( No Pretense ) Print

I came to understand abstraction through experience rather than theory. As a teenager working on the Mississippi River, I once watched industrial smoke and oil catch the sunset and transform into something visually extraordinary. The realization that pollution could appear beautiful unsettled me. It taught me that perception alters meaning — that beauty and contradiction can occupy the same space. Years later, a blind woman experienced one of my paintings through touch. As she moved her hands across rough and smooth passages of paint, guided only by texture, I understood that surface itself is language. That understanding became part of me. Today, it is almost automatic. When I build a painting, I am aware not only of color and composition, but of how the surface moves — where it rises, where it smooths, where it resists. Texture is not decoration; it is structure. I begin with a limited palette, expanding it through value and subtle temperature shifts. At a certain point, the painting directs the next decision — placement, pressure, scale. The process becomes less about control and more about response. I do not paint to reproduce beauty. I construct surfaces where perception, contradiction, and physical sensation intersect — where beauty lives. The painting speaks. I listen. And the surface becomes something that can be experienced beyond sight. — Allenzart (Allen Jones)