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The Last Island - oil on canvas 24 x 48 inches.jpg

ISLANDS

(three worlds)

 

The series moves between worlds. The oceanic paintings look outward: a single mangrove island in a turquoise Caribbean Sea, a volcanic peak in the Marquesas under a storm-lit sky, a scarlet-canopied atoll burning against a sunset gradient, islands glimpsed at moonrise and first light and in the long blue hour before dawn. These paintings ask the question every island asks: what is out there, and what would it mean to go?

The inland paintings answer. In the lake country of the American North, islands are smaller and closer — rocky outcroppings with two spruce trees and room enough for a tent, blue tarpaulins visible through the conifers, campfire smoke rising into a still October morning. Someone has crossed the water and made a life, however temporary, in the place they were looking toward. The question the oceanic paintings pose becomes, in these quieter works, a condition: I am here. I am alone with this. This is what I came for.

And then there are the tree paintings — a single African acacia on a coastal sand flat, another in a vast golden savanna with mountains behind it — which carry the series' argument into new geography. The island in these paintings is not surrounded by water but by space: the same organized solitude, the same quality of the singular thing that makes the landscape cohere around it. The stopping tree is an island. The island was always a kind of tree.

Islands has its roots in a life lived on and near the water. The paintings are not invented — they come from sustained looking at specific water and specific light over many decades. But they are not documentary either. The island in these paintings is always partly internal — the place the mind moves toward when the world becomes too much, the fixed point by which we navigate when everything around us is in motion. Every culture that has lived near the sea has understood the island as a form of spiritual geography. The island receives the exile, the artist, the saint, the sailor who has been too long at sea.

The series spans the tropics and the far north, the open ocean and the enclosed lake, dawn and midnight, storm and calm. It encompasses paintings as small as eleven by fourteen inches and as large as thirty by sixty. It includes work on canvas and linen and watercolor on paper. What unifies them is not geography but grammar: in every painting, the island holds the center, the water holds the island, and the sky holds everything.

Reagan works within the tradition of American maritime and atmospheric landscape painting — the Luminists Fitz Henry Lane, Martin Johnson Heade, and John Frederick Kensett, who discovered in the mid-nineteenth century that the horizon line and the quality of light over open water could carry metaphysical meaning without narrative or figure. It is also in conversation with Frederic Edwin Church's tropical island paintings, Winslow Homer's late seascapes, and the visionary nocturnes of Albert Pinkham Ryder.​ Among contemporary painters, the work of April Gornik — large-scale atmospheric landscapes in which light and weather carry the emotional freight — provides the closest point of comparison, but the series has moved through these precedents into its own territory. Reagan's work is simultaneously about specific places — a mangrove key in the Florida straits, a volcanic island in the Marquesas, a granite outcropping in a northern lake — and about the idea of the island as universal form. These new works are a natural evolution from Reagan's years spent as a map illustrator for National Geographic, Smithsonian, The New Yorker, and others, and a lifetime traveling and living around the world.

The Islands series comprises work completed between 2023 and 2026, ranging in format from intimate studies to large-scale works. The oceanic and inland and tree paintings are designed to be shown in dialogue rather than separated, so that the viewer experiences the full movement of the series — from longing to arrival and back again.

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Contact the artist's studio for available works. Scroll down to see examples of this series and click on each image for details:

 

 

FALLING

 

When I was a boy of five or maybe six, I was in the woods behind our house when I saw a mourning dove fall suddenly from the sky and hit the ground hard. I got close enough to see its heart pounding and I remember my own heart was beating just as fast. I could see the pale rose color of its breast and the gray and cream colors of its wings. I stood as still as I could and watched and waited. The light faded and the woods went silent. The wind died and I thought the dove had died too. It got dark and yet the bird didn’t move. Finally, I reached down to pick it up and it exploded in a thunder of wings and vanished into the night sky. That memory, the moment that bird left me standing alone in those dark woods, has stayed with me all my life - more than stayed with me - it has haunted me and has many times over the years entered my dreams. I think of these paintings as markers of memory and mourning for each individual bird, split second moments of time, stopped forever on canvas as these wondrous beings fall one by one to earth and sea. Most of rhese paintings are a trinity of bird, sky, and earth or sea, but in some the bird is falling through a vast emptiness of sky and you can only sense the presence of earth or sea somewhere far below. Now these years later the memory of that dove has become the basis for these paintings in my Falling Series.

​Contact my studio for available work in this series. Scroll down to see examples:

Falling - cover.jpg

Falling Mourning Dove

​Acrylic on canvas

60 x 48 inches

Falling Night Heron

Acrylic on canvas

48 x 40 inches

Falling Arctic Tern

Acrylic on canvas

40 x 30 inches

Heading 6

Falling Snowy Egret

Acrylic on canvas

40 x 30 inches

Falling Great Blue Heron

Acrylic on canvass

40 x 30 inches

Falling Gannet

Acrylic on canvas

56 x 48 inches

Falling Green Woodpecker

Acrylic on canvass

40 x 30 inches

Falling Eurasian Jay

Acrylic on canvass

30 x 24 inches

Falling Razorbill

Acrylic on canvas

30 x 24 inches

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