Michael Stamm
As a painter I try to speak plainly, though not necessarily
autobiographically, about my encounters with the things most
intimate to me. I attempt to depict how the simplicity of things
touching, both literally and figuratively, belies a complex and
deeply felt yearning to connect to and understand the exterior
world and its constellation of inscrutable objects and principles.
Arrays of hands and bodies, limbs and stalks, contorted in
expressive but unintelligible ways, enact on a personal scale the
herculean effort we exert—physically, existentially, emotionally—
to mediate and communicate our own desires and selves in the
face of such a world. And often, ever drawn toward all things
that simultaneously elicit my deepest affection while remaining
at the perimeter of my grasp and comprehension, I elect to paint
portraits of cats, flowers, artfully decorated fingernails. My
tendency toward narrative permits these indulgences, cherishing
those minor, quotidian things that nonetheless channel our most
utterly sentimental and complex energies.