Art of darkness

About 20 years ago, the Hamilton artist graduated from the Ontario College of Art and Design.

“But it wasn’t until 2011 — ironically when my first child was born — that I figured out how to get a studio and integrate a consistent art practice into my life,” she tells me. “I have been exhibiting ever since. The path to being an artist isn’t always linear.”

Neil’s recent oil paintings, on canvas and Mylar, are on display in “Flickering Lights” at You Me gallery. The series originated in a specific time and place.

“I like to explore a distinct landscape in each body of work I make. Most of the works in this show are based on imagery from a place in the Annapolis Valley, Nova Scotia, overlooking the Minas Basin,” she says.

“In the summer of 2022, I stayed with my family  in a little cabin perched on a clifftop overlooking the mud flats below. It was incredible to stand out there at night with a sea of stars above and the tide quietly creeping in or out.

“I brought my tripod on that trip because I knew I wanted to take photos of the stars. But I also became interested in the light in general and the shadowy forms found in the surrounding vegetation.”

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• Dec 31, 1969
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• Dec 31, 1969
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In “Minas Basin I,” one of her larger landscapes on Mylar, Neil paints the land caught between daylight and darkness. She offers a slow and seemingly calm entry using pinks and reds. On the left foreground, part of a plant with pink flowers breaks into the composition and leads to a horizontal stretch of water painted wine-red. And that anticipates, yet barely prepares, for the dynamic pink sky filled with huge swirls of clouds that dominates the composition.

“My paintings always start with a photo,” Neil says. “If I find a place interesting I will take tons of pictures knowing that they might become source material for paintings. However, once I begin the painting process I don’t worry too much about being overly faithful to the original image. It’s important that the painting becomes something different than the photo and has a life of its own.”

Bursts of light, whether naturally or artificially sourced, are essential to Neil’s nocturnal landscapes. Light adds a sense of drama, movement and imminent change.

In “Janus,” for instance, a big oil on canvas, Neil adds a flash of light to a dark landscape of trees and sky. Vegetation in the foreground, painted in strong green, yellow and orange marks, recalls the flash of a camera. Since this light is momentary, the darkness that surrounds it threatens to eclipse it. And small pale dots in the sky might stand for stars and, maybe, satellites, all of which are in transition.

A similar momentary burst of bright light illuminates the grassy foreground of “Green Fire (we are the flickering lights),” one of Neil’s small oils on Mylar.

In “Blue Memory (we are the flickering lights),” another small landscape on Mylar, Neil opts for less dramatic lights. The land moves upward in varied horizontals starting with the almost calligraphic brush strokes of weeds and grasses that partly obscure the body of water above them. Tiny pale strokes and dots in the distant hills suggest light that shines and fades.

“The hardest part of making a painting is knowing when to stop,” she says. “You have to resist the urge to make things perfect.”