Riding life's waves
A studio visit, a respite, a loss and a different art-making
[Abstract Philadelphia]
Erik Spehn
Erik Spehn is a Philadelphia artist that I’ve been friendly with for a number of years. We haven’t hung out a lot, but we do talk every so often and admire each other’s work. Back in 2023, we swapped studio visits for the first time, with him coming to mine first and me reciprocating a couple of weeks later. His studio is in a converted warehouse with apartments, artist studios and some diy artist-run gallery spaces on the lower level and only about three blocks north of my space in North Philadelphia.
The biggest things that stands out for me in Erik’s work are various tensions and contrasts he explores: light and dark, form and surface, form to edges.
Light and dark: Most of his color choices lean towards the monochromatic, even if a slightly different hue is brought into the mix. The first thing I grab onto is the persistence of light and dark tones next to one another in fields of color that creates the overall optical vibration of the paintings.
Form and surface: Erik’s choice to leave areas around the main forms blank (in most cases, his paintings are on linen stretched over birch panels) reveals the artist’s wish to provide space for the viewer’s eye to rest. Even more intriguing is when he leaves the linen unpainted, allowing a stage on which the painted area(s) can act out whatever drama they wish. The neutral linen lets the viewer take momentary optical breaks from the busyness of marks within the main painted surface, while continuing to explore the piece. It’s a strategy, I think, that provides many more avenues for viewing and interpreting the work.
Form to edges: As your eye travels around Erik’s paintings, you discover that there’s a kind of electric tension created in places between the outer edges of the painted forms and the support edges. Sometimes, it seems to come down to mere centimeters between the two. I find this to be a very effective way to create more questions about what we’re looking at. There are places where Erik seems to play with our sense of order by making us want to physically move the painted fields to connect with at least one of the edges.
If your first encounter with Erik Spehn’s work is in a gallery setting, you might be forgiven for thinking that his studio must look like something akin to a laboratory. As can be seen in my shots here, you’d be mostly incorrect. There’s a lot of evidence and residue of making in his space, from sprays of paint on the work walls, to piles of accumulated paint around the edges of tables, to the huge pile of used tape I saw. His studio is basically an open plan space with a couple of divisions for storage of work and a small “clean” area that serves as a place to relax and to store works that are in progress.
There’s a rigor to the way Erik approaches not only his painting, but how he stores his work, the sizes of supports he paints on to the order of making paintings. He starts with smaller studies, painting, refining and destroying work until he feels that he has exactly what he wants to move up to a larger size.
I was surprised when he told me how often he destroys works that would look finished and fine to exhibit to me. However, anyone who spends their time creating anything can relate to the feeling of wanting to get closer to what they want and not have “clutter” around. I get that and include something of that in my own practice. If you care enough about the integrity of your work, there’s always going to be a high bar for what you will do to make the best work you can at the time.
In spite of how regimented his works looks at first glance, there’s a measure of “chaos” within the perceived order of his paintings. The hard edges contain a looseness of painting techniques informing Spehn’s paintings that requires close examination in order for them to fully reveal themselves to you. There’s a kind of dance and playing with the viewer’s expectations that’s special about his work.
Find out more about Erik’s paintings by visiting his Instagram here and his page on the Philip Slein Gallery site here,
Holbox 2025
For seven days recently, Julia and I were fortunate enough to spend time in Holbox (Ho-bosh), Mexico, a small barrier island a couple of hours (and worlds away) from Cancun. We were there for her birthday weekThis was our third time going there, so yes, we like it. It’s a great place to spend time doing absolutely nothing. By nothing, I mean getting up, going into the water, hanging out for a while, getting breakfast somewhere, reading, napping, returning to the water, finding a place to eat or cooking something for dinner, etc…
I brought some drawing materials with me, but they didn’t make it out of my suitcase. More and more, whenever I get to travel, I’m more interested in absorbing, processing and just “being” in the place I’m in. I tend to take more photos than making any art when I’m away. I didn’t take as many photos as I normally do this time around, but I couldn’t help myself with the sunsets we witnessed. One of the things I like about Holbox is the way locals come out to the beaches along with tourists to spend time in the evening watching the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico. I used to think that “watching sunsets” was one of the corniest things when I was a teenager. I mean, what do any of us understand about almost anything then?
Above: A snowy egret out for a walk in the surf at sunset
Growing up, you (hopefully) start to learn that witnessing sunrise, sunset and/or a cloudless, near lightless night where you can see stars stretch into forever are next to sacred experiences that are not promised to any and everyone. Watching the sun set almost every evening was a joy. It’s one of the few times that you can appreciate that we are on a small, thinly protected rock and water strewn ball that’s turning and hurtling through an unforgiving vacuum. Sunsets happen so fast, also. Blink and you miss them. You can almost literally feel Earth turning because it happens so fast.
RIP Cooper 2007(?)-2025
This weekend we said goodbye to Cooper, the fourth of my original five cat companions that have been with me since 2008. Cooper was a big, lovable black and white goofball whose personality seemed to be part cat and part dog. He was always a very chill but vocal cat who came when called every time and demanded love. If I sat down anywhere, he’d find his way over, extend his paw to grab my arm or hand and make me give him head and face scritches. If I didn’t move, this could last for at least 30 minutes until he’d finally go and find someplace to lay down.
I seriously think that he was communing with spirits in my old apartment studio. The apartment was in a converted three-story home in South Philly which had one apartment on each floor. I lived on the second floor with my now ex-wife. There was a quasi closet, basically a door that hid a set of stairs that once led to the third floor, now sealed off. Almost every day, there’d be a time when he’d sit in front of that door, look at the ceiling and meow loudly until I distracted him, somehow. I’m pretty certain he was in contact with a spirit world. He also had a thing for resting his head on hard surfaces, regardless of how uncomfortable they seemed to be.
Above: Cooper and I having a moment back in 2020
He knew his name and my voice, always running to me when called. Even when he became very ill with feline hyperthyroidism. Cooper had always been a very substantial cat. Not fat (well, maybe a little fat at one point) but just…big. Feline Hyperthyroidism causes cats to lose weight and no matter how much they eat, they never gain it back. So when he started losing weight in the past months, it was hard to reconcile the later version of him with the Cooper I knew from years earlier. Considering his advanced age (he was at least 17 or 18 this year) on top of the disease, there wasn’t too much time left with him.
On Saturday morning, I woke up early to check on him and knew things were winding down. The vet’s office didn’t open for another two hours, so all I could do was keep him as comfortable as possible, wrapping him in a blanket and giving him water through a plastic syringe. I sat with him next to me on the bed, stroking his head and after a short time, he left. In an instant, there was nothing else but the birds welcoming the day and the sadness of an irreplaceable loss. He had a great long life and I’m grateful to have been a part of his. Rest well, big guy.
Hold your animal and human loves close whenever you can.
Steady as it goes…
I’ve been slowly working on three artist books/zines since March. I’m on the third one and it’s moving along nicely. I’m still not sure exactly what I’m going to do with these. At first, I was thinking about making the originals available for sale, but I’m leaning towards another option. Why not have them scanned and make zines from the scans to sell? I don’t know if I want to part with the originals just yet, so I’m figuring out ways to get inexpensive versions of them to buyers, but until some funds are available, I’ll have to sit on it for a while. In the meantime, I’ll keep working on these and see where I can take them.
Thanks for reading and wherever you are, I hope you have a moment to stop, close your eyes and feel the sun on your face. See you soon!
TM
Thanks for sharing Erik’s work and studio space. His work looks amazing. Sorry about Cooper. 18 years, Cooper was well loved and cared for.
Welcome back! Your vacation sounds wonderful. So sorry about Cooper; it’s hard to lose our friends. Take care.