 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
PJ Cobbs I’m always searching for a soft place to land—in my personal life, in my work as a travel writer, and in my paintings on silk. The feel of the fiber—whether textured and rough, or smooth as silk charmeuse—has always drawn me, to wear it, to create with it. As a painter, I am drawn fully into the work: the feel of the silk, and the depth of color it achieves, pull me in. It is a sensuous, optimistic, elegant, and yielding fabric that although appearing delicate, has a strength and a transparency that is enhanced by the color that it readily soaks up: the color added to silk is not diluted, and remains true. Only the vagaries of time and light can destroy it. Yet through the truthful nature of silk, with my paintings I can always lie, whether to myself, or the viewer. When I am down, I can create a wall-hanging featuring a self-portrait taken on an exotic vacation—whether with the Cote D’Azur’s Baie de Pampelonne glistening in the background, or frolicking naked on a deserted island off St. Croix--and make the exuberance of that instant last forever. The photos of people I meet and turn into paintings become my friends, regardless of how long I’ve known them. Only the expressions on their faces inform the viewer who they really are, and how they relate to me. While I am always searching for comfort, the reality of trying to capture it on the silk is an arduous, sometimes uncomfortable, endeavor. It takes many intricate, sometimes emotionally draining steps, sometimes with unpredictable results. And yet it’s that very unpredictability that makes me strive on and fall in love with the results. –PJ Cobbs
Buck Island |
