 "Where To?" (2026 No.6), oil on canvas, 51¾x 38 inches, 2026  "Notification" (2026 No. 5), oil on canvas, 46⅝x57⅛ inches, 2026  "Where To?" (in process), oil on canvas, 51¾x 38 inches, 2026  "Notification" (in process), oil on canvas, 46⅝x57⅛ inches, 2026  "Another Orange Man" (2026 No.4), oil on canvas, 38x37¼ inches  "Embarrassed White Collar Guy" (2026 No.3), oil on canvas, 38¼x37¾ inches Tomorrow I'll update this recent work with a comment and more.
 "Pinkie" (2026 No.2), oil, acrylic. markers on canvas, 38⅛x51⅝ inches, 2026 I want to paint with gusto. I want the brushstrokes to be quick, the energy to be raw, and the canvas to be finished while the adrenaline is still pumping. But my latest piece had absolutely no interest in my need for speed.
It took me three full months of meticulous, sometimes maddening precision to get this painting to look the way it does right now. And honestly? It was a total nightmare—but it was entirely worth it. Here is a quick take on the painting I show you today: The composition centers on a naked woman, her form cut off just below the breasts, which rest gently against the cold, rigid edge of a geometric hexagonal slab. Beneath her, looming in the shadows, is a man looking up. She is reaching across the canvas in a dramatic stretch, her small hand locking onto the massive pinky finger of a giant blue hand that sweeps over her head. There is an intentional tenderness in her grip—reminiscent of a baby instinctively grasping its mother’s smallest finger. It speaks to vulnerability, trust, and a desperate need for connection, mirrored by the raw exposure of her body to the hexagonal slab. But look closer at the hand she is holding onto. Wedged between that pinky and the next finger up is a large, succulent, perfectly rendered red cherry. By contrast, this giant, obviously masculine hand is gently caressing this fruit, introducing a heavy, complex layer of adult sensuality and tension into the scene. I wanted to set up these contrary dynamics—the innocent and the erotic, the rigid geometry of the slab and the soft vulnerability of flesh, the protective and the seductive—and let them battle it out on the canvas. It’s why getting the precision right was so vital. If the scale of that cherry, the curve of her torso against the hexagon, or the exact tension of her grip was off by even a millimeter, the whole psychological house of cards would fall apart.  "Current Events" (2026, No.1), oil, acrylic, and marker on canvas, 47¾x37¾ inches This is a quick post to show you the most important thing I have been doing since my last post. Rather than write a lot about this painting, here is a 1000 character "Brief Artist Statement" I used when submitting this paint to a juried show.
Brief Artist Statement My artistic focus is a "conversation across time," rooted in the lineage of American Abstraction while embracing the evolution of representation. During my two-year MFA mentorship under Philip Guston, I adopted his belief that the formal qualities of abstraction are essential to the "funky forms" of figurative reality. My practice is an investigation of the primal imagination—a dreamlike synthesis of joy, trauma, and the fluid nature of absolute truth. Like Rothko, I view the choice between styles as secondary to the act of "ending silence." The submitted work functions as a bridge between Modern Shifts and Current Perspectives. It utilizes the "gushy" materiality of the New York School to depict the objects and people of 2026. Informed by a life-long dialogue with influences ranging from Picasso and Gorky to Fischl and Basquiat, these pieces demonstrate how the American creative spirit remains continuous—a constant, enlightened attempt to perceive an ever-shifting reality.  Drawing 01·22·026, pencil on paper, 20x16 inched  Drawing 12·06·2025, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches I’m sharing two drawings I recently completed. I usually turn to drawing when I feel a bit of confusion or need some distance from my current paintings. To me, these pieces don't possess the emotional or intellectual weight of my recent canvases—some of which have been in progress for over 50 days—but they are vital to my process nonetheless.
While my paintings are where I truly excavate my personal "content," these drawings are where I develop my language. They are worthwhile because they act as a form of instruction. Through them, I can experiment with composition and marks more quickly than I can on canvas. They teach me how to speak visually, providing a shorthand that will eventually inform my paintings and future drawings. The reason my paintings take so long is the slow, deliberate discovery of their meaning. Drawing is an act of quick acceptance—I commit to the language and content in a space of a day or two, unlike my paintings which form slowly, over a month or two. However, the speed of my drawing has its limits:
Three canvases, three months, and a hard-won knowing:I have not been idle, nor have I been away. Silence is not absence; it is often the sound of deep work. Since November, I have been in the thick of it, wrestling with three canvases that refused to come easily. I have spent these months interrogating the 'punch' and depth of my art, arriving at a hard-won realization: as we age, art can no longer be a rehearsal. It must be a testament. These paintings demanded more than just technique; they demanded an accounting of my own mortality. Acknowledging that life has a horizon which constantly draws closer, the urge to 'get down to business' has become a spiritual mandate. This work represents a shift—not a change in who I am, but an acceptance of it. I have stopped trying to paint what is expected and started painting the 'knowing'—that raw intersection of instinct and experience that makes us human. I’ve found that the deeper I dive into my own solitude, the closer I get to the collective heart of everyone who lives a reflective life. By singing with my own unique voice, I hope to echo yours. We are here to help each other through this beautiful, sometimes terrifying, and limited existence. This is my contribution to that shared journey—a way of reaching out a hand in the dark.  "Gravity and Devotion", oil, acrylic. markers on canvas, 38x49¾ inches, 2025 - 2026  "The Love of Mirrors", oil, acrylic. markers on canvas, 43x57½ inches, 2025 - 2026  "The Genesis of Love", oil, acrylic. markers on canvas, 56x45 inches, 2025 - 2026  Drawing 11·07·2025, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches  Drawing 10·23·2025, pencil on paper, 16x20 inches The Relentless Quest: Drawing My Way to Understanding
For me, drawing is rarely a moment of clear-sighted intention. More often than not, it begins in a space of confusion. I don't walk into the studio knowing exactly what story I want to tell or what image I need to create—and frankly, I wish it were easier. My image-making is characterized by a deep and often uncomfortable uncertainty. But this is where the drawings take over. They are not merely pictures; they are a relentless search tool, giving me small, invaluable pieces of information about myself. While the beginning is murky, the act of drawing itself brings moments of profound clarity. If you look at the two images above, you see this internal process playing out. The first drawing is filled with robust, less atmospheric forms. It speaks directly to my constant struggle with relationships—not just how they function in the world, but specifically how I fit into them. I’m constantly seeking to clarify those relational dynamics, and this drawing is the visual output of those unanswered questions. The second drawing shifts gears entirely. It’s a spontaneous burst of activity, a complex world full of simultaneous action. Here, I see myself trying to navigate and fit into the sheer confusion of multiple things happening at once. Ultimately, both of these images are simply a search for myself. They illustrate the central problem I face: I want to create images and tell stories that genuinely relate to my inner self, but I never seem to know how to begin that process confidently. Drawing, then, is my necessary means to self-discovery. My hope is that, by continually pushing through this struggle, I will eventually understand myself well enough that I can walk into the studio and start painting and drawing with confidence. Because I have no confidence that will happen, I will keep drawing, line by uncertain line, in search of the self I have yet to fully know. |
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At MEHRBACH.com you may view many of my paintings and drawings, past and present, and see details about my life and work. Archives
July 2026
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