Weiler paintings strike you like a flash of lightning. The raw energy almost explodes off the canvas, dragging you into a rainbow of color and texture. It’s raw, untidy, and alive—not polished or neat. Paint thick layers collide with delicate, virtually transparent washes. Sharp lines cut across gentle fading. It is anarchy and order locked in a passionate hug. Continue reading
Much of the heavy work here is done by texture. While some areas of the canvas appear nearly coaxed into life with the softest touch, others look attacked with a palette knife. Paint’s jagged ridges catch the light and create little shadows that give the entire work three-dimensional sense. One feels like the picture battled to become what it is, not merely happened.
Selection of colors is not safe. Bold blues mix with fierce reds, and unplanned splashes of yellow or green release the tension. Dark tones add depth, but then a sharp white flash pushes you back to the surface. It’s like a chat in which everyone is speaking simultaneously yet nonetheless the thread is audible running through everything. Even with appearances of spontaneity, nothing feels unintentional.
Movement is all around us. Brushstrokes cut quickly over the canvas in spurts then slow down into graceful arcs. The patterns left behind practically show the rhythm of the artist’s hand. The eye moves toward points of contrast—thick over thin, dark over light—creating a visual push and pull that resists stillness. This is work that calls for experience rather than only viewing.
Emotion covers the canvas from top to bottom. There are gentle and aggressive strokes. The canvas simply absorbed everything the artist was working on. She seemed to be going through something. Like it is memorizing every touch and scratch, the artwork is tense in its layers. It seeks to be honest rather than beautiful. And the reason it strikes so powerfully is vulnerability.
Shapes show up through the layers at first. Perhaps a horizon, a curved line suggests a figure. A dark spot resembles a storm cloud on approach. Even if the patterns defy easy fit, your brain seeks to understand them. That adds to the appeal; it’s a riddle without a solution. The painting moves based on your viewing time.
Layering gives the work historical weight. Paint is removed to expose colors underneath, hence producing wear and time. Some feel crafted with great intention, others scraped raw. Like the canvas clinging to its history while searching for its future. That combination of new and ancient, polished and raw, generates a conflict that drives you back for still another view.
What stays with you is the emotion. A Weiler painting aims not to explain itself. It just sits there, unrepentant, begging you to spend some time seated with. It could bring back a dream, a memory, or an emotion you cannot exactly identify. And thus it stays long after you have left.