The example shown here is where my painting is "of its own kind." I practice several different styles, but this one in particular feels the most natural or authentic. Buildings that are unremarkable, except for their ruin (here and elsewhere, a little leaning), are my preferred subject matter. My palette becomes muted in its saturation, and the contrasts created by light are developed with hue differences, as well as value differences.
And there is a corner in my mind, instructed by my modernist training, that is suspicious of how familiar and comfortable this style is. So, is that suspicion a kind of rigor or merely a monkey on my back?