Strange—the sensation one gets when confronted with mounds of bruised, tumorous flesh, mingled with various forbidden fruits, festering produce, and delicious looking gummy forms. Such is the kind of disorienting cornucopia that Christian Rex van Minnen brings to the table. Gazing into these luscious assortments, we just may feel tempted to reach out and give them a squeeze. Yet, on second thought, perhaps best not, lest we be willing to deal with the kind of tainted residue that won’t wash off easily.
Van Minnen has spent much of his life closely observing obscure details within the natural world, seeing correlations and expressions in places likely deemed trivial by most eyes.
“I have always been a surrealist, finding inexhaustible joy in doodling and watching for things to emerge, natural forms and suggestive physiologies that carry a preternatural emotional content that transcends life itself,” says the California-based artist. Indeed, he seems to take his observations and breathe into them a new dimension of life—one that registers both familiar yet unsettling, existing in another realm altogether. Intuiting intermediary worlds of this kind requires a certain level of psychic engagement and interrelatedness with one’s internal and external environments. “I think nature, tidepools, and Golden Field Guides are foundational. My parents kept my attention on nature at all times, and also gave me language and confidence to listen closely to my heart, to pursue inner knowledge,” he adds.
Van Minnen is very specific about the way he conjures his compositions—it’s a deliberate process, which paradoxically tries to steer clear of deliberation. When in painting mode, he prefers a stream-of-consciousness approach, as in true surrealism, while at the same time using technical devices which ultimately render an eye pleasing picture. It seems to be a delicate balance, of which he further explains, “My definition of surrealism is that it begins with automatic drawing or mark making. The emphasis is placed on physical action and expediency rather than intellect and planning. Maintaining connection to the subconscious in this way is a lifelong practice, not unlike meditation. This is kind of a fundamentalist view of surrealism, and I rarely practice it perfectly. It’s usually some combination of this automatic process and conscious interaction.”
He has perceptively broken this down into “the play between three points: one, intuition; two, counter-intuition creates a binary; and three, perpendicular creates a triangle, the ‘left field’ action, giving three general options in the creative act. My paintings look like a combination of these three.”
Gazing upon his immaculate craft work, we can’t help but wonder from what region of the subconscious his figures (whose features appear smeared and possibly disease ridden) have emerged. Did they drift in from a bad dream, or did they once walk the earthly domain until struck with a severe case of bad luck?
“The distortion of faces assumes a face was distorted, whereas what I am trying to do is make an emotional human connection with a portrait who doesn’t exist, out of marks and familiarity. Those three points come into play. Intuition, in the context of portraiture, is synonymous with pareidolia, an inherent human behavior to sort out facial features in things other than faces, like clouds, rocks, wood, etc. Therefore, the counterintuitive mark is one that resists that intuitive, pareidolian response. All this comes down to brush work. The third point, the perpendicular, is harder to pin down but you know it when you see it [laughs].”
So now that we understand some of the methodology behind his imagery, we are led to another crucial question: What’s with all the gummies? Again, his explanation for this isn’t the nonchalant, candy popping in mouth kind, but a highly analytical one. “I can give a clear account of how that theme came into play. In 2013 I was continuing my experiments in grounds and indirect painting techniques, and more specifically the pros/cons of the Northern Renaissance approach and that of the Italians. Namely Titian, and his use of mid-tone ground as a beginning point, allowing the artist to more easily shift the position of the figure in progress—essentially a technique that allowed for a little more room to change things.”