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Please visit my website at andy-frost.com
Andy Frost is a professional artist and writer with studios in New Hampshire and Massachusetts. He studied at Boston College and at the University of Oregon with Jan Zach, Allison Macomber, Ralph Salisbury and, less formally, Ken Kesey. His work has been exhibited in group shows in Lawrence and Provincetown, Massachusetts. His writing has been published in The Tequila Review and Boston Arts.
My art grew from the satisfaction I found working with my hands and the shear joy of creating that began when I was a young boy watching my father and two grandfathers work as carpenters and masons. My efforts were encouraged at home. I was given oil paints. I explored art books in the library. I discovered clay. I bought a kiln. My neighbor was a photographer and I bought my first SLR from him. I built a darkroom in my parents’ house. I started working young and used the money to buy supplies. I was fascinated with all things artistic.
My art is like a destination for the engine of my imagination. It is a place where I can safely explore and interpret the world around me and within me. My art is also a response to the materials that I work with. I have a trusting dialogue with my materials, whether bought, built or found. Lately I have been exploring the use of everyday cardboard as a painting surface. And I have been stitching them together, a bit like a fabric quilt, and that construction (I call them montages) gives them a unique texture and dimension unavailable on a traditional canvas.
The figures I paint are a response to the pleasure I get from music, dance and theater and reflect the energy and whimsy that music, dance and theater performances offer. My first dancers were drawn and sculpted as an interpretation of photographs I saw of Twyla Tharp. Now my dancers and musicians come straight from my imagination or they emerge from the active process of painting.
Some of my work is informed by today’s uncertainties. Other work is simply reflective. Regardless of the subject of the art, regardless of the motivation, the desire is to create a visual experience that is interesting and meaningful.
Sometimes a painting is finished quite effortlessly. Others take time, needing to be solved. I hang those on the studio wall for sometimes months and we have a silent dialogue. Well, sometimes it is a lively and not so silent monologue that I have. I wait and listen for the painting to speak to me in its own language. I am always trying to see and hear what the painting is saying to me, what it is allowing me to discover within it. And I have to sit quietly with it and wait and eventually it will speak.
“Here, look here. You can find me here. Listen, I have something to say . . . over here.”