Gorman Bentley, an artist who specializes in abstract color fields, says his best works are those he created in an unconscious state — a conviction that belies the intimacy of his creative process. The sparse curves and colors of his minimalist paintings stand out against the dim glow of the Hotel Casa 425 lobby in the Claremont Village. His artist residency at the hotel, originally planned to last two-months, has been extended to a full year.
Bentley has lived in Claremont with his husband for 31 years, and his work has been displayed at the Getty Center, the Sasse Museum of Art and currently at the Ahmad Shariff Art Gallery in Claremont. His works tap into the realm of the unseen, which he accesses through a continuous practice of self-attunement. He says each person must determine the meaning of art for themself.
Bentley described his process by referring to a concept articulated by artist Philip Guston, where the artist first enters the studio “with the world.” Over time, “the world leaves the room,” leaving the artist alone. Finally, the “artist leaves the room.”
Bentley always starts by painting a color he consciously chooses, but his process often gradually “becomes unconscious.” A vision of a new color field, a physical form or vivid image in his mind’s eye begins to manifest — a Shiva leg, the descent of Icarus or his journey to queer self-acceptance.
“When I ‘left the room,’ something else took over,” Bentley said of his untitled painting of a Shiva leg. “I’m not saying another dimension painted it, but whatever energy was left when I ‘left the room’ seemed to guide the process.”
While his work may include representable objects, he encourages viewers to approach those objects metaphorically and ask themselves what feelings or thoughts the imagery stirs in them. Bentley strives for the viewer to access the unseen: concepts and energies that transcend the sensory world.
“Since meaning overrides decoration in Gorman’s work, he prioritizes the narrative and emotional resonance over the use of brighter colors,” Ahmad Shariff, his agent and fellow artist, said.
As an art educator at the Norton Simon Museum, Bentley doesn’t like to give pretentious explanations about his works. Instead, he guides the viewer to draw their own meaning from his work. At a Sep. 10 talk held by the Scripps Fine Art Foundation (FAF), he presented to attendees three abstract pieces, all without titles and descriptions.
“We learned that there is no one way to respond to a painting or to any art,” attendee Marty Hartford SC ’68, FAF board member, said. “By actually going through this process three different times with Gorman, we were learning to trust our instincts. Gorman challenged us, and we responded.”
For Bentley, overwrought descriptions of abstract art written by museum curators come at the expense of the viewer committing to interpreting the work for themselves.
“The real risk is that people might dismiss it all, thinking that because we can’t fully sense or know it, it’s not real.”
“The real risk is that people might dismiss it all, thinking that because we can’t fully sense or know it, it’s not real,” Bentley said.
The viewer’s access to the unseen, then, is conditional upon their recognition. Just because a feeling can’t be expressed via appearance, or is immaterial, doesn’t mean it isn’t real. Minimalism’s sparse elements — what Bentley calls “sensory deprivation” — helps the viewer access the unseen. The word “sublime” might describe this intuitive grasp of the unseen.
“If you can [access] that … you’re both blessed and cursed,” Bentley said. “But if you can’t feel it, I’m not rejecting or judging you. We’re just on different planes regarding [a] painting, and we can’t discuss it the same way.”
The power of the mind can strip even the most physically dazzling landscape of its beauty, leaving it devoid of meaning. Bentley, as a child, harnessed that same power as he stared for hours at the barren Dakota cornfields.
“[This feeling from childhood] gave me an opening to my mind, to who I am, and that is essential in everything I’ve ever done,” Bentley said.
He described James Turrell’s Skyspace, displayed at Pomona College, as based on the sublime. One shouldn’t perceive the changes in color of the lights surrounding the square in the center; rather, one’s experience changes with the colors. This is his ultimate goal: for the viewer to notice a change in their own being, which can only happen when they stop perceiving the painting in its material reality. In achieving this, the viewer “controls [their] mind” — which, he notes, is what meditation achieves.
“When [Bentley] speaks about [art], it is like he is singing,” Hartford said.
Bentley mentioned a gray field painting by his mantel. What began as a detailed piece with a bottle of alcohol, figures and a lone man evolved into a nearly all-gray canvas.
“Underneath that painting is the abuse I suffered as a child, the shame and alienation I felt as a queer boy in redneck farm country in the Dakotas and the rejection I faced from my parents,” Bentley said. “All of that is [still] in that color field.”
For Bentley, experiences transcend their contexts.
“Sitting there alone on [a] beach in Puerto Vallarta, feeling the salt mist — it was like a cornfield, a sublime beauty and feeling that hurts,” Bentley said. “And when you look at my gray paintings, that’s what’s there for me — maybe for someone else too.”
Correction: A previous version of this article incorrectly stated that Bentley has lived in Claremont with his husband for 65 years. It has been updated to reflect that they have lived there for 31 years.
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