• Veröffentlicht am

Pierre Bonnard and the Color That Holds: How Paris Changed the Way I Paint

Pierre Bonnard, A Spring Landscape, c. 1935, oil on canvas, National Gallery of Art

Traveling to Paris shifted the way I understand color, first subtly, then all at once. My then-boyfriend, now husband, flew in from San Francisco for a weekend so we could explore the city together. Paris compresses centuries of painting into a single frame of time, and there, something in my perception of color changed.

Centre Pompidou: A Room Full of Bonnard

It was there, at Centre Pompidou, that I was fully introduced to Pierre Bonnard. I had seen his work before, but this was different: an entire room dedicated to his paintings. I remember the moment viscerally. The color didn't shout; it held. There were no dramatic shifts in value, mostly mid to light tones, but the harmony was unmistakable, controlled, and expansive at the same time. I sat there for hours, looking, absorbing, letting the work unfold without urgency. Not analyzing. Just being in it.

What struck me most was how Bonnard used color not as decoration or description, but as the primary carrier of space and feeling. His interiors glow from within. His gardens dissolve into light. The forms are almost secondary to the chromatic relationships holding everything together. That is a rare thing to witness, and rarer still to understand from the inside.

Color as Structure, Not Surface

That experience stayed with me. Years later, I realized that an artist I deeply admire, Curtis Fields, was also moved by Bonnard's approach to color. That connection reinforced something I had already begun to sense: color isn't just a layer applied to form. It is the structure.

This idea runs through my own work in a different register. Where Bonnard worked with observed light and domestic interiors, I work with geometry and constraint. But the underlying question is the same: how does color build space? How does it hold tension without relying on contrast or drama? How do two tones placed next to each other create something neither could achieve alone?

These are not academic questions for me. They are the questions I return to every time I begin a new painting. The influence of Bonnard is not stylistic, it is structural. It shaped the way I think about what color is for. You can see this thinking developed further in Beyond Shape: Creating Life and Tension in Geometric Abstract Painting, where I write about how constraint and color interact in my studio practice.

Josef Albers and the Discipline of Seeing

Bonnard opened the door. Josef Albers gave me the tools to walk through it. Where Bonnard worked intuitively, building color relationships through observation and feeling, Albers approached color as a system, something to be studied, tested, and understood through direct experience rather than theory alone.

His central insight, that color is always relative, that the same hue reads differently depending on what surrounds it, is one I return to constantly. It is the reason I spend so much time in the studio testing color relationships before committing to a composition. It is also the reason I distrust color decisions made in isolation. Context is everything. I wrote more about this in How Josef Albers Shaped the Way I See Color.

Together, Bonnard and Albers represent two poles of the same inquiry: one intuitive and sensory, the other analytical and systematic. My practice lives somewhere between them, using geometric structure as a framework within which color can behave in ways that feel both inevitable and surprising.

Back in the States: The Same Pull

Back in the States, I started paying closer attention to color relationships, not as an academic exercise, but as a lived experience. At the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bonnard's paintings still stop me. The same pull. The same internal shift.

That quality of attention, of being arrested by color rather than simply noticing it, is something I try to build into my own work. I think about that pull often, both in the studio and in how I imagine someone encountering a finished painting for the first time. When someone stands in front of a painting and feels held by it without quite knowing why, value is usually doing most of the structural work, establishing depth, weight, and spatial order. But color is what draws us in. It is what we feel moved toward.

The geometry provides the structure, but color is what makes the painting breathe. This is part of what I mean when I write about the philosophy behind my practice: the work is grounded in direct experience of light and place, and color is the primary language through which that experience is translated.

What Bonnard Left Behind

Color, when it is working at that level, doesn't need contrast to assert itself. It builds space, holds tension, and carries the entire composition forward. Bonnard understood this completely. His paintings don't resolve into a single reading. They stay open, shifting slightly depending on how long you look and what you bring to them.

That is the standard I hold myself to. Not to replicate what Bonnard did, but to ask the same questions with the same seriousness, in my own visual language, with my own materials and constraints. Paris gave me that. A room full of paintings, an afternoon of looking, and a permission I didn't know I needed to let color do more of the work.

Interested in how color and geometry come together in my paintings? Browse the mountain collection or get in touch to talk about the work.

Artist Series

This post is part of an ongoing series on artists who have shaped my practice. Each post explores a different figure whose work, ideas, or creative philosophy has left a mark on how I think about painting. Recent posts in the series include:

Browse all posts in the Artist Series.

Follow along on Instagram for studio updates and new paintings as they are created.

Auch lesen

Alle Shilo Ratner Kunststudio & Ausstellungs-Updates anzeigen
Full Moon Mountain, a 30x30 geometric abstract painting by Shilo Ratner, featuring a luminous moon above a structured mountain landscape in blue and white
Geometric Art for a Home Office: How Structure and Color Shape the Way You Work
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.
Three geometric abstract mountain paintings by Shilo Ratner, featuring bold color and structured form
The Psychology of Color in Art
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 →
Shilo Ratner working in her studio on a geometric abstract painting
What Makes a Painting Feel Alive?
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.
Beach 30x30 original geometric abstract painting by Shilo Ratner on white wall
One Painting, Fully Explained: Beach
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
Geometric abstract painting displayed on a white wall, showing structured form and color in an interior setting- Artist Shilo Ratner
Die erste Note zählt mehr, als Sie denken
Frühe Entscheidungen wirken als Einschränkungen, aber nicht auf restriktive Weise. Sie geben eine Richtung vor. Eine Horizontlinie, die etwas höher oder tiefer platziert ist, verändert das gesamte Raumerlebnis. Eine komprimierte Form verändert die Art und Weise, wie der umgebende Raum atmet. Eine zu früh eingebrachte Farbe kann das Werk entweder verankern oder es abflachen. Diese Entscheidungen bleiben nicht an der Oberfläche. Sie organisieren alles, was folgt. Das Gemälde beginnt sich aus dieser ersten Bedingung heraus zu entwickeln.
That Time of Night, original geometric abstract diptych by Shilo Ratner depicting a fractured horizon at dusk
Was bedeutet Landschaft im Klimawandel?
Ein Blick darauf, wie sich die zeitgenössische Landschaftsmalerei als Reaktion auf den Klimawandel verändert und warum Abstraktion dabei zu einer entscheidenden Sprache wird.
Original geometric abstract painting by Shilo Ratner hanging in a home interior
Was passiert, nachdem Sie ein Gemälde gekauft haben?
Die meisten Gespräche über Kunst enden beim Kauf. Aber was passiert, nachdem ein Gemälde nach Hause gekommen ist? Dort beginnt die wahre Geschichte, und dort offenbart sich der Wert von Originalkunstwerken wirklich.
Between Two Forms – blue and white geometric abstract diptych painting, 10x20 inches, acrylic on canvas, Shilo Ratner
Zwischen zwei Formen: Ein blau-weißes geometrisch-abstraktes Diptychon
Dieses geometrisch-abstrakte Landschaftsgemälde fordert Sie nicht auf, einen bestimmten Ort zu sehen. Es fordert Sie auf, die Logik eines solchen zu spüren. Einen umfassenderen Blick darauf, wie dieses Werk auf ein sich veränderndes Klima reagiert, bietet der Artikel Was bedeutet Landschaft in einem sich verändernden Klima?
Sand Dunes diptych geometric coastal painting 10x20 acrylic on canvas by artist Shilo Ratner
Sanddüne – Original geometrisches abstraktes Landschaftsgemälde
Sand Dune ist ein neues, abstrakt-geometrisches zweiteiliges Gemälde im Format 10 x 20 Zoll, inspiriert von der stillen Weite offenen Geländes. Jedes Panel funktioniert als eigenständige Komposition; zusammen bilden sie eine durchgehende Landschaft in warmen Neutraltönen und gedämpften Ockertönen.
Geometric abstract art collection guide - tips for art collectors by Shilo Ratner
How to Collect Geometric Abstract Art: The Complete Guide | Shilo Ratner
Als Künstlerin, deren Arbeiten in Museen ausgestellt und von renommierten Galerien vertreten wurden, habe ich erlebt, wie ein Gemälde einen Raum verwandeln, Gespräche anregen und sogar zu einer Investition werden kann. Erstkäufer fragen sich oft, ob ein Stück in ihr Zuhause oder ihren Lebensstil „passt“, aber die Wahrheit ist: Vertrauen Sie Ihrem Instinkt.
Theophilus Brown monograph, Bay Area Figurative Movement, from Shilo Ratner's personal collection
Tee mit Theophilus Brown
Eine Reflexion über das Treffen mit Theophilus Brown, nachdem ich für die Portrait-Ausstellung Art Space 712 in San Francisco ausgewählt wurde.
Child standing before a large Hilma af Klint painting at the Guggenheim Museum's "Paintings for the Future" exhibition - image credit Shilo Ratner
Wie Guggenheims Architektur das Erleben abstrakter Kunst prägt
Eine persönliche Reflexion über die Hilma af Klint-Ausstellung im Guggenheim – über die Präsenz ihrer abstrakten Gemälde, die Architektur eines der größten Museen der Welt und was ihre Überzeugung als Künstlerin für meine eigene Arbeit bedeutet.
Artist Shilo Ratner on Josef Albers study of color theory
Wie Josef Albers meine Farbwahrnehmung prägte
Wie das Studium der Farbtheorie von Josef Albers, zweimal und in zwei verschiedenen akademischen Kontexten, die Art und Weise, wie ich Farbe sehe, aufbaue und lehre, nachhaltig verändert hat.
Monochromatic abstract painting in shades of gray — original geometric artwork by Shilo Ratner
Wie man abstrakte Kunst im Wohnzimmer aufhängt
Ein vollständiger Leitfaden zur Auswahl abstrakter Kunst für Ihr Wohnzimmer, der Größe, Farbe, Stimmung, Platzierung und die Argumente für Originalgemälde gegenüber Drucken behandelt.
Geometric Painter Shilo Ratner artist interview with Embrace Creatives
Originale Geometrische Kunst: Interview mit Shilo Ratner
Die in New Haven ansässige Künstlerin Shilo Ratner, die sich der geometrischen Abstraktion widmet, spricht in diesem Interview mit Embrace Creatives über ihren kreativen Prozess, ihre künstlerischen Einflüsse, darunter Hilma af Klint und Agnes Martin, und die Philosophie hinter ihren kontemplativen geometrischen Gemälden.
Vista 30x30 geometric mountain painting by United States artist Shilo Ratner - minimalist abstract art with earthy tones
Vista: Stille in geometrischer Bergkunst finden
Vista ist ein 30x30 großes, originelles, geometrisches Berggemälde von Shilo Ratner. Inspiriert vom Bergwandern und der stillen Stärke der offenen Landschaft, bringt es erdige Ruhe in moderne Innenräume.
Gallery view of geometric abstract landscape paintings by Shilo Ratner
Der Einfluss der Natur auf meine Landschaftsgemälde
Die Natur hat eine unglaubliche Art, uns zu erden – und dieser Einfluss ist zentral für meine von Landschaften inspirierte Kunst. Anstatt wörtliche Szenen zu malen, abstrahiert meine Arbeit natürliche Formen in vereinfachte Gestalten und geschichtete Kompositionen.
Traces of Stillness — 6x6 inch original landscape collage series by Shilo Ratner, layered paper works on paper
Spuren der Stille: Neue Landschaftscollage-Serie
Traces of Stillness ist eine kontemplative 6×6 Inch Collagenserie von Shilo Ratner, die ruhige Berglandschaften durch minimale Form, geschichtetes Papier und subtile Geometrie erforscht. Originalwerke auf Papier jetzt erhältlich.
Ruth Asawa wire sculpture exhibition at Museum of Modern Art
Ruth Asawa Retrospektive im MoMA: Lehren in Hingabe und Form
Betrachtungen zur Ruth Asawa Retrospektive im MoMA in NYC. Eine Auseinandersetzung mit ihren komplexen Drahtskulpturen, ihrem Engagement trotz Widrigkeiten und den Lehren aus künstlerischen Experimenten, die meine geometrisch-abstrakte Praxis inspirieren.
Pockets Filled With Hope 5x10ft geometric abstract painting installation at Southern Connecticut State University
Taschen voller Hoffnung SCSU!
Großformatige öffentliche Kunstinstallation: "Pockets Filled With Hope", ein 1,5 x 3 Meter großes, geometrisch-abstraktes Gemälde von Shilo Ratner, installiert an der Southern Connecticut State University School of Business.
Shilo Ratner geometric mountain painting with full moon reflection - meditative abstract landscape art
Berge und Meditation: Durch Kunst Präsenz finden
Wie Bergmalerei und Meditationspraxis helfen, Kunst zu schaffen, die Ruhe in Ihren Raum bringt. Entdecken Sie die Inspiration hinter Shilo Ratners geometrischen Berglandschaften und Vollmondbildern.