Paint thick swirls ascend and twist over the canvas like twisted roots looking for light. A Weiler picture emanates vitality, not sits silently. The strokes are strong, deliberate, almost as though the brush itself harbours resentment. Underneath that hostility, though, is an unusual serenity as if anarchy and order had some silent agreement. See details
Here, color is not used politely. Deep blues crash into powerful reds, while white tones slink through like nervous viewers. No safe middle ground exists; every color struggles for supremacy. Still, that conflict gives the work its pulse. Spend hours staring at it and yet not be able to determine who is winning. Perhaps that is the emphasis here.
Approach closely; texture takes front stage in the display. The paint juts out and begs to be touched; it is not just there. Raised ridges capture the light and angle your head to change the whole attitude. The picture could seem tranquil from one perspective. From another, it humbs with subdued hostility. The picture seems to be reacting to your presence, alive.
Brushwork ranges greatly; some places reveal delicate, languid strokes while others are cut across the canvas with unrepentant power. This contrast seems deliberate, as though two opposed forces were having a conversation. There are moments when the anarchy prevails. There are moments when the softness resists. Your eyes are kept moving by that back-and-forth, looking for perhaps existing patterns.
The beauty has flaws as well. Here a rogue drip, with a rough edge there. they are fingerprints; they are not errors. They remind you that the brush was held humanly by hand. Perfection is monotonous; this rawness gives the work snap. It feels authentic, like listening to a live recording in which the singer misses a note.
Underneath the surface are emotions pulsing. A brief flash of yellow could set off warmth, only to be undermined by a black gloomy stripe. Your attitude will affect the picture; it reflects whatever you bring to it. It makes you strive for answers, not hand them to you. It also occasionally refutes giving them at all.
Weiler paintings never really make sense. They lack politeness. They ask you to search for meaning in the confusion and to sit with discomfort. One day the piece might seem consoling. The next one could seem menacing. The appeal is in part that unpredictability exists. It is not art meant to be silently seen; it calls for attention. And looking away is difficult once you have looked.