The centre of the canvas rises. Thick ridges of acrylic — grey-blue, sage green, titanium white — have been laid down with a palette knife and then twisted, folded back on themselves, left standing in peaks that cast actual shadow. You can see where the blade turned, where one stroke was dragged through another before either had set. The impasto at the vertical centre reaches what must be close to a centimetre of relief, and the paint there holds its shape with a solidity that feels geological. Around this central mass, the strokes flatten out — broader, calmer, scraped thinner toward the edges. A passage of yellow ochre appears on the right, partially buried under cooler grey. The painting does not describe a thing. It is a thing. Every gesture is preserved in full dimension, and none of them have been corrected. The surface holds the exact pressure of the hand that made it.
Impasto on Linen — Painted 2 years ago.
Detail — Impasto / Palette Knife on Linen