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William Vaughn Howard
Title Unknown
acrylic, pastel and graphite
3 5/8 x 22 1/2 inches |
The painting above was given to me by my painting professor William Vaughn Howard. I studied with him as an undergraduate at the University of Nevada, Reno in the early 80’s. He spent the summers in Greece on the Island of Paros; I bet that is where this was painted. Although small, it has the structure I want to discuss.
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| Detail of the left end |
In 1986 I flew back to Reno from Dallas to see what turned out to be Bill’s last show. What I saw was a group of paintings, the likes of which I had never seen before. As I recall, 18 inches of verticality rolled out across the walls for another 12 feet. The 1 to 8 ratio was hard to fathom. The minor extremity of a 1 to 2 ratio troubled me. I never knew how to handle the extra space. The structures were shifting peripheries. The sweeps eliminated the ability to focus on any particular part of a painting. Moving through shifting views seemed to be the point of the exercise. Eyesight could not help but move and vision became a kind of travel. The absence of a focal point was not a loss. Instead of leaving, I found myself wanting to resume the sweep of freedom that had carried me away.
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| Detail of the middle |
Although fascinated by the arcs, I couldn’t understand how they came to be. A rectangle encourages rectangular thinking especially when working abstractly. When there are no observable curves that you are trying to fit within a space, the action of brushstrokes and splatters happens with an awareness of the outside edge of the stretcher. It is hard to work a space that is not a conventional rectangle. When the picture plane is extended, it is visually difficult to stay away from the middle. This is not a matter of mathematics, but rather one of perception. Almost any division seems to dangerously align with the middling core of the middle. The wider the span, the more significant the middle becomes. Within elongated space, the practicality of a two thirds rule applied to the horizon is exceedingly useless. How do you compose in any meaningful way covering all that space without becoming lost?
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| Detail of the right end |
When I visited Bill’s studio, he showed me photographs taken in panoramic fashion. The photographs represented continuous views of coastline running into sea. I failed to see the significance. I wondered why align so many photographs together. I found it a bit confusing. He died not long after I was back in Dallas. Within a few months of that visit, I was photographing in the same manner. Nothing had ever been so exciting. My neighborhood came alive. And as I overlapped photographs on the apartment floor, I began to understand the origins of those wonderful waves and how they signaled a need for extremely long paintings. The arcs are natural to panoramas. They are the photographic records of a camera turning to embrace the surroundings. Although, Bill is no longer here to confirm the nature of his compositional structures, it seems plausible that he saw a continuum in photographic prints that were then abstracted onto expansive canvases.
The new views quickly expanded the latitude and capacity of my dioramas. Once the lay of the land extends beyond the parameters of a single snapshot, landmarks are no longer limited to highway milestones, but include the faded veneers of mom and pop shops along pock ravaged access roads. There is a realization that composition is comprised of two or more frames of the view finder. Or put another way, there is no composition to find because the composed is all around. Point the camera here, there, or anywhere and the added space embraces continuum. The confines of a standard viewfinder is alien to the everyday navigation of moving around. Composition is about placement. Although often thought of as the arrangement of outside objects, there is no need to define or compose when information positions you within your surroundings. I quickly found this to be true. When I composed prominent sites, frequently people didn’t know where they were because traditional compositions sever everyday relationships. When I started painting the insignificant bits of habitation, I wound up painting locations that people instinctively knew much to their surprise.
I believe those last paintings tackled a new kind of vision. Although the terrain of landscape had been a staple of abstraction, it never contained the breadth of time seen along a highway. The new was housed within traditional strictures. Canvasses had the proportions of portrait painting. Ratios appropriate for the interior life of habitation may not be fitting for the great outdoors. There was no vista, or distance sprawling out in sunshine, a gleaming rise of stubble gray, pasture, baled developments replacing hay, the magnetic skip of high tensioned power lines, the blue cast slant of earthen furrows, the widespread lisp of horizon outside Deming, New Mexico, the spotted dots of juniper and mesquite tabled between lowly mesas, tin, a windmill that no longer spins, freight on rails, churning smoke, and the elm sheltered trash that marks significant bits of history along an open highway. The makings of a time horizon that I’ve grown to know as place came into play with the paintings of William Vaughn Howard.
Information for the images below
City of Richardson from Central Expressway and
Spring Valley Rd. on the Morning of July 4th, 1987
mixed media diorama
8 3/8 x 124 x 3 7/8 inches
