Spanierman Gallery: Peter Poskas

Lisa N. Peters

A second exhibition at Spanierman Gallery of the work of Peter Poskas will be opening November 5. The thirty paintings on view—images of the rural farms of Connecticut and the sun-washed coasts of Maine--are quiet worlds that we feel we can enter, due to perspectives that involve us and a subtle, measured, and carefully observed sense of light that expresses the specific moment. Poskas preserves on canvas places that are threatened by development. At the same time, he conveys optimism about the perpetuation of the past by depicting places where structures from a past era have been lovingly maintained—old parts have been repaired rather than ripped out and new ones have been integrated seamlessly with old ones.

One of the striking aspects to me of Poskas’s work is that he seems to find a way of making me aware of the feelings I’ve had in New England and other rural places that I often can’t identify when I’m in these places themselves. For example, Spring Thaw (Cornwall, Connecticut), pictured at right, sums up the feeling of guarded welcome that old New England farmhouses can elicit: there seems self-protectiveness in this somewhat uptight farmhouse set beyond a road, yet the yellow-cornbread light of its walls evokes approachability. In Fog Lifting, Monhegan Harbor, pictured below, the empty beach chairs at the edge of a waterway make me think of how we often see a landscape as both itself and as art—it’s as if the view is not enough in itself, but needs to be observed aesthetically for its beauty to exist. The chairs seem to wait for us. Front Porch, Johnson Farm (Woodbury, Connecticut) features a covered porch that once looked out on a road, but now just oversees trees and a yard. We can enjoy the peace of this spot, but we also feel a sense of loneliness in its isolation—perhaps the settlers of olden times were right in wanting to see who would be passing by. In Prelude to Spring, New Milford, Connecticut, the red rectangular barn against the new snow has a friendly warmth that stirs up the of comfort and stability we receive from seeing that such structures still stand and are in use. They seem to forestall the passage of time we all face.