David Jackson 
Abstract art is either contrived or discovered or both. It is often a search for what is in the stone after you carve it. Interpretation and perception, though, are determined by the viewer and the artist. If the artist paints the Mona Lisa and you buy it because it looks like your Aunt Marge, the perception of the painting is entirely different than the “intent” of the artist. Artists speak a language of intent.
The artist is Artvilla’s D M Jackson, “David Michael Jackson”.
“I seek to represent the transcendence of non-didactic line and form from intent to perception.”
Every time this painting became about something, I said, “It’s not about that.” and I painted it out. Intent? Modern art is defined by intent. Each edition of our search has been about intent. The intent was to glorify God, to capture history and reality, then to portray the moment and the changing light, then to escape the portrayal of reality, then to use pure color to elicit emotion. Modern art is about the intent as stated by the artist. I seek to have no intent, to leave interpretation to the viewer. I seek to use shapes and lines that suggest but do not represent such that I may discover meaning myself without letting the paint decide as with drip painting. I want that feeling of not quite knowing from where this painting came. That, to me, adds the mystery of the subconscious, the mystical or the spiritual. Maybe the journey went from from painting for God to letting God paint the picture?
“I’d love to do an installation where Jade is rotated by a stepper motor in increments of 90 degrees on a timer or with a remote. It took an engineer to put a motor on a painting.
Children visit Artvilla. They come for our art lessons. We have rotated the painting for them.
78″ x 49″ Oil on Canvas.
To view Jade full screen, go to our new site https://modernartby.com/d-m-jackson/jade/
Here is another example of interpretive shapes without an up or down. Again unsigned.
Abstract in Black and Red, 22″ x 30″ Watercolor and marker on Arches, 1995
Here are some D M Jackson images, some of which date to 1998 or before, where orientation was determined by the artist after the painting was completed.. Names have been omitted because those shapes may represent something other than what you see. Naming abstract art is nearly impossible. The first need for a name is usually a file name. That is a suggestion of what the form is to the artist at the moment a name was required and is, often, given reluctantly. Every painting can’t be named, “What does it mean to you?”
D M Jackson…….9-16-2019….editors@artvilla.com
From Haleigh Morphis:
When I drew if it was supposed to be like you’re walking into judgement day and expecting something impressive and magical and it’s just three skeletons in a back room smokin’ cigs around a table who hold up your # score when you walk in. The image was hilarious to me.
The recent high prices for a Bansky and the emergence of “Street Art” has caused a refreshing upset in the art world and in our perceptions of art. This “outsider” movement brings us back to the excitement of the image itself and how it relates to culture. Bansky points to culture. Here Morphis points playfully to our beliefs.
Both are refreshing.
A Silent Sonnet
by Janet Buck
Strange. It was.
Summer”s beriberi draught
with grape vines fried
in skillets of an August day.
Thorns were baby alligator teeth,
chomping straw of might have been.
Dirt stayed creases in a skirt.
Branches were a sewing kit;
we were groups of humble Adam”s
stitching nervous clothes to wear.
The lot next door–a homestead
for these early dreams.
The big tree lounging on its side:
pirate pilots at its helm.
Green Peace wasn’t politics,
but escalators to the clouds
and grass untouched by human plows.
The earth turned toast and all at once
the intangible maze of winter struck.
Brown went white. Hot suns withdrew.
We grew up faster than we planned.
The tree house leaves were
curtains frozen to the wood.
Trapdoors shut to fairy nowhere:
school pinched a nerve again.
Snowfall was a silent sonnet
sweeping attics with its hand.
***January 31, 2005….
Why don’t you paint a pretty picture
You can find my words in the box
under the bed,
my art stacked in a room.
Do with them what you will.
It’s not up to me.
I didn’t make them
for you.
I made them for me,
the words
that say
I was here.
Give them to the professor and let
the learned wave me away
with the back of the fingers,
and let the words float
across the room to the box
under the bed.
I care not.
Greatness
is as fleeting as
this poem,
the moment,
the cry of a child.
I can only make temporary things,
say words that need air
and an ear.
I can only plant
for your God
and mine
seeds that grow and die.
—————————-
David Michael Jackson
