Tonalism

muted colors, vast landscapes of imagination, arias of trees

A Causeway by Justin T. Worrell

I’ve been following Justin Worrell on instagram for some time. His mystical landscapes that seem to originate from some earlier time period resonate with me. Is he maybe a reincarnation of George Inness? A man born into the wrong century? I missed the workshop he offered in Italy, and my regrets only deepened when an online friend raved about it. I witnessed the improvement in her paintings through her instagram account, but mostly I liked that she found Justin engaging and warm. Alas, it was the only workshop he offered. So when the stars aligned, and he proposed a second in my own country, I took the plunge and and made the trip.

While Justin shared his masterful use of the brush, palette knife and the oh so special wadded paper towel, it was his description of his inner state while painting that interested me most. He consciously wants to indicate his spiritual sense of the landscape he paints. He shared his music, something that may have been Gregorian chants, and talked with us about brushes, surface prep and color mixing. Then, pointing to the water in his painting, water that mirrors the subtle light of his moon, Justin commented …reflection is a big part of being a Tonalist. There is something about this - (indicating the water) not only does it serve as an entry to the painting but the reflected light, philosophically, gets me into a place of contemplation and thought, (and) calm- so that’s sort of the reason that I generally include that. I don’t always - sometimes the composition doesn’t need it - maybe I could get that through a different way.

I am struck that painting for Justin is the spiritual experience. Each of his paintings repeats a story, a moment, revelation of spirit through a soft light rising like a crescendo through the darkness of his skies and grounds. It is ritual; a re-enactment of spiritual perception that seems to make his paintings sing. At one point, tracing the tender line of a tree into his sky, he described his trees as arias.

I think that painting can be a portal to the spiritual realm. Like many painters, the part I like most about painting is the painting! The act of bringing brush to surface, finding the colors that will dance light, and opening oneself to the strange kind of listening/doing that is art making-this is what sets the stage for spiritual experience in art. A non-denominational prayer, painting can find the door to that which sings through us.

It’s funny, as I write this, I consider my own search for what I have been calling my voice. I like the way Justin paints-his speed, his way of prepping a very smooth surface, his loose but precise color mixing. But I don’t envision myself painting like Justin. I like several other painters as well-the ones who make their paintings soft and evocative, images with somewhat muted forms; shapes that suggest but don’t declare. As I think on this, I wonder why I call my search a search for my own voice. Everything I notice about the act of painting suggests to me that I am trying to step aside for the Voice that wants to come through me. How is it my voice then? I seem to know when I haven’t found it, and I know when I have. It seems to be my job to try to find it and do it right-to paint what I seem to be being instructed to paint from inside of myself, or beyond myself, or from no location at all. Hmm. Voice finding embodiment through me; a voice of which I am not the source?

Namaste