Craig Kucia American, b. born 1975

Here, an otherworldly sea creature, possibly an octopus, could be a squid, floats just beneath the surface of a dark lavender sea. It has nine tentacles, one more than an octopus, one fewer than a squid, a small impossibility that captures Kucia’s play with what is real and what is imagined. Dominating the canvas, the creature’s tentacles drift and curl with a quiet grace, their deep blue forms punctuated by light blue spots that shimmer against the surrounding water. Drawing your eye to the center of the canvas are the eyes of the creature, layered in tones of yellow-green and muted orange, they seem to glimmer from within. At the top of the canvas, a narrow band of teal and pink suggests a receding sky at sunset, while the faint reflection of that dying light glimmers across the creature’s head. As in much of Kucia’s work, the image depends less on literal description than on the spirit of what is seen, an evocation of feeling and perception that allows the natural and the imagined to quietly merge.