But the obfuscation—marks retracing themselves—is revelatory about this “inner space” as well, since Jones seems willing to follow the brush wherever it will take him over the breadth of the canvas; the repetition compulsion somehow becomes the content of the work. A study of Buddhism informs this work, but these aren’t spiritual exercises. As in the music of Philip Glass, in a work composed largely of highly repetitive elements, the slightest variations stand out more than usual.
Thus, a surprising sense of drama is created, his compositions as energetic in their own way, as deliberate as the works of the late Jackson Pollock were frenetic. The strenuous reaching of these inner pathways toward a kind of order, only to be defeated by the low hum of their own noise, is a narrative, and though uttered in whispered tones, it still manages to compel.