encased memories, dreams, and emotions, some stemming from early childhood. Everything within seems to be connected in an associative, color-coded pattern. When I’m ready to work, I try to access that place in order to begin. As a painter, my art reflects where my mind is in a moment in time—be it depressed, relaxed, angry, or at peace. Nothing else matters, just the composition of texture, color, shape and emotion.
 
As I’m stretching a canvas I start thinking about what’s going to go on it. I never sketch out what I’m going to do, and the idea I begin with usually has little resemblance to the finished piece. I begin by mulling over a feeling, paying attention to how certain juxtapositions of color might enhance, strengthen, or temper the art. Soon enough I’m applying quite a bit of layering to the canvas, giving me the necessary color material to work with as I try to arrive at the desired expression.

While applying many thin layers of paint, I’m constantly sculpting away at these colors, then reworking in the exposed areas. My tools are dry wall knives, belt sanders, scrapers—whatever works. In the process I’ll find the desired distillation of form, shape, texture, and tension. Depending on the feeling I’m working with, I might end up with chords of color not normally put together, creating jarring, challenging relationships between various abstract elements. The process usually takes a day or two, but some pieces remain unresolved for months.

Recently I’ve been experimenting with various surfaces and media, including cut paper, found objects, waxes and varnishes to finish the work. Although I usually prefer large square canvases, I’m examining smaller pieces as well as rectangles. I’ve also noticed that my newer work is ending up in lighter, brighter expressions, where previously things looked a little darker. I’d like to think I’ve been clearing out older, neglected parts of my psyche that needed airing, making way for a cleaner mind.