Bonegardian Composition - No. 2 of 6; oil on canvas; 24" x 48".

When it comes to viewing a particular work of art, no two humans see the same thing. The same goes for what happens when the same individual views the same artwork on different occasions. This observation takes no consideration for the effect of ambience or the space where the artwork is featured. It also gives no reverence to the role the mind plays in the overall interpretation of an art piece.

With the retinal interpretation of art open to so much variations, one can only imagine the amount of visual transformation that takes place along the pathway that connects a retinal signal to the cerebral cortex. No wonder, a particular piece of art never ceases to play tricks on me.

The birth of these six pieces of artwork was the result of the versions of images that I continue to see after repeatedly viewing a near century-old, miniature piece of artwork. Not the original, as the $2 million dollar-piece is securely tucked away by the current owner, whoever that is.

Determined to further test out the hypothesis, I chose to create an inspired larger, inexact version, in Bonegard Laboratory. In doing so, I let my eyes dissociate from the occulo-cerbral pathway, but instead, opt for the dexterity of my hands, a trio of paintbrushes, a protractor, a measure rule, and a ton of oil paint.

In this post, with one of the six pieces revealed, I now consider the work complete. Knowing fully well that the completeness of a work of art is the prerogative of the observer, I finally chose to leave the pieces as they are, short of minimal touch-ups.

In this final state, the core of whiteness on earlier images were diluted to reveal the overall effect that each painting is meant to portray. In 'Bonegard Parlance' this process is described as 'Bonegard Shadowing'.

With six versions of the same painting, I hope my eyes will stop playing tricks on me.

Bonegardian Composition - No. 6 of 6; oil on canvas; 24" x 48".

When it comes to viewing a particular work of art, no two humans see the same thing. The same goes for what happens when the same individual views the same artwork on different occasions. This observation takes no consideration for the effect of ambience or the space where the artwork is featured. It also gives no reverence to the role the mind plays in the overall interpretation of an art piece.

With the retinal interpretation of art open to so much variations, one can only imagine the amount of visual transformation that takes place along the pathway that connects a retinal signal to the cerebral cortex. No wonder, a particular piece of art never ceases to play tricks on me.

The birth of these six pieces of artwork was the result of the versions of images that I continue to see after repeatedly viewing a near century-old, miniature piece of artwork. Not the original, as the $2 million dollar-piece is securely tucked away by the current owner, whoever that is.

Determined to further test out the hypothesis, I chose to create an inspired larger, inexact version, in Bonegard Laboratory. In doing so, I let my eyes dissociate from the occulo-cerbral pathway, but instead, opt for the dexterity of my hands, a trio of paintbrushes, a protractor, a measure rule, and a ton of oil paint.

In this post, with one of the six pieces revealed, I now consider the work complete. Knowing fully well that the completeness of a work of art is the prerogative of the observer, I finally chose to leave the pieces as they are, short of minimal touch-ups.

In this final state, the core of whiteness on earlier images were diluted to reveal the overall effect that each painting is meant to portray. In 'Bonegard Parlance' this process is described as 'Bonegard Shadowing'.

With six versions of the same painting, I hope my eyes will stop playing tricks on me.

Bonegardian Composition - No. 6 of 6; oil on canvas; 24" x 48".

When it comes to viewing a particular work of art, no two humans see the same thing. The same goes for what happens when the same individual views the same artwork on different occasions. This observation takes no consideration for the effect of ambience or the space where the artwork is featured. It also gives no reverence to the role the mind plays in the overall interpretation of an art piece.

With the retinal interpretation of art open to so much variations, one can only imagine the amount of visual transformation that takes place along the pathway that connects a retinal signal to the cerebral cortex. No wonder, a particular piece of art never ceases to play tricks on me.

The birth of these six pieces of artwork was the result of the versions of images that I continue to see after repeatedly viewing a near century-old, miniature piece of artwork. Not the original, as the $2 million dollar-piece is securely tucked away by the current owner, whoever that is.

Determined to further test out the hypothesis, I chose to create an inspired larger, inexact version, in Bonegard Laboratory. In doing so, I let my eyes dissociate from the occulo-cerbral pathway, but instead, opt for the dexterity of my hands, a trio of paintbrushes, a protractor, a measure rule, and a ton of oil paint.

In this post, with one of the six pieces revealed, I now consider the work complete. Knowing fully well that the completeness of a work of art is the prerogative of the observer, I finally chose to leave the pieces as they are, short of minimal touch-ups.

In this final state, the core of whiteness on earlier images were diluted to reveal the overall effect that each painting is meant to portray. In 'Bonegard Parlance' this process is described as 'Bonegard Shadowing'.

With six versions of the same painting, I hope my eyes will stop playing tricks on me.