Paul ‘Gilby’ Gilbertson has spent his life experimenting with different artistic techniques, constantly pushing the boundaries of watercolor painting. One of his most recognizable methods is his innovative use of salt, a discovery he made by chance in the early 1970s. What started as an unexpected reaction between salt and pigment evolved into a defining feature of his work.
His exploration of this technique began almost by accident. While painting in the ’70s, he noticed how salt interacted with watercolor, producing unique textures and organic patterns. Instead of dismissing it as a fluke, he embraced the effect, refining it over the years and making it an integral part of his creative process.
In Gilbertson’s hands, salt becomes more than just an additive—it transforms the composition, adding layers of unpredictability and movement. Whether used subtly or dramatically, it enhances the depth of his paintings, making each piece unmistakably his own.
His painting Frozen Tundra is a perfect example of his ability to engage viewers through both technique and message. The piece features two caribou locked in battle, their antlers clashing against a snowy backdrop. On the surface, it captures a natural struggle, but Gilbertson wants the viewer to look deeper.
Conflict is everywhere. In nature, it’s survival. In human society, it’s ideology, belief systems, power struggles. He draws a parallel between these opposing forces and the broader tensions of the modern world—good versus evil, left versus right, progress versus tradition.
But amidst the struggle, there’s something else. The shape of the interlocked antlers forms a cross. This is no accident. Gilbertson often embeds symbolism in his work, encouraging viewers to pause and reflect. The cross at the center of the battle serves as a reminder of faith, resilience, or perhaps even redemption. Is there meaning in the chaos? A resolution beyond conflict? The painting doesn’t give a definitive answer—it merely presents the question.
The salt technique adds another layer to the piece. The unpredictable spread of pigments across the paper mirrors the unpredictability of nature itself. The icy blues, soft whites, and sharp contrasts of the caribou’s fur feel organic and fluid, almost as if the image formed naturally rather than being painted by hand. This balance between control and randomness is something Gilbertson has perfected over decades.
Frozen Tundra is more than just a wildlife painting. It’s an invitation to reflect. Are we, like these caribou, locked in endless battles? Do we see the symbols hidden in our struggles? Do we recognize the moments of beauty and meaning in the midst of conflict?
Gilbertson doesn’t offer easy answers. He presents a scene, a moment in time, infused with technique, history, and subtle symbolism. The rest is up to the viewer.
