I was a solitary child. I enjoyed being in an invented world, a world in which I was in control: A world
of invented languages, of self-governed rules--rules I could change as needed. A world without the demands of friendship; a world of unbridled fantasies.

My paintings are postcards from my recapitulated past. They are physical, tangible objects from a space comprised of equal parts fond remembrances, confusion and disappointments. These canvases are a space in which I can again project my fantasies, dreams, myths, memories and desires; a return to the world of images and the imaginary.

In this work, I assist the viewer in reaching to their own depths, to conjure that which lies beneath the surface, half-remembered and largely ignored; bringing to mind that which we may not want to acknowledge, but we always knew was there.

I paint images that are bold and clear; yet leave many questions unanswered. Our dream lives, like our memories, contain the insubstantial, the ephemeral; these distortions are articulated using oil paint on canvas. Beginning with a memory, or a fragment of a recollection, I begin to collect images from online resources, art history, and family photos (either my own, or those of others).

These images are the signifier, the stand-ins that allow me access to the memories of a former false reality. During the process of painting, I maneuver back and forth between the imaginary of the past and the rationality of the present.

There is a gap between the objective and the subjective; nothing illustrates this as does the half-remembered dream, the distant memory. Much of what lies beneath the surface cannot come out into the light; to this end, I create a space for the viewer to question their own experience of the paintings, and by extension; the viewers own, personal experience with these same fragments of personal myths, untruths and the short circuiting, the rupture to the rational that occurs when we become aware of our own remembering.

While we cannot capture every aspect of the dream's substance, of the memory's former objectivity,
we can capture its essence. We can hint at it. For when the blinding light of objectivity is cast upon this tenuous space: all but the imaginary disappears.


  There Are So Many Ways For This To End Badly
  We Charge Into Danger!
  Is There Someting I Am Missing Here?
  Going Out With Both Guns Blazing
  I Didn't See That One Coming
  Why Are You Here?
Because You're Here...
Then Why Am I Here?!
  There Are Truths You Must Learn To Confront
  All Paintings
Brent Webb
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Brent Webb


Brent Webb