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When Louis Daguerre was awarded the patent for a process that mechanically captured and fixed images in a manner many thought of as perfectly objective, but without artistic merit, painters feared being put out of work by anyone who could cock a camera shutter. Since that time, photographers and painters have fought over and invaded each other’s territory, made concessions, crossed margins and (frequently) benefited from learning to get along. |
| Robertson, whose constant studio companion is his iPod, crosses media boundaries by envisioning the narrative of his paintings as music. Citing Brian Eno as an influence, Robertson perceives parallels between assembling visual elements and combining musical notes. He addresses this collection of paintings as a medley of works that present non-specific pieces of music as a visual experience. They are in the artist’s words, “. . .much like a collection of individual songs sharing a larger narrative, like an album or full-length CD. And like a familiar song that takes on profound new meaning at different phases of life, or in the light of experience, each of these paintings sings out like a single that tells its own distinct story to whomever is listening, or seeing.” Rather than assigning descriptive titles to the paintings in his “Mash Up” series, Robertson numbers them, coaxing viewers to trust their own interpretations of each work. It’s difficult however, to avoid speculating about the artist’s personal history, especially when paying attention to the cinematic imagery replete in his paintings. Robertson currently resides in the hills near the Hollywood sign, where fantasy period architecture abuts restored modernist homes in juxtapositions as unpredictable as that of the imagery in his paintings. The iconic Hollywood sign noses in for its closeup in “Mash Up #12,” albeit not from its best side. Las Vegas, another town where architecture lite brings the place to the people, was his home for several years. That desert town’s lavish use of water, in fountains, pools and man made canals, is as unanticipated as Robertson’s flood of waves inside the car seen in profile in “Mash Up #11.” He owns an underwater camera and confesses to feeling most at ease when free floating in water. Robertson grew up in an Orange County community neighboring Disneyland. Years later, when traveling abroad, sites in cities like Venice seemed less authentic to him than architecture from the magic kingdom he had bonded with as a child. Fireworks bursting from a Disney Fantasyland sky reiterate the radiating cracks in a pane of glass shattered by a rugged, wood-handled hammer in the dramatic, almost operatic “Mash Up # 16.” Its marvelous textural nuances, lost in downsized photographic reproductions, sing out when experienced firsthand. |