“Distance” An exploration of abstract/narrative art
I was offered the show at Imogen based on interest in my watercolor work, particularly my landscapes and still life paintings. I had been experimenting with coastal landscapes after a day trip to Cannon Beach, where a natural reservoir forms at one of the main entry points to the beach from town. I painted one of these works quickly, without much forethought, and it suddenly became one of the most beautiful watercolors I had made. I posted it on Facebook and it sold almost immediately for a very modest price.
I tried to replicate that painting's feeling but couldn't. Whatever I had done to create that one-of-a-kind work eluded me. I realized its success was rooted in the subconscious state I was in when I made it. I had no expectations or agenda. It was simply a random subject to paint, and my subconscious mind was in complete control of the outcome. I wanted to capture that same subconscious element in the works I created for the show at Imogen. But consciously trying to recreate a subconscious state is an oxymoronic exercise. Instead, I decided to approach the works as abstract paintings—a way of resetting my conscious mind to let go of the familiar and allowing a new creative process to determine the outcome.
This became a kind of meditation within the process, where the subject itself was influenced by the form rather than the other way around.
I decided to reduce the subject to its most minimal state: simple geometric shapes that might recall existing references in abstract art, such as Rothko or Malevich. Yet the conscious intention remained to depict a landscape—in this case, a seascape. That intent, combined with the graphic shapes suggesting an environment through color and form, relied on no conventional points of reference beyond the recurring blue rectangular shapes throughout the compositions.
This hybrid of abstraction and narrative is the essence of the method and in that sense, these paintings become a gateway into abstract painting—an art form inherently rooted in the subconscious. Rather than using that dreamlike state to construct another narrative, I am immersing myself in its uncharted territory.
As I developed the works around the environment of Astoria, situated at the mouth of the Columbia River where it meets the Pacific, the idea of standing at the threshold of an unknown horizon became part of the subject itself. The notion of letting go of the familiar and surrendering to the unknown felt harmonious with the process I was using to make the paintings.
Watercolor became an important part of that process because it inherently exists between order and chaos. My method involves laying down a foundational layer of water before introducing the pigment, which creates an element of unpredictability. There are inevitably areas where the water doesn't reach the paper evenly, producing unforeseen outcomes. This happened in the small work Event, where I accidentally left an area of paper untouched by water. When I introduced the blue, it stopped precisely at the waterline, creating a clean edge—a nearly perfect square roughly a half-inch wide along each side. Rather than correcting the mistake by filling the area with water, I allowed it to remain as a "happy accident." It unintentionally created a connection to the subconscious and gave the work another narrative dimension—one rooted in imagination and perception. I began to see this shape as a visual metaphor for letting go, both in form and content. It became another kind of narrative abstraction: the viewer's instinctive human response to entering an unknown space where there are no physical manifestations other than the shapes that define the sea and sky through our collective visual lens.
In this subconscious state of vulnerability and wonder, the mind begins to fill in the gaps. What we see may be something real—a plane, a kite, a boat, a person swimming—or it may simply be the desire to see something there. This idea was elaborated on in the work titled Figments. The mind creates these manifestations as a way of establishing a sense of place within the unknown.This combination of narrative and abstraction, of conscious and subconscious thought, is at the essence of these works. They tell a story about our inherent need to let go of the familiar in search of new horizons, while remaining tethered to something recognizable—a connection to the world we once knew, whether real or imagined.
Arnold Pander
August 2026
I was offered the show at Imogen based on interest in my watercolor work, particularly my landscapes and still life paintings. I had been experimenting with coastal landscapes after a day trip to Cannon Beach, where a natural reservoir forms at one of the main entry points to the beach from town. I painted one of these works quickly, without much forethought, and it suddenly became one of the most beautiful watercolors I had made. I posted it on Facebook and it sold almost immediately for a very modest price.
I tried to replicate that painting's feeling but couldn't. Whatever I had done to create that one-of-a-kind work eluded me. I realized its success was rooted in the subconscious state I was in when I made it. I had no expectations or agenda. It was simply a random subject to paint, and my subconscious mind was in complete control of the outcome. I wanted to capture that same subconscious element in the works I created for the show at Imogen. But consciously trying to recreate a subconscious state is an oxymoronic exercise. Instead, I decided to approach the works as abstract paintings—a way of resetting my conscious mind to let go of the familiar and allowing a new creative process to determine the outcome.
This became a kind of meditation within the process, where the subject itself was influenced by the form rather than the other way around.
I decided to reduce the subject to its most minimal state: simple geometric shapes that might recall existing references in abstract art, such as Rothko or Malevich. Yet the conscious intention remained to depict a landscape—in this case, a seascape. That intent, combined with the graphic shapes suggesting an environment through color and form, relied on no conventional points of reference beyond the recurring blue rectangular shapes throughout the compositions.
This hybrid of abstraction and narrative is the essence of the method and in that sense, these paintings become a gateway into abstract painting—an art form inherently rooted in the subconscious. Rather than using that dreamlike state to construct another narrative, I am immersing myself in its uncharted territory.
As I developed the works around the environment of Astoria, situated at the mouth of the Columbia River where it meets the Pacific, the idea of standing at the threshold of an unknown horizon became part of the subject itself. The notion of letting go of the familiar and surrendering to the unknown felt harmonious with the process I was using to make the paintings.
Watercolor became an important part of that process because it inherently exists between order and chaos. My method involves laying down a foundational layer of water before introducing the pigment, which creates an element of unpredictability. There are inevitably areas where the water doesn't reach the paper evenly, producing unforeseen outcomes. This happened in the small work Event, where I accidentally left an area of paper untouched by water. When I introduced the blue, it stopped precisely at the waterline, creating a clean edge—a nearly perfect square roughly a half-inch wide along each side. Rather than correcting the mistake by filling the area with water, I allowed it to remain as a "happy accident." It unintentionally created a connection to the subconscious and gave the work another narrative dimension—one rooted in imagination and perception. I began to see this shape as a visual metaphor for letting go, both in form and content. It became another kind of narrative abstraction: the viewer's instinctive human response to entering an unknown space where there are no physical manifestations other than the shapes that define the sea and sky through our collective visual lens.
In this subconscious state of vulnerability and wonder, the mind begins to fill in the gaps. What we see may be something real—a plane, a kite, a boat, a person swimming—or it may simply be the desire to see something there. This idea was elaborated on in the work titled Figments. The mind creates these manifestations as a way of establishing a sense of place within the unknown.This combination of narrative and abstraction, of conscious and subconscious thought, is at the essence of these works. They tell a story about our inherent need to let go of the familiar in search of new horizons, while remaining tethered to something recognizable—a connection to the world we once knew, whether real or imagined.
Arnold Pander
August 2026
