Look Who Is In front Of This Painting! A Guggenheim Curator!

Dove is a new 20" x 20" original abstract painting exploring the symbolism of peace, hope, and gentleness. A rare departure from my geometric series, intimate in scale, deeply personal in process, and available for collectors.

The home office has become one of the most considered rooms in the house. It's where focus meets creativity, and where long hours demand an environment that supports both. Art plays a larger role in that environment than most people realize, and geometric abstract art, with its structure, rhythm, and disciplined use of color, is especially well suited to the space.

The Psychology of Color in Art I've been thinking a lot lately about how color functions almost independently from subject matter in painting. Long before we recognize an object, a horizon line, or a figure, we react emotionally to color relationships. That reaction is immediate and psychological. It's one of the reasons I continue returning to artists like Josef Albers and Pierre Bonnard. Their work reminds me that color itself can become the structure, emotion, and atmosphere of a painting. Albers approached color almost scientifically. His studies explored how colors change depending on what surrounds them, how one color can appear completely different when placed beside another. A muted gray can suddenly become luminous. A soft blue can feel cold against one tone and electric against another. What fascinates me about Albers is that he proved color is never fixed. It's relational. Psychological. Unstable in the most beautiful way. Bonnard approached color differently, but with just as much intensity. His paintings dissolve observation into atmosphere. The color combinations are often unexpected: acidic yellows against lavender shadows, saturated oranges beside pale violets, strange greens woven into interiors and skin tones. Yet somehow the paintings feel emotionally true. That balance between dissonance and harmony is something I think about constantly in my own work. When I'm painting water, marshes, or coastal spaces, I'm rarely interested in reproducing literal color. I'm more interested in creating a sensation through color interaction. Sometimes that means pushing warmth into areas that should technically feel cool, or allowing deep ultramarines to sit beside softened blush tones because the tension between those colors creates emotional movement. I think that's where painting becomes less about documentation and more about perception. Certain color combinations can create stillness while others create vibration. A muted blue-gray beside a sharp coral can suddenly make a painting feel alive. Soft tonal shifts can create quietness and distance. Saturation can create physical energy. I notice this especially when layering paint. Often the most important decisions happen when I stop thinking about "local color" entirely and start thinking about temperature, contrast, memory, and emotional weight. That's something Bonnard understood deeply. His paintings were never really about interiors or landscapes alone. They were about light filtered through memory and emotion. The color carried the psychological experience of the space. I think collectors respond to this intuitively, even if they don't consciously analyze why. People often tell me a painting feels calming, expansive, nostalgic, or atmospheric before they ever discuss composition. The emotional response happens first. And honestly, I think that's the power of painting itself. Color bypasses language. It reaches us in a place that feels instinctive, emotional, and almost impossible to fully explain. Related Reading If this resonates, these posts go deeper into the ideas behind the work: How Josef Albers Shaped the Way I See Color — the direct influence of Albers' relational color theory on my geometric practice. Pierre Bonnard and the Color That Holds — how a trip to Paris deepened my understanding of color as emotional memory. Raimonds Staprans: Saturated Color, Presence, and Lasting Impact — another painter who uses color as pure psychological force. Pieces That Connect These works came directly out of the ideas above, color as structure, tension as atmosphere: Sail Away, 36×36 — ultramarine and warm coral in direct tension, the color does the emotional work before the subject registers. Beach, 30×30 — soft tonal shifts across a geometric plane, stillness created through temperature rather than subject. Harbor, 30×40 — deep blues and muted neutrals layered to create distance and quiet, the kind of atmospheric weight Bonnard understood. Bring This Into Your Space If you've ever felt drawn to a painting before you could explain why, that's color doing exactly what it's meant to do. Explore the collection to find the piece that holds that feeling for you, or inquire about a custom commission if you have a specific palette or feeling in mind. Explore the Collection →

There's a moment in the studio when a painting stops needing you. Shilo Ratner reflects on what makes a painting feel emotionally alive, from intuitive color choices and visible layers to the tension between imperfection and completion.

Most paintings get a title, a price, and a few sentences. This one takes a closer look. Beach is a 30 × 30 geometric abstract painting built from the logic of the shoreline, behavior, not appearance. This is a complete breakdown: where it started, how it was built, what changed, and what most people miss. See Beach in the collection → The Initial Idea The starting point wasn't a visual. It was a behavior. I kept returning to the way water moves at the shoreline, not the look of it, but the logic. The tide doesn't repeat exactly. Each wave recedes at a slightly different angle, leaves a slightly different edge, pulls back with slightly different force. There's a system operating, but it never produces the same result twice. A system needs enough repetition to be legible, but enough variation to stay alive. That tension between system and variation is what I wanted to build into a painting. Not a picture of the beach. A painting that works the way the beach works. Building the System The canvas is square, which matters. A square doesn't have a natural direction. It doesn't push the eye left to right or top to bottom the way a landscape format does. That neutrality was useful here, because the movement had to come entirely from the forms themselves, not from the shape of the support. The composition is built from horizontal bands that shift, compress, and interrupt each other. They function as tidal layers: each one moving at a different rate, overlapping without merging. The eye follows the edges rather than any single focal point. There's no center of gravity. The painting holds attention by distributing it. That relationship between rhythm and structure is something I explored more directly in Ebb and Flow Abstract Painting: When Surrender Becomes Creation. I also made a deliberate decision to keep the forms hard-edged. Soft edges would read as atmospheric, impressionistic, wave-like in a literal sense. Hard edges force the geometry to carry the movement instead. The result feels more like a diagram of the coast than a depiction of it. Color Logic The palette is blue and neutral, but the neutrals are doing most of the structural work. A range of warm and cool off-whites sits alongside the blues, and the temperature shifts between them create a subtle spatial push and pull. Warmer neutrals advance slightly. Cooler ones recede. That movement is quiet, but it's what gives the painting depth without relying on illusionistic perspective. The same principle is at work in How Josef Albers Shaped the Way I See Color. The blues are controlled rather than expressive. Some lean toward slate, others toward a washed cerulean, others toward near-gray. Each one is chosen for its relationship to the forms around it, not for emotional effect on its own. The emotion comes from the whole, not any single color. I also kept the value range relatively compressed. High contrast would have created drama. I was after something steadier, calm, but still in motion. The result is a kind of unsettled calm, like watching the tide without needing it to resolve. What Changed Along the Way The early version had more forms, more bands, more interruptions, more variation in width. It was busier, and that busyness worked against the system. I simplified. Removed two horizontal elements entirely. Widened two of the remaining bands so the rhythm slowed down. The painting became quieter, and paradoxically more active, because the eye had room to move between the forms rather than being crowded by them. The frame color also changed. The original frame was a cooler white that competed with the lightest tones in the painting. I switched to a warmer wood finish that separates cleanly from the canvas without pulling attention. What Viewers Don't Notice The edges of the forms are not perfectly parallel. This is intentional. If every horizontal band were exactly parallel, the painting would feel mechanical, static, like a striped field rather than a system in motion. The slight deviations, a degree or two at most, create the sense that the forms are shifting relative to each other. It reads as movement without being obvious about it. Most people also don't notice how few colors are actually in the painting. From a distance it reads as rich and varied. Up close, the palette is spare. That compression is part of the discipline: getting a lot of visual information from a small number of decisions. The bottom edge of the composition is slightly heavier than the top. The forms there are wider, the values slightly darker. It grounds the painting without making it feel weighted down. It's the visual equivalent of the shoreline itself, the place where everything settles before the next wave comes through. If that kind of movement resonates with you, Beach is available as a framed original, 30 × 30 inches, ready to hang. If you'd like to see it in your space before deciding, I'm happy to help with that. You can also browse the full coastal paintings collection for related works. View Beach →  |  Questions: shiloratner@gmail.com

I still remember the first painting I bought for myself. I was in my early 20s, standing in a small gallery, going back and forth on whether I should do it. It felt like a big deal, because it was. I was excited, but also nervous about spending the money. I didn't fully understand yet what it meant to live with a piece of original art, only that I wanted my apartment to feel more like mine, more considered, more complete.

Experience the coast in a new way with New Haven artist Shilo Ratner. Her geometric abstract paintings, collages, and limited-edition prints distill the shoreline into form, color, and movement, each framed and ready to hang.

A room full of Bonnard paintings at Centre Pompidou, an afternoon of looking, and a shift in understanding that never fully settled. This is how Paris changed the way I think about color — not as surface, but as structure.

Early decisions act as constraints, but not in a restrictive way. They create direction. A horizon line placed slightly higher or lower shifts the entire spatial experience. A compressed shape changes how the surrounding space breathes. A color introduced too early can either anchor the work or flatten it. These choices don't just sit on the surface. They organize everything that follows. The painting begins to build from that first condition.

Meeting Fields didn't feel like encountering a distant figure from art history. It felt grounded, human. He wasn't performing the role of "artist." He was simply someone who had spent a lifetime looking, really looking, at color, and following it as far as it could go.

A look at how contemporary landscape painting is shifting in response to climate change, and why abstraction is becoming a critical language for it.

Shilo Ratner unpacks the philosophy behind her geometric abstract work and explains why 'Grounded in Nature. Defined by Form.' is more than a tagline — it's a framework collectors can use to understand and trust the work.

Original art doesn't have to mean a major investment. A guide to starting a collection with small-format works, collages, and prints, with honest advice on what to look for and why size doesn't determine significance.

Most conversations about art end at the point of purchase. But what happens after a painting comes home? That's where the real story begins, and where the value of original art truly reveals itself.

This geometric abstract landscape painting does not ask you to see a specific place. It asks you to feel the logic of one. For a broader look at how this work responds to a changing climate, read What Does Landscape Mean in a Changing Climate?

I've been studying the work of Raimonds Staprans for years. His paintings are impossible to ignore,  saturated, structured, and alive with a tension that keeps you looking. 

New Haven artist Shilo Ratner reflects on how motherhood reshaped her studio practice from late-night painting to 5:30am starts—and how that shift shapes her geometric abstract work.

A personal reflection on visiting the Sanctuary of Dom Bosco in Brasília—and what it means to stand inside a space defined entirely by blue.

Sand Dune is a new geometric abstract diptych painting, 10 x 20 inches, inspired by the quiet expanse of open terrain. Each panel works as a standalone composition; together they form a continuous landscape in warm neutrals and muted ochres.

People ask me often which of my paintings would work best in their living room. It's one of my favorite questions, because it's never really about the painting alone. It's about how a work of art changes the feeling of a room, and what you want to feel when you walk in.

As an artist whose work has been exhibited in museums and represented by respected galleries, I’ve seen how a painting can transform a space, spark conversation, and even become an investment. First-time collectors often wonder whether a piece will “fit” their home or lifestyle, but the truth is: trust your instincts.

Discover Sunshine Days, a vibrant 20x20 yellow abstract mountain painting that radiates hope and joy. This original artwork by Shilo Ratner brings cheerful energy and new beginnings to your space.

A reflection on the Georgia O'Keeffe traveling exhibition at the de Young Museum in San Francisco, and what her wit, obsession, and lifelong drive to create continue to mean to my practice as a painter.

A reflection on meeting Theophilus Brown after being selected for the Art Space 712 portrait exhibition in San Francisco.

That Time of Night is a new geometric abstract diptych, 20 x 10 inches, inspired by the transitional light of dusk. Each panel works as a standalone composition; together they form a continuous vista.

A personal reflection on the Hilma af Klint exhibition at the Guggenheim — on the presence of her abstract paintings, the architecture of one of the world’s great museums, and what her conviction as an artist means to my own practice.

Most people think geometric abstraction is about perfection, clean lines, balanced forms, controlled color. Walk past a geometric painting and it can look predetermined, resolved before the first mark. That reading misses the point.

Shilo Ratner reflects on her Open Studio at Erector Square in New Haven, CT in October 2016, connecting the event's creative energy to the city's deep artistic and industrial heritage, from Josef Albers at Yale to Eli Whitney's legacy of innovation.

How studying Josef Albers' color theory, twice and in two different academic contexts, permanently changed the way I see, build, and teach color.

Richard Diebenkorn's Notes to Myself, found among his papers after his death in 1993, remain some of the most honest and useful words ever written about the creative process in abstract painting. Here's what they mean to my practice.

The question I get asked most often isn’t about color or style — it’s about size. Here’s how I think about scale, and what I tell collectors who aren’t sure where to start.

LV No. 9 is a 44x28 original mixed media abstract painting on paper — anchored by a blazing fluorescent pink geometric form and the word LOVE. It evokes the freedom of sailing.

One of my artworks was selected for Women’s Rights: An Artist’s Perspective, an online juried exhibition by UniteWomen.org. In today’s political climate, the parallels are impossible to ignore — and the importance of platforms for women artists has never felt more urgent.

Nine years later, Shilo Ratner reflects on her fall 2017 artist residency at the Ely Center of Contemporary Art (ECOCA) in New Haven — three months that shaped the geometric abstract work she creates today.

A complete guide to choosing abstract art for your living room, covering scale, color, mood, placement, and the case for original paintings over prints.

Shilo Ratner visits the New York City studio of legendary figurative sculptor Bruno Lucchesi on June 28, 2012 — an intimate look at the master's unassuming workspace, his striking subway series, and the signed copy of Terracotta she brought home.

Discover how to commission a custom original painting by Shilo Ratner. Tailor-made geometric abstract art created specifically for your space, colors, and vision.

Geometric abstract artist Shilo Ratner discusses her creative process, artistic influences including Hilma af Klint and Agnes Martin, and the philosophy behind her contemplative geometric paintings in this Embrace Creatives interview.

Vista is a 30x30 original geometric mountain painting by Shilo Ratner. Inspired by mountain hiking and the quiet strength of open terrain, it brings earthy calm to modern interiors.

Before any paint touches the canvas, my studio is quiet. How meditation became the foundation of my geometric abstract painting practice.

Explore the meaning behind Ebb and Flow, 36in x 48in, an abstract painting about surrender, growth, and the natural cycles we all move through. By artist Shilo Ratner.

Explore the quiet luxury of slowing down. As both artist and collector, I share how abstract landscape art creates visual pauses that invite presence, breath, and mindful living.

Art is connection. Discover the creative philosophy behind minimalist landscape paintings that transform nature's impressions into expansive, meditative works designed to bring quiet sophistication and grounding to your space.

Nature has an incredible way of grounding us — and that influence is central to my landscape-inspired artwork. Rather than painting literal scenes, my work abstracts natural forms into simplified shapes and layered compositions. 

Traces of Stillness is a contemplative 6×6 inch collage series by Shilo Ratner exploring quiet mountain landscapes through minimal form, layered paper, and subtle geometry. Original works on paper available now.

Reflections on the Ruth Asawa Retrospective at MoMA in NYC. Exploring her intricate wire sculptures, dedication through adversity, and lessons in artistic experimentation that inspire my geometric abstract practice.

Large-scale public art installation: Pockets Filled With Hope, a 5x10ft geometric abstract painting by Shilo Ratner, installed at Southern Connecticut State University School of Business.

How mountain paintings and meditation practice help create art that brings calm to your space. Discover the inspiration behind Shilo Ratner's geometric mountain landscapes and full moon paintings.

Shilo Ratner's geometric abstract paintings will be featured at the Affordable Art Fair Stockholm in October 2025 with +GalleryLABS. Discover original contemporary art from this Connecticut artist at Nacka Strandsmässan.

Shilo Ratner's geometric abstract painting "Rise" has been selected for the prestigious 2025 CWA National Open Juried Show at the William Benton Museum of Art at UConn. Exhibition runs May 27-July 27, 2025.