Paint thick swirls dance over the surface, clashing and mixing in almost unintentional patterns. Still, they are not With every stroke, a Weiler painting demands attention. Just the texture will make you want to reach out and touch it—though you most certainly shouldn’t. Light plays tricks on the surface that causes the colors to change depending on your viewpoint. The painting seems to be alive, adjusting its mood with the surroundings. Discover here

Often surprising are the color pairings. Cool blues smashed into reds, scorching. Sharp black penetrating through subdued colors. It is a visual dialogue between anarchy and control. Certain strokes are angry—that is, forceful and sudden. Some are more laid back and glide with almost liquid gentleness. It is difficult to turn away from that mix between aggressiveness and tranquility.

One does not have a passive experience standing before a Weiler picture. Your eyes sweep from one side to another, attempting to match the brushstroke rhythm. Suddenly you find yourself lost in a whirl of gloomy tones. The next provides a spot for breathing—a delicate patch of pale yellow. Though it seems as though the canvas is fighting with itself, the tension nevertheless brings about harmony.

The flaws add to the appeal. A smudge with a brush slip-off. a rough edge with unequal drying of the paint. These eccentricities give the work character; they do not diminish its quality. The artist’s hand is hesitating, second-guessing, then diving in with fresh confidence nearly visible. That personal touch gives the painting life.

A great part is played by texture. The paint is piled, developed in valleys and peaks, not merely sitting on the canvas. Under some light, the ridges create shadows that give still more dimension. It is about your feelings as much as what you observe. It is difficult to overlook the tactile presence the paint generates from its thickness.

Every item radiates emotion. Though that’s the purpose, it’s not always obvious what the artist was aiming at. You give it significance of your own. One day a splash of blue could be soothing; the following day it could be suffocating. A red stripe could bring back memories of either love or rage. That uncertainty drives you back repeatedly. The artwork represents you just as much as it does the artist.

Weiler paintings dare you to make meaning of them, not try to tell you a story. The brushwork strikes me as planned but careless. Though they clash, the colors achieve harmony somehow. That is art that defies silence on a wall. It drags you into its anarchy and leaves you cleaning the fallout. To be honest, that is the best sort of art.