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‘Flow” Opens Today

June 12, 2026 by redtreetimes

Flow– At Principle Gallery

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.

— Rainer Maria Rilke, Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower (1922)

I’ve had solo shows at the Principle Gallery since the year 2000. The show that year was titled Redtree. It was the first showing of the singular red tree which soon after became my trademark, carrying me through the better part of three decades. The idea that I am heading down to Alexandria for my 27th solo show there boggles my mind.

I often feel like I am looking at someone else’s life when it comes to my art. That is probably because after looking back at all the hours spent agonizing, all the many high points and the lows of disappointment and misstep, the rejections and slights, the many tens of thousands of hours spent alone in my studio with a paint brush in my hand, the sweating hard work it took to build and stain frames for the many paintings that were hauled year after year to this Virginia gallery at this time of the year, it seems like too much of an effort for me to have completed in any number of years.

This, for the most part, was written yesterday afternoon which is when my fatigue kicks in hard on me these days. The idea of that amount of work and effort seems even more inconceivable then.

Why would anyone do this to themselves year after year, decade after decade?

I could come up with a long and labored answer, 90% bullshit with whiffs of truth thrown in for flavor, but I won’t subject you to that. The first and best honest response I can come up with is that this is the only thing I know that lets me be me all the time on my terms while still making a living. I don’t have to wear a mask or try to be anyone else’s idea of who I should be. I’ve tried living that way and it never fit me well at all. The parts that didn’t fit in that life fit perfectly in this one.

That’s a big deal for me.

The second response to why one would subject themselves to such a battering is that it is addictive. Not the narcissistic, attention getting part of it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to be noticed, but that isn’t enough for me, doesn’t move the needle too much. The addiction of which I am speaking is much different than being a whore for the spotlight.

I am talking about the first time someone is moved enough by your work that they view you instantly as a friend, a compadre in their own journey. They open up and tell you things they often have told no one else, sometimes secrets that have lived with them for years. Or sometimes tell me about being moved to tears by my work and, more than once, I have responded with my own tears.

The first few times this happened I was surprised and taken aback. It was so unexpected. It took some time to understand and accept this. I didn’t feel worthy at first, knowing my own deficiencies and problems. But I came to see that that was beside the point of this friendship, that we were unwittingly giving each other what we needed. They were getting an acknowledgement, they in my work and me in their confession to me, that we were not alone.

That and that opening, that bearing of their soul, is an addictive thing. It is an amazing and great feeling, like suddenly being in the company of a close friend that you didn’t even know existed before that moment.

How can someone not be drawn to such moments, no matter the effort required?

I don’t know. And I certainly don’t know how we ended up at this point of this post. The spirit took me I guess, if that is even a thing.

My point is that this 27th show at the Principle Gallery has been the toughest one to complete by far. And if not for the hard work done in those prior decades and the many kindnesses of close friends who accommodated my needs in preparing for this show, along with the promise of potentially recognizing those new close friends of which I spoke, this show would not have taken place. For a wide variety of reasons, it might be the show of which I am most proud.

I included the poem, Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower, at the top from Rilke once more, as I had when I wrote about the show only a month or so back. In that post I focused on the last three lines, which I felt illustrated the way I see this show and my work in general, as a flow that continuously carries proof of my voice and my existence:

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.

For this post at this time, it was the middle lines that spoke loudest to me:

Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

This idea of transforming your pain– emotional and physical– into a strength and a thing of beauty comes across loud and clear to me.

Like a bell ringing…

Flow opens tonight (Friday, June12) at the Principle Gallery in Old Town Alexandria. The Opening Reception runs from 6-8:30 PM. I look forward to seeing you there.

If you can’t make it to the Opening on Friday, I will also be in the gallery on Saturday morning. And if you are unable to make it in to see the show in person, you can click below to take a 3-D stroll through show at the Principle Gallery.

GC Myers “Flow” – Principle Gallery

 

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Details, Details, Details…

June 11, 2026 by redtreetimes

A New Cornucopia detail

For the secret of man’s being is not only to live but to have something to live for. Without a stable conception of the object of life, man would not consent to go on living, and would rather destroy himself than remain on earth, though he had bread in abundance.

–Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (1880)

I began writing this post a while ago about a painting, A New Cornucopia, that is included in my solo show that opens tomorrow at the Principle Gallery. After setting up the image of the entire painting and the Dostoyevsky passage, I began to write. However, I was totally distracted by the lower part of the painting that showed on my screen. I kept stopping to look at the colors of the flower beds and how they played and flowed together.

A New Cornucopia— Now at the Principle Gallery

There was such a richness, an opulence, in its colors, forms and texture. I decided to begin again and put that cropped detail at the top of the page, just as I had done yesterday with the Archaeology painting. It was a potent illustration of what I felt from Dostoyevsky’s word, that the world surrounds us with an abundance of sustenance and beauty, yet we sometimes struggle to have a purpose in our life that allows us to fully see it.

And since A New Cornucopia is included in what amounts to be a sort of semi- retrospective show of my work, it also a great example of something I started doing with my work many years ago. My belief then– and now, for that matter–was that if every square inch of a painting held some sort of visual impact, the whole of the painting would have even more impact, both visually and emotionally. There should be no part of the painting, even a single square inch, that would not enhance or contribute to the whole.

And for the most part, I found this belief and attention to that detail well-founded. At the time I was working primarily in water media, both watercolor and the transparent inks I work with to this day, on very smooth surfaces. I used watercolor paper but after a while of experimenting had settled on an all-cotton matboard that had a layer of vellum near its surface. This prevented the pigments in the inks and watercolors from absorbing into the matboard, allowing the brilliance of the transparent pigments to better show against the whiteness of the matboard. It gave the work asor of inner glow.

But as the work grew in size, it was more and more difficult to keep to this every-inch-must-have-visual-impact rule. The larger fields of color sometimes flattened a bit making an individual square inch sometimes less impactful than the whole. My eye would go to those less than impactful areas and I felt if that were case for me, it might well be the same for others. I know that sounds nit-picky but in my head it mattered.

To counter this, I began to integrate layers of gesso on my surfaces. I could create chaotic under-textures throughout the painting that would capture the pigments in a variety of ways that gave each little bit of the painting its own visual pop. It has been a process that has answered my own somewhat neurotic rule that my paintings must follow.

Of course, as the years passed, I began to keep that rule less in the front of my mind, believing that it was ingrained in my work process by then. And I think it has become just that, for the most part. I sometimes now find a piece that has left the studio that doesn’t meet this standard, but the work still carries big impact as a whole. But I find that the pieces that have the most powerful presence tend to still adhere to my rule.

This detail section of A New Cornucopia brought that home to me this morning. Of course, after that, I had to neurotically zoom in to every corner and inch of this painting and was pleasantly pleased that it easily exceeded this self-imposed rule with a mixture of texture, colors, and brushstrokes. Though someone might focus on the immediate and easy attraction of the flowerbeds, the wholeness this painting possesses is created by those individual square inches, each serving as an important small building block that gives it solidity and strength.

Of course, that’s just how I see it. You might see and feel something other than that.  Or maybe just think I am crazy for focusing on an individual square inch in a painting that has 400 of them.

You might be right about the crazy part. But it is the only way I can do it.

And it makes me happy.

Here’s song, a big hit from Sheryl Crow that ties into this a bit. This is her If It Makes You Happy. Like she says: If it makes you happy/ It can’t be that bad…

PS: My annual show, including A New Cornucopia, opens at the Principle Gallery tomorrow with an Opening Reception from 6-8:30 PM. Hope you can make it in to chat for a bit.

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Archaeology: The Now and Then

June 10, 2026 by redtreetimes

Detail from Archaeology: The Now and Then — Now at Principle Gallery

Of all the priceless objects left behind, this is what we rescue. These artifacts. Memory cues. Useless souvenirs. Nothing you could auction. The scars left from happiness.

–Chuck Palahniuk, Diary (2003)

Archaeology: The Now and Then – Now at Principle Gallery

This short passage from a Chuck Palahniuk novel spoke loudly to me this morning when I was examining the artifact field of the new Archaeology painting, Archaeology: The Now and Then, that is part of my solo exhibit opening on Friday at the Principle Gallery.

I sometimes crop out the landscape sections of my Archaeology pieces, leaving only the artifact field such as I have done in the image above. It allows me to examine these groupings of artifacts, allowing me to see if it has its own rhythm or wholeness outside the context of its position in the painting. More often than not, I am pleased by the results.

I usually find myself vowing to do several large paintings that would consist of only artifact fields such as the one above, devoid of the landscape or soil strata that is normally shown in these paintings. Maybe I will do that sometime soon. You never know, right?

I was greatly pleased by the image above, both as itself and in the painting. It felt playful and somewhat mournful at the same time. It reminded me of the passage from Palahniuk. These were ultimately memory cues and useless souvenirs. Nothing priceless or valuable in a general sense.

The scars left from happiness.

The remains of a life once lived. Gone are the memories attached to these simple objects, as well as the inside jokes and knowing glances they once inspired. Objects that held meaning and utility when viewed in the context of a life but now are little more than a random trash heap.

These paintings always make me wonder if these artifacts are the scars of my own happiness. I guess they must be. On one hand, that makes me a bit sad. Seeing the remnants of one’s life spread through a landfill has that effect.

But looking at the detailed section at the top, I find myself fairly happy. Maybe even joyful.

And in my mind, that makes sense.  These are, after all, scars left from happiness. Every scar is tangible evidence of our experience in this life, each bearing our story and memory.

What’s not be happy about?

If my life is some day in the future reduced to this buried field of artifacts and scars, I am okay with that.

I smile at the possibility of an archaeologist a millennium or two in the future trying to piece together a narrative from the debris I leave behind.

As the late Polish poet and Nobel Prize winner Wisława Szymborska said in her poem Archaeology:

Show me your whatever
and I’ll tell you who you were.

Well, this is my whatever, I guess. Good luck to those future archaeologists. I hope they make me look better than I am.

If that is the case, I am sure whatever bit of cosmic dust that remains of me then will be grinning somewhere out there.

Archaeology: The Now and Then is 10″ by 20″ on canvas and is now hanging at the Principle Gallery for my annual solo exhibit. This year’s show, titled Flow, begins with an Opening Reception this Friday, June 12, that runs from 6-8:30 PM.

Here’s a 2003 song, Traffic in the Sky, from singer/songwriter Jack Johnson. With the lyrics below, it seems to be a good fit here.

Puzzle pieces in the ground
No one ever seems to be digging
Instead, they’re looking up towards the heavens
With their eyes on the heavens, mm
The shadows on the way to the heavens, mm
It’s enough to make me cry
But that don’t seem like it would make it feel better
The answers could be found
We could learn from digging down
But no one ever seems to be digging

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The Attunement

June 9, 2026 by redtreetimes

The Attunement– Now at Principle Gallery

A thrumming of piano-strings beyond the gardens and through the elms. At length the melody steals into my being. I know not when it began to occupy me. By some fortunate coincidence of thought or circumstance I am attuned to the universe, I am fitted to hear, my being moves in a sphere of melody, my fancy and imagination are excited to an inconceivable degree. This is no longer the dull earth on which I stood.

–Henry David Thoreau, Journal, August 3, 1852

Just this morning I realized that I had not shared this image of the painting, The Attunement, which is part of my solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery that opens Friday. This surprised me since I consider it one of the anchors of the show since it’s a bigger piece coming in at 40″ high by 20″ wide. It should have great visual impact on the wall of the gallery.

But more than that, I consider it an anchor because it so well captures the spirit and tone of this exhibit, which is titled Flow. I chose the title originally as a way of describing how my work has evolved and changed over the past thirty-plus years while still maintaining its identity.

Water in a small mountain stream eventually becomes part of a river and that river soon becomes the sea.

It is different but the same.

I believe that The Attunement maintains this theme very well while bearing my own personal meaning, that being the interconnectedness of all things. It is a theme that has come to the forefront in my work in recent years though it has been present to a certain extent from the very beginning.

It feels like a very autobiographical piece for me. I can see so many things in it that pertain to my own life’s journey, my own personal flow. My own desire to find sort of harmony with the greater forces of nature and the universe and my place within it.

I say autobiographical but, as I have pointed out before, most art ends up being autobiographical to both its creators and those who appreciate it most. Any work of art connects because the viewer senses themselves within it.

There is even an attunement in that way.

I could write much more about this painting, but I think that would be a disservice to it. It says what it needs to say without explanation.

It is on its own.

All I can ask of any piece of mine.

Here’s a tune, Turn Me Loose, from The Record Company. It probably has nothing to do with this painting or post, but it felt pretty good when it came on while I was writing this, especially this section of its chorus:

Why don’t you turn me looseSo I can run away?Why don’t you turn me looseSo I can run away?

Maybe it does fit this painting, after all.

You can see The Attunement now at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria. If you wish, you can tell me what you see or don’t see in it at the Opening Reception for my exhibit, Flow, on this Friday, June 12. Starts at 6 and runs to 8:30 PM.

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A Look Back: Inner Sanctum

June 8, 2026 by redtreetimes

Inner Sanctum (2002)– Now at Principle Gallery

The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens into that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was a conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.

–Carl Jung, The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man (1934)

 Perhaps the room in this 2002 painting is that most intimate sanctum of the soul that Carl Jung mentions and, though there is no visible door, perhaps these windows open out into that primeval cosmic night as he calls it.  I have always felt that it has a dreamlike quality to it in the manner in which it transmits its message through small bits of information. Nothing– the Red Chair, the room, the windows, the outside landscape– is shown in their entirety. It is in the color and texture of these elements and the way they relate to one another that creates the mood and message of this painting.

And what is that mood and message?

Well, that’s a tough question. I can tell you what I see in it for myself but that might well be different than what you glean from it. It might even be different than what I took from it when it was painted nearly 25 years ago. That’s quite a chunk of time for a human and many of us change considerably over such a timespan– for better or worse. For a fortunate few, the change is for the better.

Surely, I am a different person in many ways since this was first hung on a wall. A lot of water from that river has flowed past those windows in that time. I am calling it a river for this analogy though I actually see it myself as a lake. In someone else’s eyes it could be the ocean or a coastal inlet.

The point is that our perceptions of certain pieces of art sometimes change, evolving with time and our experience of it.

In this case, this painting feels much the same to me but there are subtle differences in the way I look at it brought on over that time. I should say that there are subtle differences in the way I look at my life in it brought on over that time. Most of my paintings– and for that matter the work of others that draw me in– are autobiographical in how I see them. I believe we all react to most art in how our life and experience is reflected in it.

In 2002, in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, this piece was painted at time of great uncertainty in this country. In my mind, a blue shadow hung over all things then. I retreated a bit more from the world and felt as though I couldn’t look too far ahead in the blue haze of that shadow. My work, in pieces such as this, reflected that feeling.

In 2026, we are once again at a time of great uncertainty in this country. In many ways, this time may be even more uncertain and anxious. I am probably even more withdrawn from the world that in 2002 for a number of reasons– the isolation of the pandemic which I still cling to in many ways, health issues, and a general sense of tiredness that predated my current fatigue. Like I said, a lot of water flowed past those windows.

But for the similarities in the circumstances I have mentioned, I see it somewhat differently these days. In 2002, it felt more like an elegy for this country and the loss of, for lack of a better term, our innocence. We can debate how truly innocent we then were at another time.

This painting could easily be seen as an elegy now as well. But I believe an elegy today for this country would appear differently in my work. In 2002, it was seen with more of a mournful feeling since we were dealing with instantly losing parts of our way of life that we had thought would never be taken away. But we were losing them to external forces with which we could seemingly unite and rally against. In 2026, we seem to be losing even more of our ways of life to dark forces from within who in no way want to unite the country. They seek division and polarization in order to pit us one against the other.

An elegy today would be painted in a harsher and angrier way, with jarring contrasts of reds and yellows along chaotic skies.

So now I view this painting in a different way. It is more inward looking, more focused on the contemplation of personal identity and existence. Oh, the windows are still there, and I can see that outer world when turn to take a look. But that horizon that I now see is more a symbol of eternity. And there is something hopeful in the peace and silence of eternity.

I find more peace in this painting now than I did in 2002. It’s a feeling I get now standing at the window of the studio in the light just before dawn. The world is about to reawaken once more.

And even with all its built-in sorrows and tragedies, that remains a beautiful thing.

Wasn’t planning on going all in this morning. I never know what is going to come out most mornings but there it is.

This painting, Inner Sanctum, is 9″ by 20″ on wood panel, matted in a 16″ by 26″ frame. It is included my annual solo exhibit, this year titled Flow, at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. The show is being hung this week and will be available for previews and purchase. The Opening Reception is this Friday, June 12, running from 6-8:30 PM. I will be there so stop in and we can chat. You can tell me what you see in this piece.

Since you endured this to the end you deserve a treat. I don’t keep cookies or candy in the studio, so you’ll have to make do with a song. This song just felt right for this painting and post this morning. This Etta James and her version of Misty Blue.

Good stuff…

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A Way Forward

June 7, 2026 by redtreetimes

A Way Forward (2012)- Now at Principle Gallery

If we would guide by the light of reason, we must let our minds be bold.

–Justice Louis Brandeis, dissenting opinion in Jay Burns Baking Co. v. Bryan (1924)

The painting above, A Way Forward, was completed in 2012. It left the studio almost as soon as it was done so I only lived with it for a very brief time. Since it left, with only its image to remind me of it, I thought it was good piece. A very good painting even.

But something always seemed missing in it. The image I was looking at on my computer screen didn’t seem to fully capture what I remembered of that piece. After a while I just rationalized that away by saying that I didn’t get to fully know the painting since it lived with me for such a short period of time and that the image on the screen was most likely accurate.

When it returned to the studio several months ago, I realized how wrong I had been. The image on the screen didn’t capture hardly any of the depth or nuance in this painting. That image was much flatter in tone, the colors seemed too dark and dull, and it had a sort of yellow glaze over the whole of it. It was a like I was looking at a different and altogether inferior painting.

The actual painting was so much more. Shockingly so.

It was, of course, my fault as that earlier image was from my own photography and photo editing. This was not the first instance of this, especially in work from that period around 2012 and 2013. I featured painting, Islander, here this past week whose digital image had many of the same flaws as that of this painting. It was a mess, causing the painting to lose much of the pop that made it so effectively alive when seen in person.

I am not sure why there was this dramatic lapse in the quality of the images at that time.  Maybe it was the camera or computer I was working with at the time. I don’t really know. Whatever the reason, I am aware that my photography often does not always capture the depth or the full effect of certain pieces. I have been told numerous times by people in the galleries how much better the work looked in person, that the images they saw online didn’t compare. I have often written here that if you like the image here, you’ll love it even more in person.

I immediately reshot both paintings, as well as a few more from that time. The image here is infinitely better than my original image of this painting. But even then, it will still show more depth and subtlety in person.

My opinion of this painting soared after getting it back. Even its emotional impact and messaging, as I saw it then in 2012 and now, seemed clearer to me. It has a pop to it feels much bolder and far more confident than the image I looked at for so many years. There is again lovely nuance in the sky and distant hills and the Red Tree seems to have an air of certainty in its stance and position as a guide pointing us forward into the future.

It is a piece filled with hopeful optimism.

I once again feel that excitement that I remember feeling when it was painted back in 2012, a feeling that was somewhat dulled in my memory by my poor imaging of it.

Now I am able to fully enjoy this painting again and I am thrilled.

This painting, A Way Forward, is 10″ by 16″ on paper, matted and framed at 16″ by 22″. It is included in Flow, my annual solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery that opens Friday, June 12 with an opening reception from 6-8:30 PM.

For this week’s Sunday Morning Music, here’s a favorite song that the Red Tree might very well be singing in this painting. This is the classic I’ll Take You There. from the always great Staple Singers.

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Great Question

June 6, 2026 by redtreetimes

 

It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.

–Eugène Ionesco, Discoveries (1969)

Most of you who have read this blog for any amount of time know that I ask a lot of questions and provides few, if any, answers. This sense of wondering and not knowing provides an uncertainty that I have come to feel is the driving force behind my work.

That is to say that my work often provides the only certainty, the only viable answers, to the questions and uncertainties that live on a fulltime basis in my mind. And even at that, I wouldn’t call them answers. They are more symbols of an acceptance that I will most likely never know the answers to my questions.

They are an act of balancing my uncertainties into a form that gives me what amounts to a modicum of certainty.

Without these questions, I doubt that I would be much of an artist. Probably not an artist at all.

It is this type of questioning and its place in creativity and innovation that are the basis for a wonderful new book, Great Question, from Larry Robertson, founder and president of Lighthouse Consulting and so much more. He is a columnist, a highly sought speaker, and an award-winning author of several books dealing with ways to enhance our thought processes, creativity, and communication, concepts that apply for both businesses and individuals.

In Great Question, Larry has reached out to a large number of prominent folks across a wide variety of fields. There are leaders from business, academia, education, religion, and charitable organizations, as well as authors, broadcasters and so many others. There is even an artist or two. He asked each how questions shaped their decisions, their planning, and their problem solving. The premise being that without continued questioning there is stasis in our growth and progress. Questions provide new ways of thinking, expanding our perspectives and opening us up to new horizons and opportunities.

One section early in the book that caught my attention was his interviews with primary school educators who spoke about how we are trained in school at an early age to ask fewer questions. It seems counter to our idea of education and the inquisitive minds of children. But questions in the classroom take up valuable time that has already been fully devoted to teaching the required syllabus. Fewer questions make the syllabus more achievable. Not having children, I had never given it much thought but had noticed over the years in my interactions with kids that they seem to ask fewer questions as they moved into 5th or 6th grade and beyond. Nothing scientific there, of course, but the observations in the book lined up pretty much with what I had noticed.

Actually, I had noticed that most people ask very few questions anymore. We tend to take things as they are presented and often don’t want to or are uneasy about delving beyond the surface. And that is a shame. Questions link us to others and expand our knowledge and understanding in important ways. Without questions, something is lost for us all.

I was fortunate to have Larry interview me a couple of years ago for this book. I met him probably 25 or more years ago at one of my openings at the Principle Gallery. Over the years I have become friends with Larry and his wife, Kai. Over that time his insights, both in general and on my work, have been most enlightening for me. That extends to the first question Larry posed to me, as he did with all the other interviewees, which was: What is a question?

I don’t remember my answer, but I am sure I stuttered and stumbled to some sort of bullshit reply. I felt that it required an answer. I felt the same for much of the whole interview. Afterwards, it made me more fully examine how questions played a vital part in what I do and who I am. The act of questioning what is beyond the evident has always been an important part of my work and I was beginning to fully see that the answers didn’t matter as much as the questions since many could never be answered in a way that we could fully understand.

That interview with Larry really opened my eyes to that. I believe I got more out of it than Larry though he was able to include parts of it along with some of my writings here on the blog in a section of his book. I am honored to be included in it alongside so many highly accomplished folks.

Thanks, Larry, for all you have given me with your support and wisdom over the years.

My recap here is greatly lacking this morning. This book is so much more than my words can fully capture in an hour or so this morning. I hope you’ll add Great Question to your reading list. I guarantee there is something in there that will be of use or will change the way you see how you use questions to your advantage– or don’t use to your disadvantage– in your own life. It will make you more cognizant of asking questions that take you somewhere, that expand your thinking.

Like the Ionesco quote at the top: It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.

May you find enlightenment in your questioning.

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A Look Back: Tango

June 5, 2026 by redtreetimes

Tango (1999)– At the Principle Gallery

You that love lovers,
this is your home. Welcome!
In the midst of making form, love
made this form that melts form,
with love for the door,
soul the vestibule.

Watch the dust grains moving
in the light near the window.
Their dance is our dance.
We rarely hear the inward music,
but we’re all dancing to it nevertheless,
directed by the one who teaches us,
the pure joy of the sun,
our music master.

–Rumi, Music Master (ca. 13th century)

This is another older painting included in my annual solo show, Flow, that opens next Friday, June 12, at the Principle Gallery. At 4″ by 9″ on paper and matted in a 12″ by 16″ frame, it is not a large piece.

As with many things, don’t let the size fool you. This painting always lived large in my mind.

From the time it was painted, this piece captivated me in many ways. The sensuous intertwining of the trees. The burst of yellow-orange in the midfield of the picture plane set against the flatness of the sky. Even the spew line at the upper right corner intrigued and pleased me.

It felt like a dance outside of time, moving to an inward rhythm and tempo that we are seldom fortunate to hear.

In short, I liked this painting a lot. So much so that after it was sold at the Principle Gallery soon after it was painted in 1999, I ended up buying it back a number of years later, around 2017 if I remember correctly.

This painting and a few others of mine were originally purchased by a collector in central Virginia, in the Charlottesville area. It turns out that this person passed away and their entire estate went up for auction in 2017. I happened across a listing online featuring this painting and the others up for auction.

However, they were not listed as paintings. They described them as prints. My first instinct was to notify the auctioneers and correct their mistake. But before I could, it began to irk me that they were not doing their due diligence in evaluating the paintings. I could somewhat see their confusion as all the paintings in this group were done on untreated paper with a very smooth surface, with little if any evident texture. And the exposed edges that mark my wet work resemble the edges of work that has come off a press.

Even so, my work was well established in the art market by then and it would not have taken much effort to discover that they were indeed original paintings, a fact that would have dramatically changed their listed value. It bothered me that I should have to be the one to inform them of their error.

So, I did not. In fact, I bid on and won all of the paintings– er, prints as they were listed.

I know this does not make me look good, kind of like some scuzzy inside trader making profit off information only they possess. And I did feel that way, to be honest.

I blame my transgression on this painting.

I really wanted this painting back.

The idea that it should be pawned off as a print and most likely end up in a trash bin some day in the future was something I couldn’t tolerate. I know that once work is sold it is out of my control. There is nothing I can do if someone wants to chuck it out or use it for target practice or line their birdcage. But here was a piece that had meaning for me, that felt like something more, and I had an opportunity to give it another chance.

Okay, I know you’re thinking that I could have just called the auctioneers and that would have given a better chance of avoiding a possible future trash bin as well. And you’re right.

But like I said, I really wanted this painting back.

And I got it. And it has hung and been deeply appreciated in my main painting space for the past 9 years or so.

So why am I now willing to part with it?

I don’t know exactly.

Perhaps it is that I have become less possessive in recent times? Maybe. If I were still as possessive of my work as I once was, I would never let this one go again. I didn’t have much time with it when it first was painted then quickly sold. But I have had a number of years now to take it fully in.

I feel it deserves to find a new hole where it will be once more fully appreciated for all it has to offer. And this show, with its mix of old and new, is the perfect place for this particular painting. If it leaves me now, I know it will be because it speaks directly to its new owner in the way it spoke to me. I will be satisfied in simply having known it once more.

Hope you don’t think less of me for detailing how this painting came to be back once more at the Principle Gallery.

Such is the lure of the tango…

 

 

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Placid Pondering

June 4, 2026 by redtreetimes

Placid Pondering (2012)- Now at Principle Gallery

Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write
But the fair paradise of Nature’s light?

— John Keats, I Stood Tip-Toe Upon a Little Hill (1816)

As I have noted here a number of times, my show at the Principle Gallery, this year titled Flow, is a mix of old and new work, a semi-retrospective. Gong through the available work and selecting which pieces would be included was a tough but wonderful task. It forced me to examine some pieces a bit closer with an eye that is somewhat different than when the work was painted. In a few cases, my whole perspective on the paintings had changed and the work now revealed insights and emotions I had missed before.

And in some, my original feelings were reinforced mightily.

Placid Pondering, shown above, falls in that category. I felt from the time it was painted in 2012 that this 24″ by 24″ canvas had a certain message and strength that came through clearly. Looking at it fourteen years later, that only seems to have strengthened for me.

The acrylic inks employed in this piece, which were the primary media in the first decade or so of my work, allow the white of the textured gesso surface come through and create a warm glow. It has a great depth in it that creates the feeling of being beneath and in the center of airy dome.

Apart and peaceful.

The perfect place for considering the world.

It is a painting that makes me happy though I am not sure at this moment that happy is the right word.

Maybe satisfied fits better?

Whenever I look at this painting, I find myself thinking that I would be very content in being that Red Tree in that place and time, apart yet connected to the world by that thin white ribbon of a path that runs to it.

Does that path might indicate that it is indeed my destination, that it is a place that can be one day reached?

I don’t know. But I hope so.

Just have to keep walking that ribbon, forever working towards it.

Here’s a song in sort of that vein of thought. It’s an acoustic version from U2 of their song Walk On. The song was originally on their 2000 album, All That You Can’t Leave Behind, a title I might have to consider for a future Archaeology painting.

Who knows? For now though, take the title of this song literally and walk on, okay?

Git.

This painting and many more are currently at the Principle Gallery for next week’s opening of Flow, my annual show there. Though the work is available now for previews and prebuys, the show opens officially with an Opening Reception on Friday, June 12, that runs from 6-8:30 PM.

Hope to see you there.

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Concordia

June 3, 2026 by redtreetimes

Concordia (2015) –Now at Principle Gallery

When our universe is in harmony with man, the eternal, we know it as truth, we feel it as beauty.

–Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man {1931)

When I finished this larger painting back in 2015, it was its feeling of peace and harmony that first hit me. That feeling in this piece hasn’t left me in the past decade.

I saw the Red Tree here as both an observer and a participant in the wonder of the harmony surrounding it, as though it was conductor before an orchestra who stands rapt by the music being produced which creates harmonies of color and form that whirl through its mind.

The rolls of the fields as well as their darker tones represent the beginning of harmony, as form and rhythm are found. These rolls transition, with the Red Tree’s guidance, into the warmer colors of the fields in the middle of this piece that then move towards a blank and distant horizon, representing the eternal nature of harmony.

The world is right. All is as one.

In that moment, the title that came to me was Concordia. Corncordia was the ancient Roman goddess of peace, harmony, and unity. It seemed like a fine fit then and it still feels right.

Concordia is, as I said a above a larger painting, measuring 36″ by 36″ on canvas. It is included in Flow, this year’s edition of my annual solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery. The Opening Reception for this exhibit, my 27th consecutive at the prominent Alexandria gallery, is next Friday, June 12, running from 6-8:30 PM.

I will be there, come Hell or high water. Over the past 27 years of shows, there have times of both and we’re still going. That wasn’t a sure thing just a few months ago when I was struggling with my treatment and my time at work suffered. But the show has come together extremely well.

The world contained within it is right and I find myself being pretty damn proud of it.

That might be a boldly foolish statement, but I am going with it, nonetheless.

Here’s a wonderful composition from Claude Debussy that is indicative of what I see in this piece. It is his Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun from 1894. It runs about ten minutes but this performance from the Berliner Philharmoniker is worth a few extra minutes.

Maybe it will put your world into a state of peace and unity that you can carry into the rest of your day.

Maybe not. Who knows? Either way, it is a marvelous piece of music.

So, listen quietly and happily or get out before you screw up my little bit of oneness with the world.

You do know I am joking when I say stuff like that, right?

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