Several years ago, oil paint became a problem for the artist. She uses a range of local color thrown together inclusively, with a seeming desire to balance hues without favoring one over another. Weyer treats the paint as something sacred yet completely subject to destruction. ![]() She makes decisions to scrape things off-removing passages of paint and putting them on elsewhere. Work is evidenced and appears of equal importance as any more heroic gesture. ![]() ![]() Color is layered with wide brushes in deliberate up and down motions that conjure a task like fence painting or wall plastering. She might begin a painting with sketched out shapes or sweeping lines covering the canvas, as though trying to pin down a wobbly horizon or flesh out atmosphere in the middle distance. Through a series of repeated gestures and material experiments, Weyer works with a clear-headed intention to let shit hit the fan.
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