Why Do We Obsess Over Capturing Water in Art? A Philosophical Dive Into 'Refractions'
Imagine trying to hold a wave in your hands. By the time you grasp its shape, it’s already dissolved into memory. This paradox lies at the heart of Refractions, the Evanston exhibition where Lynne Miller Jones’ paintings and Stephen Guenther’s photographs wage a silent duel with water’s elusive essence. But here’s the twist: their work isn’t just about water—it’s a mirror for our human obsession with freezing the unfreezable, a tension that reveals more about us than the subject itself.
The Paradox of Capturing Fluidity
Let’s address the elephant in the gallery: Why water? It’s the ultimate trickster medium. It reflects, distorts, moves, and changes with light—everything a visual artist shouldn’t crave if they want control. Yet Jones and Guenther dive headfirst into this chaos. Jones’ paintings, which flirt with abstraction up close yet snap into hyperrealism from afar, feel like a rebellion against categorization. Guenther’s photographs, meticulously timed to trap liquid motion mid-somersault, border on mathematical precision. Their shared theme isn’t water—it’s the audacity to wrestle with impermanence using tools as stubborn as brushes and lenses.
What fascinates me here is the subconscious metaphor. In an age of algorithmic certainty and AI-generated ‘art,’ these artists double down on the messy, embodied act of observation. Jones zooms into a ‘quarter-inch’ of a photo to find her truth, while Guenther wades into Bahamian tides, stepping into literal and metaphorical holes. Their process feels almost spiritual—a rejection of the instant gratification of digital filters in favor of slow, vulnerable engagement.
Why This Collaboration Works (And Most Don’t)
Ross Martens, the gallery owner, calls the synergy between photography and painting ‘unusual.’ But let’s unpack that. Most mixed-media shows feel like awkward speed dates—viewers forced to squint for connections. Here, the magic isn’t just technical overlap (light refraction, compositional echoes) but a shared philosophy of attention. Jones’ paintings aren’t just interpretations of water; they’re odes to Guenther’s photographic gaze, and vice versa. The exhibition becomes a conversation where each medium amplifies the other’s voice—a rarity in an art world obsessed with solitary genius.
This raises a deeper question: Have we underestimated the power of collaborative focus? Too often, group shows are curatorial checklists—‘here’s a landscape, here’s a portrait.’ But Refractions proves that constraint breeds revelation. By narrowing their obsession to a single subject, these artists unlock universal truths about perception itself.
The Midlife Renaissance: Art as Evolution
Both artists arrived at water through circuitous routes—Jones via nursing, Guenther through decades in commercial design. Their non-linear paths aren’t footnotes; they’re the point. Jones returning to art in her 40s and now pursuing an MFA at 50+ isn’t just inspirational—it’s a rebuke to the myth that creativity peaks early. Her husband’s quote about her ‘evolving’ feels almost too on-brand, but here’s the kicker: Her evolution isn’t about improvement but surrender. She’s chasing knowledge she ‘doesn’t know yet,’ a mindset that mirrors water’s refusal to be pinned down.
Guenther’s 50-year photographic journey, meanwhile, suggests that mastery isn’t a destination but a rhythm. He speaks of entering a flow state where ‘everything else disappears’—a description that could apply to the water itself. There’s irony here: The artist becomes the medium, their process echoing their subject’s liquidity.
What This Says About Us
Martens notes water’s ‘universal’ appeal, but I’d argue our fascination is culturally specific. In an era of climate anxiety and virtual overload, water represents both fragility and escape. Jones’ and Guenther’s work taps into a collective yearning to reconnect with elemental simplicity—a counterbalance to our hyperconnected lives. Their art isn’t just ‘nice to look at’; it’s a pressure valve.
Yet there’s a risk in romanticizing nature. Do viewers walk away with deeper ecological awareness, or just aesthetic satisfaction? The artists’ own words—‘slow down,’ ‘observe’—hint at a subtle activism. By making us look harder at ripples and light, they train our gaze to notice subtler shifts: rising tides, vanishing coastlines, the slow poisoning of what they so lovingly depict.
Final Reflection: The Wave We’re All Riding
Refractions succeeds not because it answers questions about water, but because it weaponizes the medium to interrogate how we see—and why we create. Jones and Guenther aren’t just documenting waves; they’re inviting us to surf the edge between control and surrender, reality and abstraction, permanence and ephemerality. Their exhibition runs through September 26, but its real deadline is existential: When will we stop consuming art as decoration and start using it as a lens to re-see the world? The next time you pass a puddle, a lake, or a glass of ice water, ask yourself: Are you looking—or really seeing? The answer might shape how we navigate not just art, but the tides of our own lives.
