Rendering experience tangible does not, however, make it entirely comprehensible. One of the signal qualities in Miller’s work is her use of graphic clarity to effect profound mystery. The visual elements of her paintings are crisp and unambiguous, but they never resolve into a clearly interpretable message. In fact, the works become systems for the disruption of meaning through a series of spontaneous improvisations that build each painting from start to finish. This is exemplified by “Mirror,” a pyramid of letters repeating like a code, hovering above a receding dark violet plane that suggests the mouth of a great pit, presided over by a crescent moon made from flower-printed fabric. The image is cryptic in the extreme, and compelling in equal measure. Even the shape of each canvas is slightly jarring: the paintings are trapezoids, just a bit off the rectangle. This is a shape Miller has visited before, as both an element within paintings and the geometry of the canvas itself, and it emphasizes her interest in painting as a simultaneous object and illusory window. These divergent elements are knit into a visually stable and powerful whole through Miller’s formal sensitivity and a knack for unexpected balance.

Allison Miller's painting practice is predicated on keeping her process visible. For the artist, painting is a magic trick that is performed and explained simultaneously— the successful painting retains its power despite revealing its secrets. The artist and the viewer meet each other halfway. Emblematic of this worldview is Miller's use of the trapezoid. The unconventional parameter is both a play on the physicality of a painting— the supposed "window," now tilted— and a means to draw attention to Miller's subsequent decisions. 

The thing I came to admire about the shape is that it feels like you're starting with a rectangle that's in perspective and then you're physically pushing that perspective... Trapezoids have also historically been pedestals for sculptures. So, I like to think of these as the supporting player and the main protagonist, both.

 

- Allison Miller

From the inclusion of unexpected materials (a rose-patterned lace ribbon, glitter bombs, the floral crescent moon), to the Crayola-crayon application of paint stick, Miller's process conveys a spontaneity that belies the strategic execution of the work. The artist's frequent subversion of the paint drip is a prime example of this method. A mark associated with uncontrolled, random action— think Pollock's Autumn Rhythm or Joan Mitchell's The 14th of July—  Miller's drips are instead achieved via precise manipulations of the picture plane. Like lines made from interstices left between colors, contradictions abound. The end result of this accumulation of conflicting decisions is a series of works that balance harmony with tension. Miller's paintings are never static— instead of settling, they buzz. 

A spider web is a grid but it's an imperfect grid. Its tensile strength is incredible. A spider web is stronger than steel, and it can structurally, visually catch and hold objects for us to look at. It's also just a bunch of lines! So, it's this perfect object. It's a very good metaphor for painting.

- Allison Miller