I have a show opening at the Carolyn Glasoe Foundation here in Ojai on May 8 called "r/evolve." I struggled with the title – I love the sound of it, but I worry the forward slash between the "r" and "e" is maybe a little pretentious? We’re going with it anyway - this is, after all, a show of round paintings, a few that turn, a painted sphere and two sculptures made of horn-shaped PA speakers mounted on turntables. All of it looks a little like my previous landscapes, but it’s nothing like what I’ve made before – it’s about evolving!

The biggest piece in the show, the anchor, is a seven-foot diameter disc: a lacquered composite tabletop my friend Joel discovered sitting next to a dumpster last summer. It was transported across town in another friend's truck with blankets and lasso straps (and the happy discovery that it could be rolled across my yard like a giant pool raft); then it was sanded, primed, and varnished before a drop of paint went on it. I painted it over a few months in wedges, one pie slice at a time.

The real challenge wasn't logistical. It was compositional. When I’m doing a landscape I follow a familiar rule-set: horizon about three-quarters up, diagonal lines receding to a vanishing point, bigger things closer, smaller things further, color vivid up front and soft in the distance. The rectangle is obedient. It holds still.

The circle doesn't play by those rules. Where is "closer" in a circle? Which way is up? Where’s the horizon? (Somehow it never occurred to me to just treat the circular edge as a border — a viewfinder — and paint an ordinary scene inside it.) Instead I worked from the center out, playing with radiating lines of perspective and curved, patterned wave shapes to suggest form, undulation, slope, elevation, distance. What came together felt like a little planet. Also a wheel of fortune. Also a mandala.
At a certain point it became obvious: it needed to turn.

I researched and acquired an industrial-grade lazy susan mechanism and called in a builder friend to help make and affix a mounting plate so it could hang on the wall (none of this would happen without the help of friends! so grateful for this community!) . And once the whole thing was turning, everything opened up. I fell into my familiar dreamlike way of working, filling in spaces like putting together a puzzle, leaving space for pink to show through, creating telescoping points of view. I tossed little houses across the picture like Monopoly pieces, snaked roads among overlapping tree shapes and crop patterns, painted a sun on the curve of the horizon, then another, further down (or was it up?).

Along the way I started to feel genuinely liberated by the circular. The cell, the eye, the planet, the ovum – we’re born of the circle/sphere. We live on one. We see through them. Our origin, our vision, our whole world is a circle/sphere. So what's with all the rectangles? Our windows, doors, tables, screens, books, walls, street layouts — squares and grids everywhere! I felt myself getting carried away looking around the ordinary world, wanting to scream: down with the Oppressive Right Angle! Sure yes rectangles are efficient, stackable, complementary. They give a pleasing sense of ORDER and CONTROL and USEFULNESS. Fine. But they are not the only shape; they need to make room.

Come see the show and celebrate the circular! The opening is Thursday, May 8, 5-7 pm, at the Carolyn Glasoe Foundation, 248 S. Montgomery St, Ojai.

If you want to go deeper: on Saturday, May 17 I'll be doing an artist talk in conversation with Joel Fox. And on Friday, May 16 I'm leading an illustrated sketchbook workshop.