Martin Holman. 17 January 2010
About an abstract from a larger hole
There is a quality about Danny Rolph's images that could be described as protozoan. That association at first seems surprising because the proliferation of acute angles, jagged coloured shafts and polychromatic zigzags like speed streaks into the supposed interiors of these works at first suggests other parallels entirely: the purposeful world of the constructed, mechanical and architectural, perhaps, or the disembodied digital counter-realities of CGI.
Yet the contradictions and contingencies characteristic of organic life's evolutionary struggles strike me as an appropriate allusion on this occasion. One reason (the flippant one) is that both confirm the presence of intelligent life in constant anticipation of the next stage. Rolph is, after all, one of the foremost makers of visually and intellectually stimulating imagery in his peer group of painters that emerged from the Royal College of Art in the first half of the 1990s.
The more pertinent reason, however, is that the elements on the surfaces in Rolph's paintings appear to colonise and multiply by a sort of fission. Fission is the preferred method of augmentation among protozoa. It is accompanied by immense energy and a rejection of stasis. Similarly, forms and shapes in the space of a painting made on the distinctive industrially-manufactured plastic cellular support that Rolph uses called Triplewall give the impression of having counterparts in other parts of the image. They offer an echo (rather than balance) of where the eye has already been.
The sensation of parts in relative motion is inescapable in this new work. Dynamism has its point; it is not a ploy or tiresome artistic trope. It puts us in mind (a stock phrase that sounds right for the interpretation of Rolphís strategies) of other instances of this particularisation with which we have become graphically familiar in the past few decades. It has a root comparable with natural projections. Those incongruous unicellular formations with their urgent thrashing movements at the bottom of a microscope know what they are doing, the evidence for which surrounds us with every aspect of the lives we lead.
How we apprehend that link between the imperceptibly tiny and self-evidently and palpable everyday is also a factor in this artistís work. Science is the art of observation and critical deduction through experiment. In my opinion Rolph encapsulates in the way he works what it is to observe in the most active sense, so much so, indeed, that his sensitivity to the possibilities presented by that faculty is readily acquired by the similarly avid viewer.
Observation is systematic, attentive and critical in order to ascertain fact. In this respect Rolph is like a wonderer at the night sky at the dawn of the Age of the Enlightenment, with a belief in progress and a questioning of traditional authorities to pierce unknowing with reason. His tools, though, are unquestionably modern, informed by the modern scientist's ability to abstract from perceived phenomena such information as can help model a proposition of their make-up.
The Triplewall painting Lloyd George implies perpetual motion; only the intermittently painted rim, like old-fashioned photo corners securing the corners, fasten this concentration of space tokenistically on two dimensions. Rolph organises his output into chronologically-based series to which he applies names usually found in chronological lists such as the roster of officeholders - British prime ministers, for instance, or Italian football managers. Curiously, this practice is one of the few instances of the artist presenting a categorical fact: the painting is named, pointed to and not mixed up with another. The name, however, bears no relation whatsoever to what the visitor is drawn to look at.
On the emerald blue surface beyond the frontal plane of Lloyd George a constellation seems to be convening in another dimension. Its identity is indistinct; the surfaces the viewer looks through of vertical channels giving on to vacant chambers confuse and fragment what lies behind, between and to the side of the forms in front. The distant galaxy is entirely painterly, the scatter of drips as rhetorical gesture to assume the resonance of poetic metaphor. Although we cannot extract fact from this spillage of artistic DNA, the compulsion becomes apparent that in some way these details must add up.
The adding up is the task of the artist and his audience, and the totals never tally. That putative night sky in points of light in the allusion of trackless, infinite space that Rolph delights in is reached through a congestion of shapes, colours, textures, adhesions, reflectivity and absorbencies that renders even the fittest onlooker breathless, mentally clutching a tightening intellectual chest against the dizzying push and pull of stuff, straight edges and curly silhouettes, directions ahead and pointers back and to one side.
What Rolph constructs is, in the context of painting, rather spectacular. It is not straightforward: meaning is never explicit and space is graphic and ambiguous. If the spectator is pleased by the optical profusion alone one suspects that Rolph would not be put out. Painting can be a matter of what you see is what you get.
That the paintings offer much more is apparent and insistent. Rolph proposes an experience to those with time and acuity to invest that is the equivalent of a major warp factor acceleration from the miniscule to the inconceivably cosmic and grand, or into a notion of pictorial space that seems inexhaustible (like an echo of Renaissance pictorial perspective) while being physically measurable (Rolph's paintings on plastic project up to two centimetres from the wall to scotch rumours of illusionism).
Rolph is not an isolated figure with interests ranging widely from the patterns in children's clothing to the characteristics of Black Holes. British art has had its legions of engaging eccentrics, but Rolph is an artist in the thick of current ideas, in dialogue with other prominent practitioners contending with the contemporary realities of a world that generates more information than its inhabitants can ever comprehend. It is possible to position him adjacent to Matthew Ritchie's cosmological information structures that take in action painting, string theory, molecular biology and comic books (although Rolph does not share Ritchie's mythological slant), and the idealised spaces and virtual environments in the cool, materially cosmopolitan collages of Ian Monroe.
It may be a generational thing. The British-born, USA-resident Ritchie is Rolph's senior by about three years; American Londoner Monroe is five years younger. Julie Mehretu (born 1970) may be closer in discourse than either men to what Rolph intends. These two painters use layering to span great distances on the picture plane (an area, of course, that Rolph multiplies by employing the back and front of superimposed layers of translucent material). One distance is historical. In Rolphís case the viewer samples geometric abstraction that conceivably refers to Mondrian and Futurism; the projection into imagined space that the Renaissance master Uccello calibrated with graphic perspectival devices (some of which Rolph deliberately quotes with the lance-like diagonals in Ramsay Macdonald); and the enveloping scale of heroic post-war American art (James Rosenquist comes to mind).
With the elusiveness of fact new narratives take shape, aided by chance and intuition. Whether the direction is towards the concrete or towards the unravelling of reality (a kind of counter-archaeology), the sensation of possibility exists without the implication of an end point. This is not a weakness in his painting but its strength, instilling as it does contradictory emotions that unsettle and excite, reactions that oscillate like a patient's temperature. Painting is not obliged to supply the full picture, or any picture at all.
Mehretu has described her panoramic and highly-worked canvases as story maps of no location, Rolph similarly lays out a cacophonous built environment of mental, physical and philosophical states. Cut from magazines are glimpses of elegant furniture, Italian Gothic church architecture and comic characters of popular fiction. Rolph illustrates his personal biography photographically (himself as a teenager; his young sons) as one of numerous visual incidents that seize on the anxiety of identity, like keep-sakes in a wallet that can double as clues to the authorities seeking answers in the event of an accident. Details pull both ways.
Because this exhibition includes work on paper as well as paintings on Triplewall and canvas, a strong idea is formed of how Rolph works. The importance to him of drawing is particularly clearly implied. Images in graphite and coloured pencil do not have to anticipate what the artist might do with paint and collage. Elements reflect on paintings already made through as Rolph tries to recall the shapes and relationships that had transpired in those images. That reminds us that processes do not move inexorably forward but shift this way and that, slipping and eddying.
Rolph draws every day, often experimenting with line and density and how they articulate an idea of space. He gathers abstract impressions from any source that attracts him in the course of a day's travelling by foot, bike, car or train, and after playing with his children and while observing the welter of events that go into the passage of a day. He acknowledges that material is everywhere; he is in league with the world. Consequently, his paintings have the climatic quality of a place gone through and felt sensuously, a feature evident in the work on canvas.
Apparent, too, is the influence of collage on his conception of space and edge, of how one type of painted stroke abuts or impairs another. The effect is like intersections of time, of shape and colour passing, like traffic at a busy junction. Light gets fragmented across the swift passage of contrasting surfaces, glinting or blurred, fading and rising. Rolph senses the pressure from history, the present and the future on his back to move forward.
And so do we. That pressure is not always gentle, not always expected. It is seldom resistible.
Martin Holman
DANNY ROLPH interviewed by Paul Carey Kent
Abstractions of Everything
Danny Rolph makes complex multi-level ‘triplewall’ paintings and also work on canvas and paper. They share a teeming sense of the numinous world reflecting the range of Rolph’s interests: it feels as if there could be everything in there. That openness feeds an all-over energy reminiscent of Pollock’s classic drip paintings, which Rolph himself describes as ‘amazing in the control and anarchy of their dance across the surface’.
Blueprint, December 2009
Vicky Richardson talks to artist Danny Rolph about his love of architecture and his installation for Blueprint's new office in the city of london.
A reader of Blueprint, artist Danny Rolph has created an installation for the magazine's new headquarters off Fleet Street. The painting, 'Asquith', forms part of the Twinwall series, which are all named after British Prime Ministers, and is influenced by Rolph's love of architecture. With a layered network of lines, three-dimensional forms and collaged images and text, the work alludes to 1980's record sleeves, constructivism and pop art.
Rolph, a studio based-artist who rarely undertakes commissions, studied at the Royal Collage of Art (RCA) where he was friendly with several architects including David Adjaye. He was invited to exhibit at this years Royal Academy Summer Exhibition by Will Alsop and his painting caught the eye of Blueprint's owner, Michael Danson, who approached the artist with a commission.
Rolph says that his work is created intuitively without plans or records of his ideas. For 'Asquith', he painted and collaged four planes of triplewall polycarbonate, a material he has worked with since the 1990s. He also works on canvas and paper, but finds that polycarbonate gives a spatial dynamic. "It's an industrial material but can be elegantly transformed, cut up and muddied with paint," he says. Its fluted construction recalls the lines of writing paper, and provides an underlying structure for Rolph's chaotic imagery. Pages from Blueprint and other publications in the group, New Statesman and idFX, have been incorporated. Rolph explains: "Mike asked me tentatively if I'd like to include them, and i was delighted to because of my interest in Warhol and collage.
I've been reading Blueprint since the mid Eighties, so it made sense
Rolph also has local connections. His father was a printer, who worked on Fleet Street, and he grew up in Clerkenwell, now the heart of London's design community.
His work has always been influenced by architecture. "I love its capacity to implode and fail heroically, and I'm also interested in the potential for painting to make us think differently about the spaces we inhabit," he says.
Currently, Rolph is Visiting Fellow at Winchester School of Art and is working towards an exhibition, “Automatic Shoes”, at Poppy Sebire gallery in 2010.
ARTnews, October 2009
Danny Rolph
BARBARA DAVIS, HOUSTON
4411 Montrose February 13–March 14
The sprawling wall collage Accelerator (2009) greeted visitors to Danny Rolph’s exhibition with an exuberance that threatened to overwhelm the rest of the show.
The London-based artist first gained attention for abstract paintings on canvas and, since a 1998 residency in Rome, has also been making multipanel pieces in which pictorial elements float on different planes, letting him play with space in a way that he couldn't with flat canvases. Six of the multipanel pieces were in the second gallery, where, away from Accelerator, their more intimate evocations of the past, both personal and art historical, could draw in the viewer. Though free of narrative they do include personal snapshots, photographs of trucks and architecture, and pages from children’s coloring books. Surrounding and overlaying these artifacts are angular bands of eye-popping color, the odd expressionistic brushstroke, and other shapes and blobs, all combining to create compositions both intricate and powerful.
All of which took us back to Accelerator. Much more loosely constructed and culturally referential than the other works, it features crisply delineated bands and splotches of color that are interspersed with a photo of Sinatra’s Rat Pack, newspaper clippings, and book covers – from The Metamorphosis to In Cold Blood, several Nabokov titles, Joyful Communication, and even Statistics Without Tears. Capital letters spelling out its title fly along, up, and down the wall, occasionally reversed or at odd angles, until the final R of the title seems to outstrip the gravitational pull of the composition and speed off around a corner.
John Devine
ART FORUM CRITIC’S PICKS
Danny Rolph
BARBARA DAVIS GALLERY
4411 Montrose February 13–March 14
Dominating the main gallery, London-based artist Danny Rolph’s Accelerator, 2009, is a large, vigorous wall drawing comprising collaged magazines and newspapers, drawings half-filled with runny paint, clear plastic sheets, and literature from the 1960s and ’70s. Using cut vinyl in bright yellow, neon pink, orange, aquamarine, and black, jagged forms and arresting dynamics dominate a mélange of pop-culture references. Rolph’s work threatens to burst forth from the surface. Adding a personal touch to the otherwise abstract assemblage, Rolph blends literary texts and sports images with found drawings and pages from his children’s coloring books. In Accelerator, the repeated image of iconic soccer player Bobby Moore holding the World Cup hovers above a grouping of illustrated book covers from countercultural literature that snakes down to the ground; to the right, a photograph of the Rat Pack is set against the wall, held up with stickers featuring the numbers 1, 9, 6, and 7. Torn-paper sketches such as Atomic 2 and 5, 2007, illuminate Rolph’s process, constructing compositions from advertisements and magazines. In a separate gallery hangs a series of paintings made from Triple Wall plastic that feature strident juxtapositions of painted and collaged elements. Here pictures of the artist with his children and a painted pattern from a colleague’s tie are set side by side with photographs of trucks and Le Corbusier buildings. Reaching across the Atlantic, Rolph finds inspiration in the vigor of Americana but tempers his excitement with an orderliness that allows his instinctive, lyric arrangements to shine through.
Sean Carroll
Miser & Now Eight. Summer issue, 2006
Article by Martin Holman
“The question faced by much abstract painting today is what meaning it can contain to keep it from ornament. In the company of surprisingly few others in Britain, Rolph has consulted the index and proposed a feasible response.”
It is not possible to dismiss history from the structure of Danny Rolph’s paintings. One history is the medium’s: Rolph evokes the twenty-first century complexity of experience through a craft strongly associated with the past. Another is his chosen idiom’s history: Rolph has gravitated deeper into formalism in his newest canvases, abstracting form to focus on the real – like a hybrid that reconciles Mondrian’s early landscapes with his last geometric compositions. And a third history is the grandest of all, the cornucopia of small and huge events that spin ceaselessly on completion into the ether or on to the ground around us. Or, more accurately, it is the history that builds itself inexorably into the pages of books, into websites, minds and memories.
‘Everything is retained,’ Rolph explained to me as we looked at a large painting last autumn, ‘everything comes back in some other way’. The piece comprised three layers of Twinwall, the fluted plastic sheeting that Rolph began using in the late 1990s to work out questions that were nagging him of registering touch on, and organising space beyond, the flat surface. The light-weight construction, a kind of tangible emptiness, supported simultaneously six surfaces of jostling mark-making, and a pageant of sharp edged, rounded or blocky space-shapes, some collaged and all integrated with colour.
In some respects the effect was like a layman staring into a stockbroker’s screen and trying to make sense of the accumulation of rapidly changing, multicoloured share prices mobilising options here and highlighting trading backgrounds there with varying prominence. Information abounded, yet Rolph perceived no dilemma or crisis in this profusion. As references multiply in his paintings, they overlap to the point where the reason for their inclusion gets clouded. But that reason is never wholly lost on the viewer; it is the consequence of being absorbed into Rolph’s work. For the artist, it is the consequence of being absorbed into Rolph’s work. His finished work, generous as it unquestionably is to its audience, is primarily an aid to the artist: he is assessing his own position in the world.
That the universe is so full of matter, material, amazes Rolph. We know it is full, but Rolph is amazed by a magnitude beyond common imagination. The eminent American physicist, Leonard Susskind, has used string theory to suggest the extent, showing that black holes retain the information about the objects they swallow. In fact, black holes suck information out of their vicinity, keep hold of it and, when they reach a certain size and evaporate, release it, although in a thoroughly mixed up state.
From this point Rolph’s paintings set out. The precision of the shapes he makes belies just how mixed up the regurgitated information might be, orbiting in a suspension of colour, drawing, facture and possibility. His approach helps to get a dialogue going that implies the forces around us – of time, location, architecture – that the artist can occupy with his imagination. In the context of black holes and string theory, Rolph’s fascination with the skeins of highways and ribboned freeways, the clashy colours and abutting or zoned structures of Los Angeles and Las Vegas comes to mind as an apposite metaphor for the epic performance of mixed signs, analytic procedures and unresolvable questions which his larger paintings more and more present.
The ‘new abstraction’ of the mid-1990s, moreover, has sanctioned this wide-eyed headiness. It has marked a turn away from the purity and flatness of mid-century non-objective art towards exploring new possibilities. Gone is the earlier utopian standpoint, and in its place painters set the ideal against rough reality. Take that reality to the extent proposed by scientists like Susskind, and the choices before Rolph become clearer (and you might also get Ross Bleckner).
Alternatively, consider Jonathan Lasker, Thomas Scheibitz or Philip Taafe. An image is created of abstract forms painted as if they were figurative, generating a tension between reality and illusion. This analogy provides a viable context for viewing Rolph. Exploiting new imagery derived from the street outside, or fractal theory, poor taste, plastic tape and magic markers, microbiology, children’s clothing or brand logos, he has argued a relevance for his art in our times. Above all, his work projects painting as an active space where things happen.
Surface confusion, like the complicated nature of our experience of the world, is the first impression left on the viewer by Elsewhere, 2002 – 5. Telescoping out from this evaporating black hole of a composition is, conflictingly, the signpost to the formal and intellectual vitality of the painting. Because, sandwiched between multiple painted surfaces, a notionally compacted space oscillates forward and back among vertical and horizontal forms. Within that space playful colours, reminiscent of 1970s chic and modern high-street packaging, and unrecognisable graphic emblems imply associations with which to construct an interpretation. The process resembles computer windows propelling information on to the virtual space of a monitor screen. Our initial disorientation dissolves, with this realisation, into another possible world, where we can reflect back on our sensations of the actual world we inhabit.
The power of his painting, as with others that Rolph has made since 2001, comes partly from personal experience (which, being personal, sidesteps tradition) and partly resides in its congenial formality. Rolph creates a framework where marks and gestures shun surface uniformity with drips and streaky brushwork. Like Scheibitz, for instance, Rolph unleashes a variety of conversations – on life, originality, nature, craft, science, fiction or representation – with the vocabulary he chooses. Decorativeness, an element here as it is in life, becomes a route to meaning as much as the placing of forms or the exchanges between lines, textures, gravity and scale. But whereas Schiebitz tends towards frontally-fragmented, inconclusive images redolent of social malaise, Rolph analyses and constructs a shallow space with conceptual rigour towards an overarching coherence. His strategy is perhaps not surprising in a painter whose earliest mature work, fifteen years ago, spot lit processes characteristic of Modernism’s final years.
One feature that Rolph injects into contemporary abstraction is an interest in objecthood that has been bypassed by peers more concerned by forces and relationships. In Elsewhere and four years of painting on Twinwall is displayed his fastidiousness about combining through collage items from numerous sources – his own smaller canvases from some time back, photographs and fragments of recycled watercolours. By avoiding in this way favouring one style over another, the resulting fusion of construction (rather than making) and presentation preserves elements of minimalism in his practice as well as puts on show his abiding respect for heroic figures like Johns and Twombly.
That attitude extends to concurrent work in other media. Rolph uses watercolour in a regular routine that has infused a calligraphic fluency into his handling of oil and acrylic that almost masks the individual qualities of those materials. He has long enjoyed setting in motion internal rhythms within his paintings. Inscribing variegated textural contrasts into the forms and shapes he invents demonstrates that Rolph, unlike many contemporaries, is not afraid of drawing his viewers’ attention to the technique of moving paint. This craftiness is a strength: it often heightens rather than undermines his aim of rendering modern experience aphoristically in two dimensions
Recent sequences in acrylic – the small-scale Axiom paintings and the larger Hinterland series – make great play of this possibility. That occurs as a product of Rolph’s transfer to canvas the lessons learned in manipulating forms in space; taking up clear and translucent plastics had been a means to that result – the bugging questions largely unbugged – as well as its own productive outcome. The timespan in the titles of Axiom series – typically 2001 to 2005 – measures that journey, and the canvases embody it: Rolph has painted over older work, folding in the experience of the intervening years.
The question faced by much abstract painting today is what meaning it can contain to keep it from ornament. In the company of surprisingly few others in Britain Rolph has consulted the index and proposed a feasible response. That that reply is informed by a rapport with his profession’s history and an appetite for its future simply underscores the relevance of the moves forward that this painter is making.
Martin Holman
M.Holman, ‘Charged Moment’. from Danny Rolph, Happenstance, Milan: AR/Contemporary Gallery, 2007.
I see my paintings as ‘locations’ existing between the physical and the metaphysical in the even balance. They represent every facet of my personality…
Danny Rolph
Danny Rolph’s paintings explore an illusion of space that does not seek to emulate visible reality but that investigates the tensions between figuration and abstraction. The works are a testimony to the fiction that painting is. ‘Modus 5’ from 2005 features a plethora of irregular, organic shapes combined with industrial surfaces. Flat, collaged cardboard cutouts are juxtaposed alongside gestural, loose drips and swathes of matte acrylic and oil paint. The elements in the painting are layered in different planes, hovering with intense energy underneath and above a lightweight Twinwall surface. The industrial material becomes ground and surface simultaneously, which enhance the chaotic pulses of line, color and space. Such a chromatic abundance and spatial complexity refers to the artist’s own way of dealing with a world teeming with ideas and activity.
M. Holman
Singularity - Danny Rolph. Publication: autumn 2008
SINGULARITY Introduction by Martin Holman.
Extract from the Introduction by Martin Holman:
Wall-(s)mart
The birth of the universe inspires the conception of Danny Rolph’s Houston mural.
The wall piece that he made at the Barbara Davis Gallery in Houston was a reminder of this painter’s fascination with space. In the fine art definition of the word, ‘space’ may refer to the visual illusion of continuous recession beyond the demonstrably flat picture plane that we know is not really there. The twentieth century, courtesy of Cezanne and cubism, supplemented that expectation with the notion of a painting advancing into the viewer’s territory, initially with the viewer’s imaginative complicity but, more and more, in physical ways with collaged structures that allowed painting to possess actual volume. The conundrum billowing around the contemporary pictorial environment is one version of ‘space’ that Rolph investigates in his paintings with half an eye on breakthrough to propel his work forward.
A visual record of Rolph's installation at the Barbara Davis Gallery, Houston, Texas, in summer 2007 that included the artist's largest wall work to date, an image that dealt with modern collage, consumer society, colour, line and the Big Bang. In association with Winchester School of Art, University of Southampton.
40 pages, colour throughout. Paperback.
ISBN 9556293-4-1 Publication: autumn 2008
wallpaper. October 1999
Article by Karen Chung
DANNYBOY
Being the youngest painter to get into New York’s Met could have gone to Danny Rolph’s head. But as Karen Chung finds, he prefers to dwell on affairs of the art.
Even the most consummate cultural carnivore would surely agree that installing a Damien Hirst medicine cabinet in one’s space is taking clinic chic just a little bit too far. While the razor-sharp, formaldehyde-scented, mutation-tinged edginess that constitutes a sizeable slice of what’s been so popular in art of late may be just dandy in the context of an art gallery, it could prove a lot more resistible if you’re on the hunt for something that won’t send you running from your space with your sensibilities in shreds.
Thirty-one year-old painter Danny Rolph understands, and favours a quieter, ‘softer’ approach to making his mark. Having studied at Winchester then London’s Royal College of Art, Rolph is currently the youngest painter to make it into New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art’s permanent collection, with a piece that was snapped up by the museum when he was just 26 years old and barely out of college. ‘Of course it’s amazing to have a piece in the Met,’ he states with beguiling candour, ‘but I can’t really say it’s changed my life.’
Danny Rolph works variously on canvas and, more recently, plastic, biding his time while he builds the tint/tone, layer by layer, to just the right pitch. His recent work has a hologram-like intensity, and he’s always had a kick-ass sense of colour. The dizzy reds of a Campbell’s soup tin butt up against gossamer silvery white or translucent baby blue, and what at first seems to be a drip of pigment in freefall turns out to be a meticulously rendered circle. Rolph’s work veers between linear precision and out-and-out abstraction, to be read like a Rorschach blot.
Up close though, texture is the lure of Rolph’s paintings. As the final washes are laid on, he punctuates the surface with hundreds of tiny pinpricks and marks, working the texture into the colour until the two resonate as one. ‘The representation exists in what I do, not what I exhibit,’ he explains. ‘It’s not about clear ideas or concepts; what’s vital is the dialogue I have with the paint and canvas.’
Rolph’s move to painting on plastic seemed the inevitable answer to dealing with the eternal problem of representing a tangible sense of space in two dimensions; the same colour, on different sides, appears to be intense, yet dim and bookish. ‘It was a way of almost physically slicing through the space,’ he says. Acknowledging a global raft of influences, from the architecture of Herzog and de Meuron (the Bankside view from his studio is to die for) to the laden simplicity of haiku poetry, Rolph has recently returned from a stint at the British School in Rome, and his new work hits the Turin Art Fair this month, (3-7 October). ‘The representation is embedded in the painting’s finished state,’ he says. ‘But it never overpowers the painting’s potential.’
Selected Web Links (Open in new window)
- Danny Rolph's website
- Martin Holman's website
- Houston Chronicle
- John Moores 22
- Chapter
- Art Futures
- Artists's Newsletter - Artists Talking
- Carter Presents