The Phoenix 1991

Boris Vallejo painted The Phoenix sometime after he was born in 1941, using lurid colors and fantastical imagery. Can you imagine what it must have been like to paint something like this? There's a woman, some kind of queen, maybe an alien, and looming behind her is a giant mythological bird in flames. The whole scene is dominated by reds, oranges, and yellows, like a sunset or a burning building. I wonder if Vallejo was trying to evoke a sense of power and rebirth, or maybe just wanted to paint something that would grab your attention. Painting is this embodied expression, right? It embraces ambiguity. I guess what I mean is, there's no one way to read this painting, just like there's no one way to make one. And that’s the joy of painting, it’s an ongoing conversation with ourselves and others.