Discover the VETA Collection

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Brian Keeper, San Francisco, Acrylic on Canvas, 20 x 16, 2003

Transamerica circa 1978, picture me as a bicycle messenger. It was truly, the wild west. We rode 3 speed bikes with little or no brakes. There were no helmet laws and traffic signs were more like suggestions than actual rules of engagement. It was scary wild.

Brian Keeper, Las Vegas, 20 x 16, Acrylic on Canvas, 2004

Whenever I work on location, I pay attention to egress. I don't want to be a hazard, and I don't want to be trampled. I usually look for a utility box or pole and set up next to it. People have to walk around them anyway. Since I was so close to the doors of this building, I sought out security to announce my presence. They hemmed and hawed about granting permission, but in the meantime, I completed the painting. So here is another postcard from Las Vegas. 

Brian Keeper, Las Vegas, Acrylic on Canvas, 24 x 20, 2004

This was such a surreal environment. Throw in some triple digit temperatures and five-star bathrooms and I would have to get high to come down. In the middle of a desert rises New York, Rome, Venice, and Paris, surrounded by miles of plazas and acres of parking. Can "Fine" art be made in a kitsch world? I am sure there is a vibrant art scene in Las Vegas, but they were not being represented in any of the casino galleries. Why take a cruise when you can buy art at Caesars? Place your bets folks. Place your bets.

Brian Keeper, Texas, Acrylic on Canvas, 24 x 20, 2009

The city was full of eye candy. I love the structure of cranes. They were everywhere downtown. From Town Lake, it was quite a spectacle. I would spend my days in the field, painting the city, and my nights in the coffee shop, painting her residents. This was an electric period.

Brian Keeper, Hunt, Texas,24 x 20, Acrylic on Canvas, 2009

Taking a break from caretaking with a bit of creative experimentation. Color dominates my work. When I want to break my routine, I look for ways to escape my comfort zone. Sticking to black and white would be one of those paths. That poor little oak got hit hard by the flood. Lost its head and arms but its feet and trunk remain.

Brian Keeper, Amsterdam, 20 x 16, Acrylic on Canvas, 2001

This plaza was still being completed at the time of this painting. It was oddly vacant of people. I liked the "asparagus" building on the end. I felt like I was being bathed in red with all the brick. I imagine this is a well-loved and densely populated square by now. I heard the word "moi" often when I was working. I am hoping that was a good thing. It was the name of my precious dog at the time.

Brian Keeper, Texas, Acrylic on Canvas, 26 x 30, 2011

I am sitting outside of a Starbucks, with the cool people (smokers), in the Texas heat. It was particularly nasty because you are surrounded by asphalt, concrete, and automobiles in 100+ Fahrenheit. In spite of the abhorrent conditions, the view of Crepe Myrtle is spectacular for a good part of the year. Mom had recently passed and Dad was floundering in a senior living complex. I was planning our escape to the Texas hill country.

Brian Keeper, Las Vegas, Acrylic on Camvas, 20 x 30, 2004

Like the investigative reporter that I am not, I was on the scene when the story broke that the Bellagio had lost power. Like Moses at the Red Sea, the crowds parted and dispersed. I began to paint without the hypnotized masses mesmerized by the water, fire, and light. Money was hemorrhaging and security had abandoned the sidewalk. Not only was it quiet in a noisy, crowded place, but it was a little cooler next to the water. I was ready when the power returned.

Brian Keeper, Seville, Spain, 

16 x 20, 1999

This is where the magic happens. Seville was amazing and this location was exceptional. I was intimidated by the perspective and all the visual information. I drew it lightly in charcoal several times on my canvas, before I had the composition I wanted. After that, I was able to have fun. I remember how badly my butt hurt sitting on the ground. This would be the last trip I would take without a stool. I had to eat aspirin every four hours. The magic was another lonely traveler, Sol, an architecture student from Mexico City. She sat with me and told me interesting facts about the park and the city. We immediately bonded and spent two days bouncing around Seville. She was 20 and running away from an arranged marriage. I thought her very brave.

Brian Keeper, Amsterdam, 20 x 16, Acrylic on Canvas, 2001

Just another sleepy canal with a beautiful little wooden boat. I dream about the family that took this little boat cross country in the many canals during their summers. Looking at these little paintings makes me miss my vagabond existence. It feels like another person created these. In many ways it was. I had little or no obligations. I was closeted and struggling with my identity. Art was my only lifeline. It was my Prozac and excuse for being. I became that little vessel. Ahoy!

Brian Keeper, 16 x 12, Acrylic on Canvas, 2009

Is a “psychic-scape too esoteric? Does not matter. I enjoy the design, color, and composition.

Brian Keeper, 24 x 20, Acrylic on Canvas, 1994

1994 was a mixed year for me. I got into my first National competition, I traveled to Africa, I fought my first major bout of depression, and my work began to take a very dark but therapeutic turn.

Brian Keeper, 20 x 16, Acrylic on Canvas, 2022

I was asked to do a commission piece. I don’t like the process and I should have declined. I offered an out to “Mr or Ms X” which they took. I got a painting that didn’t require any compromise. Music comes and goes in my life. The bird in my ear since the flood is, Hailey Tuck - JUNK.

Brian Keeper, 15 x 30, Acrylic on Canvas, 1990

I am turning my focus inward again. Ouroboros is an ancient symbol of a serpent or dragon chasing its own tail. It was used a lot in the mystical practice of alchemy. In the center of the composition is a gyroscope. I am not always aware of the meaning of pieces. Some paintings reveal themselves to me decades later. I believe I was looking for balance in my life. My partner wanted a baby. I was conflicted and ambiguous for reasons I could not fully admit, or understand, at that time.

Brian Keeper, Texas, Acrylic on Canvas, 16 x 20, 2006

This is a beloved boat in the department of interior’s Lake Superior fleet. I have a thing for boats. They are unique tools in our development as a species. They deserve their elevated status in much the same way that dogs and horses are revered. We live or die by their strength or weakness. I particularly enjoy the contrast of the Lorelei and the Ranger behind her. The Ranger is the largest vessel in the Department of Interior fleet.

Brian Keeper, Texas, 16 x 12, Acrylic on Canvas, 2007

A fallen tree which right’s itself always moves me. The drive to keep all that mass moving towards growth and light is inspiring. The resistance against gravity and death is humbling. It is the way of life. Our over-developed brains may tell us otherwise. We may even drink the Kool-Aid, but our bodies and reptilian cortex will react same as this tree.

Brian Keeper, Texas, 

20 x 16, 2003

I never met a yellow tree that I didn't love. You will see them periodically throughout my portfolio. They are revolting. I am in a state of self-revolution. I am forcing a vision and sneering at nature. I want to obscure that, mind's eye, image of what fits a landscape. Then my censor whispers in my ear, make it work, make it read. The revolution is over with the bluing of the sky and greening of the grass. The little anarchist in my heart retreats to fight another day. Quietly she slips a cadmium red into the chamber and waits.

Brian Keeper, 24 x 20, Acrylic on Canvas, 1993

Just another sleepy canal with a beautiful little wooden boat. I dream about the family that took this little boat cross country in the many canals during their summers. Looking at these little paintings makes me miss my vagabond existence. It feels like another person created these. In many ways it was. I had little or no obligations. I was closeted and struggling with my identity. Art was my only lifeline. It was my Prozac and excuse for being. I became that little vessel. Ahoy!

Brian Keeper, Acrylic on Canvas, 30 x 26, 1998

Tidying up 1998 with more tales from the other side. Working through the voices in my head. Almost at bottom here. A thought; I felt unhinged at this time, but otherwise very productive. I often feel like this when I am in a prolonged period of creative activity. My inner drama queen says I am "losing it", but my work is my anchor. It keeps me from letting go. I often want to lose myself in that abyss.

Brian Keeper, 30 x 26, Acrylic on Canvas, 1999

This painting was repeated several times. Each version became a little simpler, a bit more efficient. Eventually it became four symbols that communicate more with less. It is a reductive process. My work was realized from constant journaling. My journals were always at hand from 1985 until 2010. I still keep them but more often I carry an iPad. My iPad has all the answers, but my journals have all the questions.

Brian Keeper, Acrylic on Canvas, 30 x 24, 2005

A big, wet, sloppy one. It paired well with this cold, rainy day. Imagine, everything comes out of a backpack...and it is wet. Fuel, water containers and filter, stove, tent, food, clothes, first aid, journal, paint, canvas (for several paintings), stretcher bars (16", 20",24", 30"), tacks, flashlight, coat, sleeping bag, book, ...etc.! Pretty great, right! It was. I did two paintings on this day, and I got to watch otters play and hunt. I was 48 and green. At 63, I'd have to train for several months to attempt anything remotely similar.

Brian Keeper, Amsterdam, Acrylic on Canvas, 20 x 16, 2001

Though I don't have any quirky stories to go with this painting, I am amazed how much detail and recall I have of this time and place. Painting is a peculiar activity. It activates my brain and memory unlike anything else I do. For instance, I remember those pavers cutting into my butt after several hours work. Then I distinctly remember climbing onto a ledge with grass. So, not only does my mind remember but my body does as well. I have always had trouble focusing in general. When I draw, everything falls away. I can sense the neurons and synapses connecting. I become ambivalent to time and place, yet those very notions are being etched into the folds of my memory. Weird, no?

Brian Keeper, Madrid, Acrylic on Canvas, 20 x 16, 1999

Ginning up to speed always takes a little time when traveling and painting. Organizing my day pack for work, including sun protection, pain medication, pad for my butt, and various sundries, makes the difference between working 2.5 hours or 8. Basically, finding my groove. I would walk every evening looking for tomorrow's project. This spot was intermittently covered with picnickers. I was half-way done when two police arrived and told me I couldn't work there. The residents told me to ignore them but never the national guard. Not wanting to stir the pot, I retired to a park bench across the street and finished the painting. I always try to have a plan "B", once I am committed to a composition.

Brian Keeper, Holland, 16 x 20, Acrylic on Canvas, 1999

You have to love a culture that treats architects like gods and bicycles like weapons. In 1999, we were not the cycle culture that we are today. I was enamored by all the beautiful women, carrying groceries and children, on their bikes. Brides and bridesmaids would cycle around making a spectacle of themselves. I've got a thing for wheels. If it rolls, I will paint it. This scene was just outside my hostel. I loved the camaraderie of hostel life.

Brian Keeper, Las Vegas, 20 x 24, Acrylic on Canvas, 2004

Another trip to fantasy land...Las Vegas. I spent a surreal month living at the Golden Spike. I painted, gambled, and was constantly dodging security. I was manic the entire time. The eye candy, noise, interiors and heat were overwhelming. A months stay cost me about $300. I was screaming towards a crisis and having a ball.

Brian Keeper, Hunt, Texas, Acrylic on Camvas, 24 x 30, 1992

Just another day exploring my subconscious, another psychic-scape. One piece is usually a revolution of color against the last. One day I am red and the next day I am green.

Brian Keeper, Isle Royale National Park, Lake Superior, 24 x 20, Acrylic on Canvas, 2004 

Isle Royale National Park is pristine wilderness. It is the quietest place I have ever been. Days would transpire without hearing a human voice, nor would I speak. I relished this time untethered from phone, family, friends, and country. 

Brian Keeper, Clearlake, Acrylic on Canvas, 30 x 24, 1993

Spent a couple of weekends going to Clearlake painting in the boatyards. I got a soft spot in my heart for the little sailing cruisers. The boat wrights did not quite know what to make of me. So long as they did not run over me with their boat lifts we got along fine.

Brian Keeper, East Texas, Acrylic on Canvas, 70 x 84, 1983

I was very excited by my departure from reality in this piece. I have fond memories of East Texas. Because it was a cultural desert, friends would gather to create, perform and entertain one another. The weather was severe, violent, terrifying and beautiful.

Brian Keeper, Hunt, Texas, Acrylic on Canvas, 00 x 00, 1996

Thought this a good place to look at my "Psychic-scapes" from 96. Sometimes they were dark, but sometimes they were light. When I look at this piece, I think of my maternal grandmother.

Brian Keeper, Hunt, Texas,12 x 9, Acrylic on Canvas, 2003

Generally speaking, I believe creativity in "Western" culture is a manic pursuit. There are climaxes and crashes. Periods of sublime madness and crushing depressions. It is a bit of a ride. Giddy up!

Brian Keeper, Africa, 24 x 20, Acrylic on Canvas, 1994

1994 was a mixed year for me. I got into my first National competition, I traveled to Africa, I fought my first major bout of depression, and my work began to take a very dark but therapeutic turn. Hindsight is not such an amazing thing when you have documentary evidence. Anybody care to dance?

Brian Keeper, Hunt, Texas, 20 x 16, Acrylic on Canvas, 1984

Moonscape is one of many paintings I created by moon light. You never really know what is going on color-wise until you bring the piece into bright light. They are always fun to execute. An opportunity to howl!