This series reflects my interest in the interiors of European churches, especially the smaller parish churches that are treasures waiting to be discovered. They are intimate spaces that are honest, human and faithful to their purposes. Some are in poor repair, some centuries old but all are beautiful. 

These paintings are my means of communicating and sharing the deep feelings, peculiar fascinations and sincere reverence I hold for these spaces. 

VISIT GALLERY

I think it ironic that until a few years ago I had painted countless images from my travels overseas but nothing from the part of the world where I have lived for the last 30 years. I’m not sure of all the reasons but it might just be that foreign locales just seem more exotic and appealing—the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence phenomenon. And it goes both ways, as last summer in 2013 we visited a gallery in Edinburgh, Scotland and met an artist that was surprisingly painting genre scenes and landscapes from historic Route 66.

Thus I began this series of small town churches in this region using acrylic gouache on paper. A few of the churches I have painted are actually architecturally and aesthetically pleasing, with fresh paint and landscaped lawns but these don’t interest me nearly as much as those ramshackle structures that still somehow capture the toughness and determination of those churchgoers that a century ago decided to make meaningful lives out here in the mesquite, prickly pear and rattlesnakes.

With this art series I want to honor these people and the sacred houses they built and worshiped in. I want to preserve these structures in paint, in their present environments and situations, and not gloss over the signs of decay and dilapidation that may surround them.  For this can all be seen as beautiful when treated with respect. 

VISIT GALLERY

To be empty does not mean these places lack a strong presence. These structures may be dilapidated, neglected, forgotten—even a little sad—but they are also beautiful.

I wonder about their stories, the souls that built them, lived in them and perhaps loved them. What if they could see them now?

I can’t save these places but I can honor them by preserving them in paint. It’s a little thing, but in doing so, it gives me joy.

These paintings are all works on paper and are painted with acrylic gouache, a fast drying highly pigmented water-based paint that is characterized by a rich velvety smooth texture and an absence of sheen. It is an old medium, in use in Europe as far back as the 15th century, and popularized by the great 19th century British master, J. M. W. Turner. It remained a viable medium through the middle of the 20th century when it finally began to fall out of favor.

In contemporary art, painting with gouache is still less common although I am convinced that its revival is imminent. Personally, all I know is that I love its buttery consistency, the intensity of the colors and especially the whites that dry as milky semitransparent veils of pigment against the warm tones of the paper. I also enjoy how fast the paints dry as I usually work rather quickly, completing a painting in hours rather than days or weeks, and many times allow the marks, accidents and artifacts of creation to remain as remnants of a process that is always exhausting, completely personal and unceasingly joyful.

My hope for you, the viewer, is that these simple marks, scribbles and dabs of pigment on paper might somehow allow this joy to be shared and that you too might catch a glimpse of the inexpressibly sublime beauty of our Father’s world.

VISIT GALLERY

Plein-air painting was an experience that changed not only how I make art today but how I see the world around me. It taught me to be sensitive to the continual shifting of light, shadow and especially color over the time one sits planted in one spot before an awesome castle, quaint seaside village or Tuscan vista.

Plein-air painting also surprised me in that the very experience of being outdoors--often uncomfortable, too hot, too cold or too wet-- helped to burn an indelible impression of the subject matter in my memory. I believe that now, years later, I can still recall past painting locations well enough to paint a fairly accurate rendition of them strictly from memory.   This is a strange phenomenon and I believe an unexpected gift that I remember to a degree that which the casual observers and visitors simply cannot. I remember the feel of the grass beneath me, the breeze on my skin, the smell of the flowers, the sound of buzzing insects or water flowing in nearby brook, and so much more. What more could someone ask for?

VISIT GALLERY

The oil paintings in this series have been inspired by a recent journey to the Isle of Skye just off the coast of Northwest Scotland. It is a sparsely populated island with seemingly many more sheep than people. There are few fences and the livestock travel freely across the few roads and lanes that allow motor traffic some access to the absolutely breathtaking landscape. 

On sunny days the azure sea backdropped by craggy mountain peaks of the Cuillin Hills is indescribably beautiful. And on foggy misty days the visitor experiences as added almost magical sense of mystery and wonder when the damp fog rises to allow glimpses of the island's lochs, meadows, brooks and falls.  

The name Skye is derived from the old Norse sky-a which means cloudy island. Surely there could be no more apt name for such a place as this.

We spent some time in Ireland in the summer of 2015. Charmed by the warmth of its people and the sublime beauty inherent in this land of green rolling hills and wild rugged coastlines. What artist could resist painting it? Not I.

Rivers have great significance for me. Particularly the Guadalupe where back in the 70’s my father, and two brothers, my best friend and his father kayaked from the lake down to New Braunfels. It was different then--- this was before the crowds and throngs of tubers arrived and before the many rental sites lined the river's banks. Even in the heat of the summer, we could travel for miles downstream and not see another soul. I remember people stopped to wave from bridges or greeted us from the banks. It was a time of quiet long stretches punctuated by adrenalin inducing rapids that brought fear and awe to my young heart. It was an amazing time, a blessed time that was more fleeting than I could have then known.

I was a city boy that grew up some on that river. I faced fears and experienced the elation and joy of completing a trek I didn’t think I could achieve. I got caught in undertows, bumped and snagged myself on rocks,  bruised shins and ribs, and even came close to drowning a few times. But looking back, I only remember the camaraderie we felt together and the sheer beauty and delight of the waters.

Since those days I have visited a handful of times but each time I return, I feel I never left. It's the smells that do it, that mossy smell of damp cypress wood, the subtle acrid odor of mud and rotting vegetation. And it is the colors too--especially the crystal clear water that with changes of light and shadow can appear as  jade or turquoise. It is  magical blessed place and though times it is crowded, it is only with an increasing number of admirers.

Surely it  I have now just turned sixty and have been an artist almost all of those years. Yet only now have I chosen try to capture in paint and color what is truly notexpressible.  But I have done my best and have not grown tired of the process, for with each stroke of the brush, memories flood my soul--and there is great joy there.

It is my hope that in observing these works your heart too might be touched by the majesty and endearing beautyof this river, this masterpiece of the sublime.

Jack Maxwell

2016

Note: Out of Eden… According to the Genesis story, four rivers flowed from Eden to water and bless the peoples of the earth.  This river has indeed blessed me as it has so many others.