Renfrew 1983

“Renfrew,” by Albert Irvin, is like a joyful explosion on canvas, a riot of orange, pink, and blues applied in bold, sweeping gestures. I can almost see Irvin dancing around the canvas, brush in hand, as he builds up layers of color and texture. There’s an incredible energy in those marks, like he's wrestling with the paint, coaxing it to do his bidding. What was he thinking as he slashed those diagonals of orange across the canvas, or laid down those stripes of blue, yellow, and pink? The paint itself is so luscious – thick in some places, thin and watery in others, creating this incredible push and pull of surface and depth. Irvin always struck me as being in conversation with the New York School painters like Joan Mitchell and Helen Frankenthaler. Ultimately, “Renfrew” feels like a reminder that painting is a conversation, a back-and-forth between the artist, the materials, and the world. It's a dialogue that continues long after the painting is finished, as we bring our own experiences and perspectives to bear on the work.