Steve Seinberg is one of a trio of artists currently on display here. His work is engaging in somewhat the same manner that Asian calligraphy is engaging. In other words: I don’t know precisely what’s being conveyed in a literal sense, yet I’m inexorably drawn to it. The analogy proves more apt the more one begins to limn the “meaning” of engagement with his piece “Waiting, 2009.” It’s a soft wash of a work composed of oil and graphite. It’s executed in muted whites and grays into which Seinberg has incorporated some indecipherable words. It’s language for which there is no direct conveyance of meaning apart from the appellation, “Waiting.” It drips with smeared gray that seems less “angsty” than Zen-like in import. This painting speaks — but you have to be willing to meet it more than halfway. “Waiting” is quietly lovely and well worth the stroll required to establish a relationship with the painting. It’s cryptic. But it has a movement that calls you, even if momentarily, into the hushed repose that seems implacably synonymous with Seinberg’s opus.
