Weiler paintings are not for the weak of taste. It calls attention and grabs you at the collar. Thick paint slashes over the canvas, strong colors battling for supremacy. Blues collide with Reds, gloomy tones fall into brilliant highlights. Here is primal, forceful, and curiously beautiful—not precise symmetry or polite brushwork. Underneath the surface, you can sense the strain as though the canvas is hardly allowing the pent energy to be expressed. Learn how

A beast unto itself is texture. There are some nearly sculptural in depth sections of the canvas covered in thick layers of paint. Others are translucent and thin, showing traces of what preceded. A pallet knife swipe leaves jagged ridges behind it. Gentle brushwork disappears into sharp scratches. The artwork seems to be striving to find itself in real-time, overlaying both error and moments of clarity both equally.

Motion permeates everything. Recklessly wild brushstrokes cover the canvas, then cease abruptly to leave a jagged edge. Your eye tracks the flow, grabbing on abrupt direction and tone changes. It has a restless quality, as the painting seems to be in motion long after the artist sets down the brush. That sensation of unresolved energy keeps you searching, attempting to decipher the narrative under surface level.

Colors chosen seem natural rather than deliberate. Deep blues next to burned oranges. Bright whites sliced over dirty grays. Though not always beautiful, it works. It is impossible to overlook the kind of tension produced by the collision of colors. And throughout the tumult, somehow trends begin to show up. A black patch seems like a far-off figure. A curving line suggests the brink of a scene. Though the painting opposes simple explanations, your brain strives to make sense of it.

Unquestionably, the piece has great emotional weight. While some strokes slow and deliberate, others are rapid and forceful. You sense the artist working something out, not just painting. Benevolent, angry, joyful, uncertain—all covered under the layers of paint. And the canvas keeps onto those feelings, allowing them to simmer just under the surface. The art strikes so strongly because of that unvarnished honesty.

Longer you stare, the more you begin to see minute elements. A thin paint crack when a heavy layer dried too quickly. A area of color scraped away to expose an earlier form of the work underneath. It seems as though the picture recalls every decision and error it was formed with. Those flaws give the work character rather than diminish it. It sounds like listening to an old song and hearing the record crackle under the tune.

Easy answers are not provided by Weiler painting. It begs you to sit with its bold, unreserved attitude. To give up trying to understand it and just feel it. One day it could remind you of a hurricane; the next of a calm sunset. Where you are in your thoughts determines its significance. That’s the charm of it—each time you look it reflects something different. And for this reason it stays with you long after you have turned away.