Adaa Art Dealers Association Of America Drawings and Watercolor Paintings

ink drawing on paper blind contour drawing, artists self-portrait

ink on canvas

Bruce Cohen is known for engaging his viewers with intriguing interiors in his distinctive, crisp, realist style. Influenced by Dutch still-life painting and Surrealism he orchestrat...

The Victorian still-life painter William Hough began his career working in Coventry and later moved to London. He exhibited flower and fruit still lifes at the Royal Academy and at t...

Signed and dated (at lower right): BROSEN; titled (at lower left): Boardwalk, Coney Island A native New Yorker, Brosen has spent a lifetime wandering its streets, discovering its l...

Suite of 3 drawings Charcoal and Getty Fire Ash on paper, 24 x 18 in (each)

Oscar Bluemner was a German and an American, a trained architect who read voraciously in art theory, color theory, and philosophy, a writer of art criticism both in German and English, and, above all, a practicing artist. Bluemner was an intense man, who sought to express and share, through drawing and painting, universal emotional experience. Undergirded by theory, Bluemner chose color and line for his vehicles; but color especially became the focus of his passion. He was neither abstract artist nor realist, but employed the “expressional use of real phenomena” to pursue his ends. (Oscar Bluemner, from unpublished typescript on “Modern Art” for Camera Work, in Bluemner papers, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution, as cited and quoted in Jeffrey R. Hayes, Oscar Bluemner [1991], p. 60. The Bluemner papers in the Archives [hereafter abbreviated as AAA] are the primary source for Bluemner scholars. Jeffrey Hayes read them thoroughly and translated key passages for his doctoral dissertation, Oscar Bluemner: Life, Art, and Theory [University of Maryland, 1982; UMI reprint, 1982], which remains the most comprehensive source on Bluemner. In 1991, Hayes published a monographic study of Bluemner digested from his dissertation and, in 2005, contributed a brief essay to the gallery show at Barbara Mathes, op. cit.. The most recent, accessible, and comprehensive view of Bluemner is the richly illustrated, Barbara Haskell, Oscar Bluemner: A Passion for Color, exhib. cat. [New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 2005.]) Bluemner was born in the industrial city of Prenzlau, Prussia, the son and grandson of builders and artisans. He followed the family predilection and studied architecture, receiving a traditional and thorough German training. He was a prize-winning student and appeared to be on his way to a successful career when he decided, in 1892, to emigrate to America, drawn perhaps by the prospect of immediate architectural opportunities at the Chicago World’s Fair, but, more importantly, seeking a freedom of expression and an expansiveness that he believed he would find in the New World. The course of Bluemner’s American career proved uneven. He did indeed work as an architect in Chicago, but left there distressed at the formulaic quality of what he was paid to do. Plagued by periods of unemployment, he lived variously in Chicago, New York, and Boston. At one especially low point, he pawned his coat and drafting tools and lived in a Bowery flophouse, selling calendars on the streets of New York and begging for stale bread. In Boston, he almost decided to return home to Germany, but was deterred partly because he could not afford the fare for passage. He changed plans and direction again, heading for Chicago, where he married Lina Schumm, a second-generation German-American from Wisconsin. Their first child, Paul Robert, was born in 1897. In 1899, Bluemner became an American citizen. They moved to New York City where, until 1912, Bluemner worked as an architect and draftsman to support his family, which also included a daughter, Ella Vera, born in 1903. All the while, Oscar Bluemner was attracted to the freer possibilities of art. He spent weekends roaming Manhattan’s rural margins, visiting the Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, and New Jersey, sketching landscapes in hundreds of small conté crayon drawings. Unlike so many city-based artists, Bluemner did not venture out in search of pristine countryside or unspoiled nature. As he wrote in 1932, in an unsuccessful application for a Guggenheim Fellowship, “I prefer the intimate landscape of our common surroundings, where town and country mingle. For we are in the habit to carry into them our feelings of pain and pleasure, our moods” (as quoted by Joyce E. Brodsky in “Oscar Bluemner in Black and White,” p. 4, in Bulletin 1977, I, no. 5, The William Benton Museum of Art, Storrs, Connecticut). By 1911, Bluemner had found a powerful muse in a series of old industrial towns, mostly in New Jersey, strung along the route of the Morris Canal. While he educated himself at museums and art galleries, Bluemner entered numerous architectural competitions. In 1903, in partnership with Michael Garven, he designed a new courthouse for Bronx County. Garven, who had ties to Tammany Hall, attempted to exclude Bluemner from financial or artistic credit, but Bluemner promptly sued, and, finally, in 1911, after numerous appeals, won a $7,000 judgment. Barbara Haskell’s recent catalogue reveals more details of Bluemner’s architectural career than have previously been known. Bluemner the architect was also married with a wife and two children. He took what work he could get and had little pride in what he produced, a galling situation for a passionate idealist, and the undoubted explanation for why he later destroyed the bulk of his records for these years. Beginning in 1907, Bluemner maintained a diary, his “Own Principles of Painting,” where he refined his ideas and incorporated insights from his extensive reading in philosophy and criticism both in English and German to create a theoretical basis for his art. Sometime between 1908 and 1910, Bluemner’s life as an artist was transformed by his encounter with the German-educated Alfred Stieglitz, proprietor of the Little Galleries of the Photo-Secession at 291 Fifth Avenue. The two men were kindred Teutonic souls. Bluemner met Stieglitz at about the time that Stieglitz was shifting his serious attention away from photography and toward contemporary art in a modernist idiom. Stieglitz encouraged and presided over Bluemner’s transition from architect to painter. During the same period elements of Bluemner’s study of art began to coalesce into a personal vision. A Van Gogh show in 1908 convinced Bluemner that color could be liberated from the constraints of naturalism. In 1911, Bluemner visited a Cézanne watercolor show at Stieglitz’s gallery and saw, in Cézanne’s formal experiments, a path for uniting Van Gogh’s expressionist use of color with a reality-based but non-objective language of form. A definitive change of course in Bluemner’s professional life came in 1912. Ironically, it was the proceeds from his successful suit to gain credit for his architectural work that enabled Bluemner to commit to painting as a profession. Dividing the judgment money to provide for the adequate support of his wife and two children, he took what remained and financed a trip to Europe. Bluemner traveled across the Continent and England, seeing as much art as possible along the way, and always working at a feverish pace. He took some of his already-completed work with him on his European trip, and arranged his first-ever solo exhibitions in Berlin, Leipzig, and Elberfeld, Germany. After Bluemner returned from his study trip, he was a painter, and would henceforth return to drafting only as a last-ditch expedient to support his family when his art failed to generate sufficient income. Bluemner became part of the circle of Stieglitz artists at “291,” a group which included Marsden Hartley, John Marin, and Arthur Dove. He returned to New York in time to show five paintings at the 1913 Armory Show and began, as well, to publish critical and theoretical essays in Stieglitz’s journal, Camera Work. In its pages he cogently defended the Armory Show against the onslaught of conservative attacks. In 1915, under Stieglitz’s auspices, Bluemner had his first American one-man show at “291.” Bluemner’s work offers an interesting contrast with that of another Stieglitz architect-turned-artist, John Marin, who also had New Jersey connections. The years after 1914 were increasingly uncomfortable. Bluemner remained, all of his life, proud of his German cultural legacy, contributing regularly to German language journals and newspapers in this country. The anti-German sentiment, indeed mania, before and during World War I, made life difficult for the artist and his family. It is impossible to escape the political agenda in Charles Caffin’s critique of Bluemner’s 1915 show. Caffin found in Bluemner’s precise and earnest explorations of form, “drilled, regimented, coerced . . . formations . . . utterly alien to the American idea of democracy” (New York American, reprinted in Camera Work, no. 48 [Oct. 1916], as quoted in Hayes, 1991, p. 71). In 1916, seeking a change of scene, more freedom to paint, and lower expenses, Bluemner moved his family to New Jersey, familiar terrain from his earlier sketching and painting. During the ten years they lived in New Jersey, the Bluemner family moved around the state, usually, but not always, one step ahead of the rent collector. In 1917, Stieglitz closed “291” and did not reestablish a Manhattan gallery until 1925. In the interim, Bluemner developed relationships with other dealers and with patrons. Throughout his career he drew support and encouragement from art cognoscenti who recognized his talent and the high quality of his work. Unfortunately, that did not pay the bills. Chronic shortfalls were aggravated by Bluemner’s inability to sustain supportive relationships. He was a difficult man, eternally bitter at the gap between the ideal and the real. Hard on himself and hard on those around him, he ultimately always found a reason to bite the hand that fed him. Bluemner never achieved financial stability. He left New Jersey in 1926, after the death of his beloved wife, and settled in South Braintree, Massachusetts, outside of Boston, where he continued to paint until his own death in 1938. As late as 1934 and again in 1936, he worked for New Deal art programs designed to support struggling artists. Bluemner held popular taste and mass culture in contempt, and there was certainly no room in his quasi-religious approach to art for accommodation to any perceived commercial advantage. His German background was also problematic, not only for its political disadvantages, but because, in a world where art is understood in terms of national styles, Bluemner was sui generis, and, to this day, lacks a comfortable context. In 1933, Bluemner adopted Florianus (definitively revising his birth names, Friedrich Julius Oskar) as his middle name and incorporated it into his signature, to present “a Latin version of his own surname that he believed reinforced his career-long effort to translate ordinary perceptions into the more timeless and universal languages of art” (Hayes 1982, p. 189 n. 1). In 1939, critic Paul Rosenfeld, a friend and member of the Stieglitz circle, responding to the difficulty in categorizing Bluemner, perceptively located him among “the ranks of the pre-Nazi German moderns” (Hayes 1991, p. 41). Bluemner was powerfully influenced in his career by the intellectual heritage of two towering figures of nineteenth-century German culture, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel. A keen student of color theory, Bluemner gave pride of place to the formulations of Goethe, who equated specific colors with emotional properties. In a November 19, 1915, interview in the German-language newspaper, New Yorker Staats-Zeitung (Abendblatt), he stated: I comprehend the visible world . . . abstract the primary-artistic . . . and after these elements of realty are extracted and analyzed, I reconstruct a new free creation that still resembles the original, but also . . . becomes an objectification of the abstract idea of beauty. The first—and most conspicuous mark of this creation is . . . colors which accord with the character of things, the locality . . . [and which] like the colors of Cranach, van der Weyden, or Durer, are of absolute purity, breadth, and luminosity. . . . I proceed from the psychological use of color by the Old Masters . . . [in which] we immediately recognize colors as carriers of “sorrow and joy” in Goethe’s sense, or as signs of human relationship. . . . Upon this color symbolism rests the beauty as well as the expressiveness, of earlier sacred paintings. Above all, I recognize myself as a contributor to the new German theory of light and color, which expands Goethe’s law of color through modern scientific means (as quoted in Hayes 1991, p. 71). Hayes has traced the global extent of Bluemner’s intellectual indebtedness to Hegel (1991, pp. 36–37). More specifically, Bluemner made visual, in his art, the Hegelian world view, in the thesis and antithesis of the straight line and the curve, the red and the green, the vertical and the horizontal, the agitation and the calm. Bluemner respected all of these elements equally, painting and drawing the tension and dynamic of the dialectic and seeking ultimate reconciliation in a final visual synthesis. Bluemner was a keen student of art, past and present, looking, dissecting, and digesting all that he saw. He found precedents for his non-naturalist use of brilliant-hued color not only in the work Van Gogh and Cezanne, but also in Gauguin, the Nabis, and the Symbolists, as well as among his contemporaries, the young Germans of Der Blaue Reiter. Bluemner was accustomed to working to the absolute standard of precision required of the architectural draftsman, who adjusts a design many times until its reality incorporates both practical imperatives and aesthetic intentions. Hayes describes Bluemner’s working method, explaining how the artist produced multiple images playing on the same theme—in sketch form, in charcoal, and in watercolor, leading to the oil works that express the ultimate completion of his process (Hayes, 1982, pp. 156–61, including relevant footnotes). Because of Bluemner’s working method, driven not only by visual considerations but also by theoretical constructs, his watercolor and charcoal studies have a unique integrity. They are not, as is sometimes the case with other artists, rough preparatory sketches. They stand on their own, unfinished only in the sense of not finally achieving Bluemner’s carefully considered purpose. The present charcoal drawing is one of a series of images that take as their starting point the Morris Canal as it passed through Rockaway, New Jersey. The Morris Canal industrial towns that Bluemner chose as the points of departure for his early artistic explorations in oil included Paterson with its silk mills (which recalled the mills in the artist’s childhood home in Elberfeld), the port city of Hoboken, Newark, and, more curiously, a series of iron ore mining and refining towns, in the north central part of the state that pre-dated the Canal, harkening back to the era of the Revolutionary War. The Rockaway theme was among the original group of oil paintings that Bluemner painted in six productive months from July through December 1911 and took with him to Europe in 1912. In his painting journal, Bluemner called this work Morris Canal at Rockaway N.J. (AAA, reel 339, frames 150 and 667, Hayes, 1982, pp. 116–17), and exhibited it at the Galerie Fritz Gurlitt in Berlin in 1912 as Rockaway N. J. Alter Kanal. After his return, Bluemner scraped down and reworked these canvases. The Rockaway picture survives today, revised between 1914 and 1922, as Old Canal, Red and Blue (Rockaway River) in the collection of the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution, Washington D. C. (color illus. in Haskell, fig. 48, p. 65). For Bluemner, the charcoal expression of his artistic vision was a critical step in composition. It represented his own adaptation of Arthur Wesley’s Dow’s (1857–1922) description of a Japanese...

Robert Ruello Switch-It #7, 2016 graphite, watercolor, and colored pencil on paper 20 x 15 inches Energetic and charged with visual power, the Switch-It series is movement and transition visualized. Ruello’s formal investigation of how we move through and disrupt various environments (digital, analog, and in-between) is rendered through these graphic elements. As he notes, “As a result of this disruption, the array is no longer stable or predictable — visual illusions and shifting figure/ground relationships begin to emerge.” Ruello’s work stems from an enjoyment in the tension between the stable and the unpredictable. Though not figural, his work presents elements that are recognizable from our visual vernacular. Digital screens, popular science...

Thomas Fransioli’s cityscapes are crisp and tidy. Buildings stand in bold outline, their forms squarely defined by stark light and long shadows. Saturated color permeates every corner of his canvases, from vibrant oranges and greens to smoky terra cottas and granites. Even the trees that line Fransioli’s streets, parks, and squares are sharp and angular, exactly like those in an architect’s elevation rendering. But Fransioli’s cities often lack one critical feature: people. His streets are largely deserted, save for parked cars and an occasional black cat scurrying across the pavement. People make rare appearances in Fransioli’s compositions, and never does the entropy of a crowd overwhelm their prevailing sense of order and precision. People are implied in a Fransioli painting, but their physical presence would detract from the scene’s bleak and surreal beauty. Magic Realism neatly characterizes Fransioli’s artistic viewpoint. The term was first broadly applied to contemporary American art in the 1943 Museum of Modern Art exhibition, American Realists and Magic Realists. As exhibition curator Dorothy Miller noted in her foreword to the catalogue, Magic Realism was a “widespread but not yet generally recognized trend in contemporary American art…. It is limited, in the main, to pictures of sharp focus and precise representation, whether the subject has been observed in the outer world—realism, or contrived by the imagination—magic realism.” In his introductory essay, Lincoln Kirstein took the concept a step further: “Magic realists try to convince us that extraordinary things are possible simply by painting them as if they existed.” This is Fransioli, in a nutshell. His cityscapes exist in time and space, but certainly not in the manner in which he portrays them. Fransioli—and other Magic Realists of his time—was also the heir to Precisionism, spawned from Cubism and Futurism after the Great War and popularized in the 1920s and early 1930s. While Fransioli may not have aspired to celebrate the Machine Age, heavy industry, and skyscrapers in the same manner as Charles Sheeler, his compositions tap into the same rigid gridwork of the urban landscape that was first codified by the Precisionists. During the 1950s, Fransioli was represented by the progressive Margaret Brown...

Marc Swanson His & Hers, 2017 graphite and collage on paper 13 7/8 x 10 7/8 in (35.2 x 27.6 cm) paper size 20 7/8 x 17 7/8 x 1 1/2 in (53 x 45.4 x 3.8 cm) frame size

Robert Ruello Switch-It #9, 2016 graphite, watercolor, and colored pencil on paper 20 x 15 inches Energetic and charged with visual power, the Switch-It series is movement and transition visualized. Ruello’s formal investigation of how we move through and disrupt various environments (digital, analog, and in-between) is rendered through these graphic elements. As he notes, “As a result of this disruption, the array is no longer stable or predictable — visual illusions and shifting figure/ground relationships begin to emerge.” Ruello’s work stems from an enjoyment in the tension between the stable and the unpredictable. Though not figural, his work presents elements that are recognizable from our visual vernacular. Digital screens, popular science...

Signed and dated (at lower right): BROSEN '23 A native New Yorker, Brosen has spent a lifetime wandering its streets, discovering its long history and witnessing its constant metamo...

Signed and dated (at lower right): BROSEN•20 A native New Yorker, Brosen has spent a lifetime wandering its streets, discovering its long history and witnessing its constant metamor...

Shaun O’Dell More Love Five, 2017 gouache and ink on paper 30 x 22 in (76.2 x 55.9 cm) 33 3/8 x 25 1/8 x 1 1/2 in (84.8 x 63.8 x 3.8 cm) framed $5,500 At once investigations of su...

Jim Richard Modern Riff: Uptown Green, 2016 flashe on Yupo 26 x 20 in (66 x 50.8 cm)

Shaun O’Dell More Love Four, 2017 gouache and ink on paper 30 x 22 in (76.2 x 55.9 cm) At once investigations of surface and depth, representation and reality, Shaun O'Dell's newes...

Marc Swanson In the Garden, 2017 graphite and collage on paper 17 x 14 in (43.2 x 35.6 cm) paper size 24 7/8 x 21 7/8 x 1 1/2 in (63.2 x 55.6 x 3.8 cm) frame size The duality betw...

Marc Swanson The Theatre, 2017 graphite and collage on paper 17 x 14 in (43.2 x 35.6 cm) paper size 24 7/8 x 21 7/8 x 1 1/2 in (63.2 x 55.6 x 3.8 cm) frame size The duality betwee...

Philip Guston was born in 1913 in Montreal, Canada. He began painting at the age of 12, and in 1927 he enrolled in the Los Angeles Manual Arts High School , where both he and Jackson...

Beth Secor, Elm Along The Bayou, 2014-2015 Ink, gouache and pencil on paper overall diptych 20 x 28 inches 20 x 14 inches each Beth Secor understands tr...

In Colin Hunt’s new paintings, myriad tiny rocks, grains of sand, and strands of rockweed form a coastal beach, while lush forests pierce a crystalline sky. Elsewhere, palpable mists...

Looking at a painting by Colin Hunt is like watching someone pass through a hole in our consciousness. As the landscape refracts through the sitter’s absence and fills that emptiness...

Ink, colored marker on paper

Looking at a painting by Colin Hunt is like watching someone pass through a hole in our consciousness. As the landscape refracts through the sitter’s absence and fills that emptiness...

On October 8, 1871, one of the greatest fires of modern times broke out in Chicago. Engulfing the entire city within hours, it left over 90,000 people homeless and destroyed thousands of buildings, causing many people to flee into the water to escape the flames. Among the property destroyed were the proudest cultural and civic institutions of the city. While the financial center was rebuilt within a year and trade was greater in 1872 than it had been in 1870, it took over a decade for the city’s cultural resources to recover from the disaster. Many of the city’s best artists did not even return to Chicago for several years. Foreign aid poured in from around the world, with half coming from England alone. It is not surprising therefore, that in 1872 it was an English artist that should have designed the mural for City Hall commemorating the Great Fire...

Signed (at lower right): FJK

Suite of 5 drawings Charcoal and Getty Fire Ash on paper, 24 x 18 in. (each)

Pencil on paper

Cleveland-born painter, advertising artist, and industrial designer Lawrence Blazey received his professional training at the Cleveland School of Art (...

Colin Hunt (b. 1973) is a Brooklyn, NY-based artist working primarily in egg tempera and watercolor. His recent series of landscapes of the Avebury stone circle outside of London are...

Charles Houghton Howard was born in Montclair, New Jersey, the third of five children in a cultured and educated family with roots going back to the Massachusetts Bay colony. His father, John Galen Howard, was an architect who had trained at M.I.T. and the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris and apprenticed in Boston with Henry Hobson Richardson. In New York, the elder Howard worked for McKim, Mead and White before establishing a successful private practice. Mary Robertson Bradbury Howard, Charles’s mother, had studied art before her marriage. John Galen Howard moved his household to California in 1902 to assume the position of supervising architect of the new University of California campus at Berkeley and to serve as Professor of Architecture and the first Dean of the School of Architecture (established in 1903). The four Howard boys grew up to be artists and all married artists, leaving a combined family legacy of art making in the San Francisco Bay area that endures to this day, most notably in design, murals, and reliefs at the Coit Tower and in buildings on the Berkeley campus. Charles Howard graduated from the University of California at Berkeley in 1921 as a journalism major and pursued graduate studies in English at Harvard and Columbia Universities before embarking on a two-year trip to Europe. Howard went to Europe as a would-be writer. But a near-religious experience, seeing a picture by Giorgione in a remote town outside of Venice, proved a life-altering epiphany. In his own words, “I cut the tour at once and hurried immediately back to Paris, to begin painting. I have been painting whenever I could ever since” (Charles Howard, “What Concerns Me,” Magazine of Art 39 [February 1946], p. 63). Giorgione’s achievement, in utilizing a structured and rational visual language of art to convey high emotion on canvas, instantly convinced Howard that painting, and not literature, offered the best vehicle to express what he wanted to say. Howard returned to the United States in 1925, confirmed in his intent to become an artist. Howard settled in New York and supported himself as a painter in the decorating workshop of Louis Bouché and Rudolph Guertler, where he specialized in mural painting. Devoting spare time to his own work, he lived in Greenwich Village and immersed himself in the downtown avant-garde cultural milieu. The late 1920s and early 1930s were the years of Howard’s art apprenticeship. He never pursued formal art instruction, but his keen eye, depth of feeling, and intense commitment to the process of art making, allowed him to assimilate elements of painting intuitively from the wide variety of art that interested him. He found inspiration in the modernist movements of the day, both for their adherence to abstract formal qualities and for the cosmopolitan, international nature of the movements themselves. Influenced deeply by Surrealism, Howard was part of a group of American and European Surrealists clustered around Julien Levy. Levy opened his eponymously-named gallery in 1931, and rose to fame in January 1932, when he organized and hosted Surrealisme, the first ever exhibition of Surrealism in America, which included one work by Howard. Levy remained the preeminent force in advocating for Surrealism in America until he closed his gallery in 1949. Howard’s association with Levy in the early 1930s confirms the artist’s place among the avant-garde community in New York at that time. In 1933, Howard left New York for London. It is likely that among the factors that led to the move were Howard’s desire to be a part of an international art community, as well as his marriage to English artist, Madge Knight...

Pair of drawings Charcoal and Getty Fire Ash on paper, 24 x 18 in. (each)

Signed (at lower right): FJK [partial]

Jim Richard Modern Riff: Purple Rush, 2016 flashe on Yupo paper 26 x 20 in (66 x 50.8 cm) paper size, 22 x 17 image size

Jim Richard Modern Riff: Fresh Mambo, 2016 flashe on Yupo paper 26 x 20 in (66 x 50.8 cm) paper size, 21 x 17 image size Abstracted detail of a lush garden

Shaun O’Dell More Love Seven, 2017 gouache and ink on paper 30 x 22 in (76.2 x 55.9 cm) 33 3/8 x 25 1/8 x 1 1/2 in (84.8 x 63.8 x 3.8 cm) framed $5,500 At once investigations of s...

Shaun O’Dell More Love Three, 2017 gouache and ink on paper 30 x 22 in (76.2 x 55.9 cm) At once investigations of surface and depth, representation and reality, Shaun O'Dell's newe...

Shaun O’Dell More Love Two, 2017 gouache and ink on paper 30 x 22 in (76.2 x 55.9 cm) At once investigations of surface and depth, representation and reality, Shaun O'Dell's newest...

Gilad Efrat Untitled, 2013 oil pastel on paper, 22 1/2 x 28 1/2 in (57.2 x 72.4 cm)

Kristin Musgnug Fallen Trees, 2015 oil on paper, 22 x 30 inches unframed 25 x 33 framed (framed in white washed maple, with OP3 glazing)

Marc Swanson Three Men, 2017 graphite and collage on paper 13 3/4 x 10 3/4 in (34.9 x 27.3 cm) paper size 16 3/4 x 13 3/4 x 1 1/2 in (42.5 x 34.9 x 3.8 cm...

Marc Swanson I believe I have everything I need, 2017 graphite and collage on paper 17 x 14 in (43.2 x 35.6 cm) paper size 24 7/8 x 21 7/8 x 1 1/2 in (63.2 x 55.6 x 3.8 cm) frame s...

Beth Secor, Elderly Elm, Patio, 2014-2015 Ink, gouache and pencil on paper overall diptych 20 x 28 inches 20 x 14 inches each Beth Secor understands trees as both a comforting p...

Looking at a painting by Colin Hunt is like watching someone pass through a hole in our consciousness. As the landscape refracts through the sitter’s absence and fills that emptiness...

Charcoal and Getty Fire Ash on paper

Charcoal and Getty Fire Ash on paper

Charcoal and Getty Fire Ash on paper

Charcoal and Getty Fire Ash on paper

Winold Reiss (1886-1953), who scholars increasingly recognize as a pivotal figure in early 20th-century American art, is known for his evocative portraits that capture the spirit and...

Winold Reiss (1886-1953), who scholars increasingly recognize as a pivotal figure in early 20th-century American art, is known for his evocative portraits that capture the spirit and...

Jennifer Bartlett Homan-Ji III, 1995 Gouache and gold leaf on paper 24 1/2 x 24 in (62.2 x 61 cm) sheet

Again, the versatility in her texture, shapes an palette are reflected in this work.

This work is a great sample of the versatility in use of medium, texture and color. This work is also oil on gessoed paper.

Valerie Hird's work reflects her travels throughout Morocco, her unique palate and textures, really evoke an essence of Morroco and how she perceives it.

Graphite and crayon on ledger paper.

Graphite and crayon on ledger paper.

Graphite and crayon on ledger paper.

Graphite and crayon on ledger paper.