His visual fields impinge the eye as gestural flashes, as interior crystal convening and breaking apart, astral-like, constantly re-forming into astonishing combinations. Each of Baker’s works adumbrate as sigils. In this sense they exist as a kind of visual contagion weaving and susurrating amongst themselves via dazzling visual grammar. When viewing them one thinks of the denouement that springs from puzzling mathematical stanzas. They are nothing less than intriguing diagrams of brilliance not unlike arcane principles of carbon. Certainly one is not entrapped by an exoteric optical method.
As one enters their present housing (the Oeno Vino complex in the Atwater district of Los Angeles) one is initially greeted by a stunning array of planetary wines and spirits gathered from a complexity of locales. After striding across this utopia of spirits one then leaves its array to descend a flight of stairs to the gallery below where Baker’s works burst forth. It is entry to a susurrant grotto where his creations magically summon the viewer from a vast electrical realm. Common cognition is subsumed by his visual grammar soaked through by telepathy. The salon style hanging (not unlike the Barnes collection in Philadelphia) proves wise in that it helps the works gain strength from one another invoking in the viewer a state of presence thereby enabling a sense of duration. A charisma of rhythm transpires allowing a trenchant respiration between works in colour and those rendered in black and white. Smaller works in graphite function as equals with the larger one’s rendered in larger scale. Thus, the eyes transmute via preternatural elixr. Exoteric achievement via ceases to exist in this circumstance. The exoteric in this circumstance being equal to turgid or clannish register. Because Baker ignites at such a high level of proliferation the energy he spawns transmutes his interior gift to such an extent that it spontaneously transcends quotidian obstacle. Field after field enunciate themselves in spontaneous colour or line thereby narrating splendiferous alchemical motion. Baker’s hand, seismic, unscripted, living thriving inside incandescent irradiation,not unlike the aleatoric hieroglyphics which have come down to us, say, via Matta, Camacho, or Soutine. They carry an inalienable power trenchant with interior clarity. To experience his Estranged Galactic Vigil, or his Bla de Pinto de Blue challenge’s the viewer’s comfort level by creating a need to question chronic optical habituation. Such questioning functions as nothing less than unexpected spur along the way to self-initiation.
His continuum swarms and at the same instant exudes trenchant stamina. A stamina containing a vitriolic oxygen which instantly translates to vision. And this vision being none other than a clairvoyance that smoulders via internal current. This being a visual genetics that I’ll call interior rhythmos. When viewing these works I felt subsumed by an oasis of perpetual aura as if I were a pilgrim casting his gaze across a beautiful innominate vista. And because the innominate pulses so strongly these works remain far in advance of the claimed spoils of the cognitive personality. They do not negotiate with the sterile deployment of the marketplace in mind. Instead we are carried over into a realm where history ceases to apply. The latter being espied as a fetid ancillary manger trenchantly in-starred by regression. Since none of these works are codified by dating there exists no allusion to the weight of entropy or the coffin. Here the super-imposed calendar fails to transpire in the sense that he forms kinship with aboriginal draughtsmen found in Australia and New Guinea. Thus the technocracy fueled by exterior proof can gain no footing at such an un-shadowed level. The work gives us inkling of the 4 plus billion years that preceeded humanity on Earth. I am thinking of the impact craters, of the million year rains that filled the ocean basins. This is the Earth, not The War of The Roses, or the curious derangement of someone such as the composer Gesauldo or Henry the VIIIth with his protracted imbalance. Baker reminds us that we exist at the behest of forces that preceded Earth itself. Humanity remains a collective receptacle of non-human forces. It seems these forces predominate to such an extent that he spontaneously understands that the body is subsumed by what is understood to be the soul, and not the reverse of the body being in advance of the soul. It is the former view that gains traction in these works thereby allowing them convergence with energies normally eclipsed by daily ordination.
Being energized fields they elict something other than mortal futility, something other than transmigration across superficial psychic opaqueness. Upon entering the gallery one senses a rhythm suffused with interior peregrination, a peregrination at dialectical remove from journey’s, of say, Desoto crossing the Mississippi, or perhaps the projected colonization of one of the nearby asteroids. One never senses a tenor fraught with need for acquistion and triumph. As for the typical concerns of fame and profit they cease to inhere as any form of concern. There exists no City of God to which they aspire,instead they are fueled by the principle of non-capture.
These are works are bodiless brimming with an otherness that seems to speed towards alchemic horizons. As has been stated, all ancillary approval has been transcended. Just as lions breathe they seek no outside approval condoning their ability to breathe.
At the risk of seeming to prosecute the didactic. I urge any interested party to go and see these works (hanging indefinitely) and witness their power at the juncture of the spectacular and the limitless.