In many ways the 56-year-old local artist Bill Snyder provides the dictionary definition of “reclusive genius.”

He hasn’t had a public showing of his works for at least two years, the last being an appearance at David Krouse’s 1911 Gallery during a Trolley Tour and a Dash-In exhibit shared with Diane Gronert. Yet the mention of his name amongst the local art illuminati brings immediate and enthusiastic recognition.

It’s not clear that one could locate his address via Mapquest (Orff Avenue?) or even with a GPS device. He has shown agoraphobic tendencies and has been sequestered for some 30 years in a 100-year-old wooden-framed house/studio that he shares with his wife/muse, Judie Panock, on the city’s near west side. It’s there they’ve raised their four children; three have left the nest and the fourth, Scott, is attending IFPW.

Born the oldest of 11 children in Decatur, Snyder spent the first two years after high school with the U.S. Army where, attached to the Signal Corps, he provided synapse between landline and radio communication in Germany. Following his military service he spent time at the Fort Wayne Art Institute then found work as a painter with BZW Master Painters, where he has been for the last quarter-century-plus.

(Ironically, the ceilings in this century-old domicile have never been painted since the couple moved in, but now the walls and trim are currently being revisited by Judie, who teaches Special Education classes and is currently working on her Masters at the University of Saint Francis.)

To get to Snyder means to go through Judie. During this interview Snyder would halt or stall the questioning until his wife could re-enter the room; you can’t have one without the other.

Snyder needs no coaching when called upon to cite his visual inspirations and influences. Among his favorites are Picasso, Gorky, Klee, Matisse, Rivers, Johns, Warhol and Diebenkorn.

His music - a medium that serves as his comfort food (his studio walls are lined with hundreds of cassette tapes and CDs) - includes an eclectic array of artists, among them Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Los Lobos, Tom Waits, Glenn Miller, Bill Evans and Mel Torme (many of the classics he remembers from his mother’s record collection).

As to literary influences Snyder is partial to many writers like the German poet Ranier Maria Rilke, the French playwright Jean Genet and Irish writer James Joyce, among dozens of others.

In other words, as Snyder would say, “I’m drawn to all the great creations, those one-of-a-kind, ages-enduring pieces that can never be reproduced. Some would say ‘classics’ but those lists are often different from mine.

“Only in recent times have I been able to revisit some of my favorite writers that I glossed over in my youth.”

To examine Snyder’s work is to assume a challenge that is taxing, thought provoking and risky, but ultimately rewarding.

There are the paintings, prints and collages that form the earliest part of the arc of the artist’s 35-year spectrum of work. These early efforts have accumulated local and regional awards and earned him exhibits in Chicago galleries. They comprise testament to an unrefined, yet teeming mind and talent. But to evoke the current Snyder at, I think, his best, one needs to focus upon his extraordinary drawings. Those inch-and-a-half thick, 11-by-14, coil-bound, gel pen-inscribed folios of optical illusionary, labyrinthine, rhythmic representations that both give clues and disguises as to what Snyder is about.

Each individual piece (suitable for framing) can be best appreciated in their magnitude by flipping the pages and admiring the differences, each rendering signifying a distinct theme and message.

Abstract for sure, the artist’s works are difficult to decipher. Intricate, precise and mostly geometric, they suggest a controlled hand guided and inspired by powers unnamed. In some cases they appear maze-like, tracing paths that are concentric but lead only to another beginning point. Impossible, chimerical in form, they also suggest linear scriptural overtones (M.C. Escher meets the crop circle gang).

Patterns emerge (think Batik) but only within each individual piece, not overall.

Snyder’s admitted affection for music can be detected in these works. An admirer of John Cage, among other 60s icons, it is easy to see the influence of chance and musical notation vis-ý-vis the visual beauty of George Crumb’s scores.

Friend and fellow artist David Krouse remembers a not-too-long-ago episode visiting Snyder while he was working in his studio:

“It was a moment filled with meaning for me when I walked in and Bill was tossing some dice upon which he had affixed different colors on the faces ... and he was using them to divine the next color he would incorporate in the piece he was working on. It was an eye-opener for me and a kind of epiphany I continue to use.”

Snyder admits that color choices are troublesome. Psychedelic versus the austere, ascetic realm. He lives most comfortably in an achromatic universe. It’s an environment that he finds rigorous and elegant at the same time. It allows for his innocence while underlining his maturity.

Perhaps, after all, he’s a composer, scoring the resonant vibrations he’s attuned to, leaving it for us to sing along.