Jarrod Becker (jabart)
Field Painting 1
Oil, acrylic, and marker on canvas,
24in x 24in
I love the theatricality of painting existing as an action or happening in a real moment time but re-enacted or pretended in a visual from something taken from a true thought or reality – dramatic representation as an art or profession.
I love the messiness and wildness of making art and the perfectness found in imperfection. Through expressive strokes and intentional chaos, I aim to capture the raw, untamed aspects of human spirit. Using a plethora of mixed media found in my studio at hands reach, I try to build richly layered works that invite tactile and emotional engagement. “Precision often destroys the dream” - Gauguin
Jarrod Becker (jabart)
Field Painting 2
Oil, acrylic, and marker on canvas,
24in x 24in
My art is a celebration of imperfection, an ongoing exploration of the balance between chaos and harmony, and a testament to the quiet resilience embedded in everyday life.
“I like energy to come from my work while also containing an easy going carefree kind of attitude stemming from the boldness and confidence of the strokes. And yet that ‘wildness’ is also carefully tamed and encapsulated by a compelling sense of compositional strength.”
Jordan Hackworth
What Remains After the Burn
Paint on Wood,
16in x 20in
Leaving your hometown is one of those experiences everyone talks about like it’s some kind of spiritual exfoliation. People say you “grow,” or you “start over,” or you “find yourself,” as if identity is a thing you misplaced behind the couch. But the truth is simpler and stranger: leaving feels like burning down a version of your life just to see what walks out of the smoke.
In mythology, that creature is a phoenix, fine, whatever. But that’s always felt too tidy. Too self-aware. If anything, the thing that survives the blaze looks more like an eagle: not a symbol of patriotic chest-thumping, but the weirdly durable American instinct to stay connected to the people who understand you in ways you don’t fully understand yourself. The eagle is the messenger bird you didn’t know you needed. It’s the friend who still knows your drink order at Larry’s even after you swear you’ve changed.
This artwork imagines that shift, the moment when the old version of you gets torched, but something leaner, sharper, and unexpectedly sincere lifts off anyway. It’s about the way a place sticks to you even when you leave it behind, how your past doesn’t vanish so much as it follows you at a higher altitude. The eagle rises because something has to. And what it carries is everything you thought you’d escaped, reframed as the thing that keeps you tethered to home.