Bows
In the Bows series, Silverstein focuses on a singular, recurring motif: the bow. Traditionally associated with femininity, ornamentation, and gift-giving, the bow is reclaimed here as a potent visual form— assertive, emotional, and layered with cultural meaning. Painted directly onto canvas, the bow is both decorative and defiant—evoking contradiction. It is at once a knot and an ornament, a mechanism of binding and a gesture of celebration.
The Bows return to a flat format of paint on canvas. Each painting begins with an improvisational, emotional tracing of a bow form—drawn by hand, guided more by sensation than by strict representation. These loose, intuitive gestures provide the foundation for increasingly precise and formal decisions. The works resolve through finely complex color relationships and repetitive surface rhythms that echo raked sand in a Zen garden. Flatness becomes a field for layered attention. They suggest moments of withholding and release—sites where intimacy and performance intersect.
Weather Bow, 54" x 74"
I Will Hold Your Hand Through All of That Bow 5' x 7.5'
Fantasies Bow 5' x 7.5'
Albuquerque Bow 5' x 7.5'
Chart of A Mystic Bow 5' x 7.5'
Wisely and Gently Manhandled Into Transcendent Releases Bow 71" x 91"
Pretty Crying Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Grandma's Pillows Bow, 5' x 6'
Not Just Tolerate But Love You Because Bow, 6' x 8'
Mesa Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Ravished and Understood Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Heart Thing Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Two Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Hungry Bow, 67" x 84"
I See It. You're Right. I'm Sorry. Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Middle of the Night Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Monsoon Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Ruby Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Unexpected Benefits Bow, 6' x 8'
Room 222, 5' x 7.5'
Dancing Bow, 64" x 88"
Stage Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Love Me Deeply Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Cuddle Bow, 5' x 7.5'
Smooth Bow
The first Bow emerged from a fight with my partner, Paul. We were in Santa Fe. It was the morning of Christmas Eve. Creatively I’d been feeling tied-up in a dense ball — tense, tight, paralyzed. Paul said, “Why don’t you pull out that big stretched canvas you have downstairs and just play. I’m going to the coffee shop.” Play?! I was furious. But when he left, I pulled out that canvas. My “play” was something closer to a war — between my impulses and my inner critic. What I was making was TERRIBLE. And then I would yell at myself for judging it. Paul walked in in the midst of this torture and I quickly turned the painting to the wall so that my absolute worthlessness would not be seen.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, and went and turned the painting back around. I buried myself in the couch and would not look at him. I locked myself in a bathroom. I didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. We went on the famous Santa Fe Christmas Eve walk, not speaking. The last thing I said before we went to bed was, “Fuck you, Paul.” The next morning, I painted the first Bow.