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Weseeclearly
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Beheld at the Last Stopinder

Size

150 x 140 cm

Medium

Oil on Linen

Date

May 29, 2025

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"Beheld at the Last Stopfinder" by Weseeclearly (Winston Chmielinski), oil on linen, 150 x 140 cm, abstract landscape with blue moon, dark horizon, and red foreground, 2024. Detail of "Beheld at the Last Stopfinder" by Weseeclearly, blue moon over a dark horizon, oil on linen. Detail of "Beheld at the Last Stopfinder" by Weseeclearly, red abstract foreground with pink cloud forms, oil on linen.
"Seize of Blue" by Weseeclearly (Winston Chmielinski), oil on linen, 125 x 130 cm, abstract landscape with blue sky, dark horizon, and brown land reflecting water, 2025
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Weseeclearly

*~calming nervous systems~*
© 2025 Studio Weseeclearly, All Rights Reserved

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    Weseeclearly

    weseeclearly

    ░▒▓█►─═ Calming Nervous Systems ═─◄█▓▒░
    I Met You as a Shadow, and You Met Me as a Light I Met You as a Shadow, and You Met Me as a Light 175 x 125 cm Oil on linen 2025 Currently on view at @quantum.galerie as part of the group show MASCULINITY, curated by @riverxart and @kskoma and featuring work by Ann Hirsch • Bernardo Martins • Clownvamp • jiwa • Michelle Thompson • Maya Man • MP • Anastasia Pilepchuk • Onyx Chladilová • Osinachi • Oona • River Davis • Steve Pikelny • Tabitha Swanson • Weseeclearly • Yuval Shatz • Yuyu
    ✢ The part of me that is human wants to hold on ✢ The part of me that is human wants to hold on The part of me that is spirit knows to let go ✦ (assemblage of doodles, images, and words. 2025) @akune_hideyuki thank you for showing me Goto, and thank you for taking these photos 🫶
    I painted this during my time as a resident of the I painted this during my time as a resident of the sky, where clouds taught me to lay down my tools and gather each hue like water held loosely in the palm (congregations of mist leaning into brightness), where the rain showed me there is no center, only presence, reverberating at the peripheries; where the moon inspired me to become weather, become myth, become alloy—above the busyness of smaller crestings; where the birds helped me to accept the sky; where the air whispered, “when unheld, you rise.” In other words, this painting was precipitated out of a cloud-way of being, and I don’t even have to look at it to be reminded (resonated, through and through,) that sky* is the sanctuary with no key, that sky* is what happens when you withdraw the lock entirely, that sky* is what you become when you stop trying to fly, that you are sky*, veined with all the light. *an inner and outer realm, where every limit thins to illumination The Bond Between Thunder and Dawn 130 x 135 cm oil on linen 2025
    Light is the first mask, the oldest face: glare, s Light is the first mask, the oldest face: glare, shadow, reflection, the streak of gold sliding through the cracks men chip and cherish. To bring hardness into offering—a painted stone, a cup unspilled, a word risked in the margin of midnight—is spellwork handed down, each stroke carrying a secret ache, a dare. (Hi 👋🧖🏻) Fukue Island 福江島, Japan, 2025
    When I reach the limits of my striving, only then When I reach the limits of my striving, only then will I truly be held. “Beheld at the Last Stopinder” 150 x 140 cm Oil on linen available as print and original
    a jacket for interfacers designed and sewn by me a jacket for interfacers designed and sewn by me but made from a shared memory… I am remembering a cloud way of being a precipitatory release and retreat a flash blossoming among winter-hardened twigs. I’ve observed what seems to be a distributed network of individuals who appear where flow has calcified only to shock it back into being. Their methods vary greatly in expression, but all leave marks of inversion: what was hidden becomes visible, what was closed opens, what was lost is found. This jacket represents such an inside-out transformation from sheathe to blossoming and back, a blend-right-in gray which petals around into a spell-breaking signal of, Hibernation’s Over, Time To Wake Up!

Japanese denim, repurposed silk, hand-stitching throughout Size 50 / M-L one of a kind* *I intend to produce facsimiles of this piece in similar materials. Comment/DM if interested and I’d be happy to provide a sense of cost & timing.
    Seize of Blue 125 x 130 cm oil on linen 2024 a Seize of Blue 125 x 130 cm oil on linen 2024 available
    This is a flower with fire petals carved in stone This is a flower with fire petals carved in stone, and patterned on silk. I imagine the real ones to be polyrhythms of fire and water spiraling endemic to the ecotones of eras— the precipice where we stand, right now to bare all witness
    plants are sky interfaces conjuring rods for sun plants are sky interfaces conjuring rods for sun & rain [stems, branching]
radial buttons for cloud condensation [blossoms, spiraling] the archetype has overtaken me like it’s all-eye-knew me, this bud without roots (spring is here, the First Flowers sing, Won’t you blossom too?) 

1. Fulcrum 3, oil on linen, 66 x 55 cm
2. detail
3. detail
4. detail
5-6. Illustrated plates from “The Plant Between Sun and Earth” by Olive Whicher (1980) 7-8. Illustrated plates from “Sun Space” by Olive Whicher (1989)
9. Cover of “Fulcrum: The Science Newsletter of The University of Science and Philosophy” (Vol. 1, No. 3, December 1992)
    I am only an illusion til we touch I am only an illusion til we touch
    Been working on some things 🔨 Been working on some things 🔨
    What if we could zoom out from our feeds and see t What if we could zoom out from our feeds and see the whole social landscape as a weather map? Been thinking about interfaces that let us scan for patterns, recognise flows, choose where to engage. Maybe it’s the aphantasia talking, but I find more clarity in point cloud networks than in any framed content stream. Made this in TouchDesigner + Ableton
    Water knows forms beyond rivers and pools, beyond Water knows forms beyond rivers and pools, beyond what can be drained, and therefore beyond what can be held. CONDENSATION — The traces of an airborne stream. A water that knows better than to land where earth has been sealed, where thirst has become unsustainable, where every day is met by fire upon fire upon fire. This endless branding, this slash and burn, this generation of heat because the only energy we recognize is friction, is polarity, is war-powered peace. Another form of us, too, precipitates and disappears. This other form of us clears an entire sky of smoke to reconstitute the horizon. This other form of us gathers, transforms, leaves, returns, sometimes heavier, darker, charged with potential. This other form of us never becomes but is always becoming, thus can never be dammed, thus can never stay long, thus is forever transforming, precipitating artifacts of its momentary em-place-ment and immediately moving on. The close observation of clouds has shown me a way to move through state changes, rather than along a path, and that is what I’m coming into. I know I’m not the only cloud-being out there. I know that there’s something timely about this, in interfacing with the parched world like a weather pattern. I know that I am loved for—and not despite—coming and going like the rain, modulating the sun’s intensity, breaking through when shadows soak too deep. I am at peace with being a pattern-breaker, with being a rain-maker, with leaving only condensation as my trace.
    Woodkid folded me into his world when he chose my Woodkid folded me into his world when he chose my painting, “To Pause,” for the cover of his & Louis Garrel’s single, ‘L’aérogramme de Los Angeles’. I am eternally grateful that painting—a solitary act—has continually brought me into communion with humans I admire and adore.
    It was more than a crush—it was reverence for th It was more than a crush—it was reverence for the opening of my heart, reverence for man-as-fountain: as water, as basin, as spout. What does it mean to paint a portrait of water? Rocks and reflections only, the substance inferred. I worked again in minerals, in a very small range of tones, tuning my touch. Reference image = a video still from Sufjan Stevens’ “Pleasure Principle” This painting is available for purchase directly on my website, link in bio. It is the last available mineral pigment portrait from the series. Sufjan 30 x 40 cm shungite, quartz, hematite, and oil on linen
    The times that painting brought me into conversati The times that painting brought me into conversation, are the times I best understood why I painted ♾️ I never intend to be an enigma, just the pages of my open book are unnumbered. @hellomr folded me into their vellum wings for issue no. 8, and provided space for free association, recall, and reticulation. Even though this was years ago, the generousness of their engagement feels as fresh and proximal as summer rain. Thank you @ryanfitzgibbon and @fransquishco for your trust, care, and curiosity. Selection from the original 16-page feature here. I’ll post the rest to my stories over the coming days. photos by @jonas_lindstroem text by @fransquishco Hello Mr Magazine, no. 8
    When you paint skin, you realize it’s as faceted When you paint skin, you realize it’s as faceted and brilliant as a diamond. The last paintings I did—before taking a four year break from 2020-24—were portraits. I used highly translucent mineral pigments from @kremerpigmente , such as malachite, azurite, thulite, fuchsite, jade, and rock crystal, to create a sort of crystalline mist for light to bounce around in. Because of their translucency*, some areas required up to 17 layers of glazing to take on a noticeable hue. These portraits were meditative and reverent studies, made during a time of global halting. It saddens me that the only time we stop is when we’re forced to. I dream of an intentional, collective pause: a total rhythmic reset, the overturning of mechanical hums with natural song. May every painting be a portal into this pace, and every pace a step deeper into realization. *more opaque pigments helped define the darks and highlights, such as genuine cinnibar for the lips, ochres for the shadows, and shungite for the eyes “Moon” 40 x 30 cm oil on linen 2020 This painting is sold, but one portrait from this series is still available on my website.
    We were once continuous, then cleaved by time into We were once continuous, then cleaved by time into cliffs: separate inter-faces. Now we stand as sentinels of the schism, eroding ourselves to mineralize new potential. Reunion—collapsing into each other—would mean extinction of the world between our lines... So we frame instead of fold into the picture, we reveal instead of overwrite the space. Time sculpts us still, softening profiles, hardening resolve. When the last grain dissolves, we’ll reunite as a new aspect, a new parallel, a new point. 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿. (Painted as a goodbye to someone I love) “The Birth of the World Between Our Lines” 120 x 110 cm
oil on linen
    The silver lining of a melting world, is the thawi The silver lining of a melting world, is the thawing of our own hearts. Sometimes I catch myself wanting to walk away from everything. Wanting to drift like the powder that lifts off the tips of white-capped mountains. But I’ve done that before already. It’s lonely. It’s fleeting. You rise and then get eaten by the sun, and precipitate back down, at the mercy of everything that possesses the will to run. No. I will not trade in my wholeness for a particulate. I will not fix—or fix myself to—this landscape. I will only will myself to the vortex of the heart, the force that warms but doesn’t burn; that instils and inspires the world to take on form; that circulates, balances, and renews life constantly, continuously, holistically. I am more vulnerable now than I have ever been. I also feel stronger now than I have ever felt before. I know this is the Love that everyone talks about, but few truly embody. I am ready to feel more, so that I can be more, for the seeds of wholeness taking root in me. “Snow or Sky, Heart or Sun, What Now Begins and What Has Already Begun?” 70x70 cm Oil on linen
    Flowers are like little suns to my eyes. Sometimes Flowers are like little suns to my eyes. Sometimes it takes me an hour to get to my studio (it’s just down the street), because I stop at each flower and wait for it to glisten. A Flower Is a Cup of Light 60 x 50 cm Oil on linen
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