Vibrantly colorful, large scale paintings by artist Nicholas Tredway immerse the viewer in a world of shifting shapes, contrasting colors and optical illusions. See more of his amazing work by visiting his website.
I am Nicholas Tredway, an artist in downtown Los Angeles, trying to make my mark in a sea of marks. I want my art to have a voice through color, a voice through form, one through composition, and another through tone.
I want all of these voices to work in harmony and balance to create an image that cannot be mistaken for the work of another artist.
Wall power is a driving force in my work. I strive to make art that demands your attention when entering a room, not something that hides itself as a benign cog-in-the-wheel of interior decorating. I want to make huge paintings that occupy an entire gallery wall.
I’m told my color choices and combinations are bold and I attribute that partially to being color blind. Often times I have to trust the name of the color on the tube or the number of the gray, rather than the look when mixing it.
Dark yellow quickly becomes green and dark orange becomes brown if I don’t remind myself of the color names while working. Grays become tan, light yellow and even pink depending on the contrast scenario.
This means I focus on my work harder and on the colors I’m using constantly. I look at my color blindness as a strength that sets me apart, not a handicap.
Influences are all over the place: Atari graphics, the Legend of Zelda on Nintendo, Star Wars, Pink Floyd’s The Wall, commercial manufacturing, Legos, weapons of the Cold War, gray skies, featureless architecture, the suburbs. The list could go on forever.
All my paintings are sad, all of them. Art makes me sad. It makes me sad in the best way. I like to listen to old country songs when I paint. Beach Boys songs about loss and depression let my mind go on adventures, like reliving every moment of past relationships to the current state of things and my place in it. This doesn’t mean I am sad, although sometimes I am.
I want to someday be a young painter’s hero. I want them to tell me how important my art is to them. I want to hear the things I would tell Jean-Michel and Al Held if I could.
When I see art that moves me it, vibrates and emits an audible hum like an overhead fluorescent light in a dead silent room. Van Gogh hums. Basquiat hums. Rothko hums. Pollock hums. David Hockney hums. Al Held hums. Maybe someday, my work will hum too.