Redtree Times

The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. What will it matter to him if he notices that he is growing old? Has he any reason to envy the young people whom he sees, or wax nostalgic over his own lost youth? What reasons has he to envy a young person? For the possibilities that a young person has, the future which is in store for him?

‘No, thank you,’ he will think. ‘Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, although these are things which cannot inspire envy.’

― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning (1946)

The Big Gems exhibit at the Gmeiner Art & Cultural Center in Wellsboro, PA opens today. However, the official Opening Reception for the exhibit is next Saturday, July 25 from 2-4 PM. The Big Gems show is, as I have noted here in recent weeks, a collaboration between the Gmeiner and the West End Gallery that displays the very large woks alongside much smaller pieces– Little Gems— from 10 West End Gallery artists. From the photos I have seen it looks to be a most striking show.

My work is also showcased in the smaller Atrium Gallery in an exhibit called A Seedling Returns. I wrote here recently about the importance of the Gmeiner in inspiring my work in the first couple of years that I was painting. At that time, I had just started showing my work publicly at the West End Gallery and still had little idea what art might have in store for me.  But an award garnered in the Gmeiner’s annual Regional Competition in 1995 and a solo show there in January of 1997 proved to be what I consider turning points in my career.

The idea that I would actually even have something even resembling a career seemed improbable back then. Like the seedling as I described myself, both the Gmeiner and the West End Gallery provided the ground and nourishing encouragement that allowed my work to grow. I can honestly say that it is likely that the Red Tree which dominates the work in this showcase would not have been possible without that nourishment.

One of the paintings in A Seedling Returns is shown here. Titled And the Glimmer Returns, it is a 48″ by 24″ from 2018. It was painted specifically for a special exhibit at the West End that showed the stages that many artists follow in building a painting. By that I mean, the exhibit had a preliminary rough sketch, a painted study (this is rough painting that lacks the finish of a normal painting) and the finished painting. This show was a challenge for me since I seldom use sketches and never do painted studies. But I did a sketch and study, though the study ended up being a finished painting. Not finishing felt to me like a musician doing a rehearsal without trying. I’m there, why not do the work?

The interesting thing was that the rough sketch translated fairly well in whole to the painted study, which was titled Lightbreak. However, the translon from the 24′ by 12″ Lightbreak to the much larger And the Glimmer Comes saw a lot of changes though the basic blocking of the painting stayed somewhat intact. That larger surface, once I was on it, had much more directive power than the studies for me. I am not going any further into it today, but you can see a side-by-side of the sketch and the painted study below.

The finished painting immediately became a favorite for me. It has hung in my studio for the last six years in a spot from which I can see it throughout the day, from my desk, my easels or my painting table. It has an atmosphere, along with that particular shade of blue and a very distinctive texture, that totally captivates me. I am actually thrilled to have it out in the world again. I think it deserves to be seen.

I include the Viktor Frankl passage from his Man’s Search for Meaning, one of my all-time favorite books. It was in a post that included this painting back in 2020 and when I read it this morning it took on an even greater significance for me, given the changes in my life and perspective in the past year or so. I thought it matched the glimmer of this painting.

I have also included the same piece of music which also seems to fit perfectly. It is an atmospheric piece, Good Night, Day, from the late Icelandic composer Jóhann Jóhannsson (1969-2018) who was best known for his scores for films such as Arrival, Blade Runner 2049 and The Theory of Everything.

It also glimmers.

If you’re in the Wellsboro area, please stop in at the Gmeiner sometime over the next few weeks. Wellsboro, for those of you who don’t know it, is a lovely and inviting village, green and leafy with gas lights running down the grassy center strip of its main drag. We used to go hiking quite often in the nearby Pennsylvania Grand Canyon. I have a lot of fond memories of that place.

I say this respectfully this morning– git.

Rough Sketch 2018

He seems to me to be headed for his ideal fate, which is compulsive psychosis dashed with a jigger of psychopathic irresponsibility and violence.

— Jack Kerouac, On the Road (1957)

This morning, I was looking for an image of the painting, Soul Boat, from my 2019 series, Multitudes. In doing so, I came across this photo this morning from a post back in 2022 that showed the painting on a small table that sits between my desk and the bookcase built into the fireplace here in my studio. The photo caught my eye for no particular reason. It still looks pretty much the same though the books are somewhat rearranged from use though some are in the same position.

It felt a bit like a self-portrait this morning. It’s one of those images that I feel capture me and my time here in the studio without actually showing me. Something I prefer. I guess much of my art is in its own way, a similar self-portrait. The stacks of books are a nice addition and make a nice frame here though.

Soul Boat is no longer there, having moved to a storage shelf in a back bedroom. I was thinking this morning that I may have made a mistake by not including some pieces from my other painting series in my showcase, A Seedling Returns, that opens tomorrow at the Gmeiner Art & Cultural Center in Wellsboro, PA. It is part of the Big Gems exhibit which is a collaboration between the West End Gallery and the Gmeiner, showcasing both very large and very small paintings from 10 of the West End’s stable of artists. Of course, the Atrium Gallery housing my showcase is not very large so including work from a wide variety of the shorter-lived series I have worked on would be difficult.

I am not even sure why i am sharing this photo this morning outside of it striking my fancy.

Maybe it is the passage from Kerouac’s On the Road that accompanied the photo when it first appeared here.

This has been a very weird week here. I have had a lousy sinus infection that has been with me since Sunday. Aside from the headaches and the congestion and coughing, it has triggered a lot of the side effects from the hormone therapy for my cancer treatment. I have felt beaten up and exhausted all week and the hot flashes have me waking every night on sheets that are cold and wet from night sweats. I feel most times this week like I am in zombie land.

Then Cheri came down with the same thing. Combining our illnesses that with skies that are an unhealthy yellow brown hue every day from the smoke drifting in from the Canadian wildfires that give everything an eerie, otherworldly feel and makes it difficult to go outside gives you a sense of the weirdness. Just looking out the window at it brings on a sense of uneasiness.

It makes me feel like I am in some sort of dystopian novel which is exacerbated by the goings-on from the menace in our White House.

Without going into any sort of political commentary here– though I think it has moved past the political and into the realm of the existential– Kerouac’s passage seemed to be a perfect fit this morning after the psychosis that was so evident on national television last night.

That’s the end of my commentary on that. We all know what is what without me is spelling it out anymore this morning.

Like I said, a weird week. In light of it, looking at this pseudo self-portrait felt somewhat refreshing. And that is a welcome thing this morning.

Here’s song that has little to do with anything written here except that is from Joni Mitchell whose work in both song and paint can often resemble self-portraits. This is longtime favorite. This is A Case of You.

Now, git. Your continued presence makes me feel even weirder this morning.

REMINDER:

A Seedling Returns and Big Gems at the Gmeiner Art & Cultural Center in beautiful Wellsboro, PA opens tomorrow, Saturday, July 18. However, he official Opening Reception takes place next Saturday, July 25, running from 2-4 PM.

Early Interior (1994)

To defend painting: One has to believe in what one is doing, one has to commit oneself inwardly, in order to do painting. Once obsessed, one ultimately carries it to the point of believing that one might change human beings through painting. But if one lacks this passionate commitment, there is nothing left to do. Then it is best to leave it alone. For basically painting is pure idiocy.

–Gerhard Richter, The Daily Practice of Painting, Writings (1962-1993)

For some reason this small early painting always gets a response when I come across it. I don’t exactly know why. Don’t even know why I painted it in the first place. It was not planned out in any way. It just kind of emerged.

I wrote about it here back in 2013, writing that when looking back at old work, there are sometimes anomalies, pieces that seem to have no precedent in my work at the time. Works that just kind of pop up and have no traces in the works that followed. Maybe that’s the attraction for me, that they are singular and exist in their own little universe, serving little of any purpose for me.

They are what they are.

I wrote in the earlier post that I had no idea of where this might go when it started with the checkerboard pattern of the tablecloth and how the cross on the wall was a last-minute addition which changed the painting’s whole feeling for me. That along with the grimy walls gave it the feeling and atmosphere of a tenement for me.

I ended the paragraph I wrote then by saying that looking at it made me wonder what might have happed had I followed up on it.

Could I have made it the basis for my artistic path?

It’s a silly question, actually, one that can’t be fully answered. You never know what creative breakthroughs might transpire or what avenues might open from any path you follow.

But asking myself that question again this morning, I immediately knew the answer.

The answer was a resounding No.

I quickly recognized that it would have been doomed to fail simply because it didn’t instantly inspire the required passionate commitment. The fact that I never followed up is ample evidence and, while I very much like this piece for what it is, I can clearly see now that it lacked the power to inspire.

By inspire I mean that it didn’t light that fire that burns in you to get to the next painting before you have even put the final touches on the last one. I can only see this painting lighting that fire is short bursts that would quickly go out.

My life as a painter has depended on that fire and it has been present for most of the last thirty-plus years. Occasionally it smolders and there are only embers. Times when circumstances create a creative block. But it remains alive and only takes a small bit of breath to bring it back to life.

I didn’t sense that fire in this early piece then nor do I now. That doesn’t make my appreciation of it diminish in any way. Its oneness might actually be its strength.

But much as Richter wrote at the top, it lacked the passionate commitment and I did the best possible thing– I left it alone.

I am leaving the last sentence of his passage alone today though there are many days when I agree heartily with the statement.

We’ll save that for another day.

Here’s a song that sort of fills the bill here. This is Mumford & Sons cover of I’m On Fire from Bruce Springsteen.

Now, git or you might get burned…

For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me. With every acquaintance I make, the population of phantoms resembling me increases. Somewhere they live, somewhere they multiply. I alone do not exist.

― Vladimir Nabokov, The Eye (1930)

I am still well under the weather though it feels like I am making progress. But still enough that it was hard to focus this morning in writing this blogpost. I spent about an hour and a half just fiddling around with nothing to show but an even more throbbing head. At least it’s not Keith Moon banging on skull this morning. More like a bodhran, the Irish hand drum.

As the time ticked away, I decided that I would share a post from the past about one of the pieces that is included in A Seedling Returns at the Gmeiner Art & Cultural Center in beautiful Wellsboro, PA which opens this coming Saturday, July 18. The official Opening Reception takes place next Saturday, July 25, running from 2-4 PM.

If you would like more info on how this show came about, I wrote about the influence of the Gmeiner on my career in a post a few weeks ago, A Seedling Returns.

A Seedling Returns is a small, featured exhibit of my work in conjunction with the larger Big Gems exhibit, which is a collaboration between the Gmeiner and the West End Gallery. It features large paintings from 10 of the West End Gallery artists along with a selection of smaller Little Gems.

The painting shown here, Mirror and Windows, painted in 2013, is a longtime favorite of mine. Below is a post from a number of years back about this painting and what I see in it.

The painting shown here, Mirrors and Windows, hangs here in the studio and I pass it several times a day–it’s fortuitously hung on the wall outside the bathroom. But even though it’s been in this spot for several years now, it usually draws my attention. It’s been that way, remaining a favorite of mine since it was painted back in 2013.

As I wrote back in 2013:

I found myself looking at this piece quite often in the studio, trying to ascertain what it was that was pulling me in. As I looked, I began to be more aware of the road running through which signified to me our life’s journey. We spend our lives looking in mirrors and out windows, living in reflections and images of ourselves and the outer world.

There must be some perfect balance in this. Somewhere, somehow, we hopefully reach a point where we know who and what we are and turn away from mirrors and begin to look for windows in which we can expand our vision of the outer world and gain greater wisdom.

Years later and it has carried the meaning well that I gleaned from it back then, which is that real art serves as both a window and a mirror, giving the viewer insights and views into the world and reflecting their place within it.

Just this morning, I stood in front of it and wondered if I was looking at it as a mirror or a window.

I came to the conclusion that it might be both.

Here’s a fitting tune from the Velvet Underground. This is I’ll Be Your Mirror, performed in 1972 by Lou Reed, John Cale and Nico.

The Durable Will (2020)- Coming to the Gmeiner Art & Cultural Center

Yes! to this thought I hold with firm persistence;
The last result of wisdom stamps it true;
He only earns his freedom and existence
Who daily conquers them anew.

–Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, Part 2

Man, I did not want to write anything this morning. I have been dealing with a sinus infection that makes it feel like Keith Moon is pounding out the drum rhythm for Baba O’Riley on my skull. But I am determined to stomp out something on my laptop this morning.

You see, I set a goal back in December that I would write something on this blog every day for at least a year. I don’t know exactly why I chose to set such a goal. It probably had to do with my cancer diagnosis and the heightened sense of mortality that came with it. I felt that if I was going to say anything with my life and work, time was a-wasting. Every day became a bit more precious.

I also wanted to see if there were noticeable changes in my perceptions, my writing, and my work. I don’t know if there is any evidence of any change. That is something that sometimes requires an outside observer. But I thought it might serve me in this way. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. Who knows?

Another reason in setting such a goal was just to have a carrot in front of me, something that lured me forward every morning. A task that had to be accomplished no matter how poorly I felt. To be honest, that carrot was already in place. I’ve written this blog for going on 18 years now– which seem absolutely ridiculous– and I have tried to maintain a regular schedule over all that time. A lot of words have shown up here. Some have been meaningful, even heartfelt with a bit of wisdom, if you want to call it that. Some have been ridiculous and downright stupid.  I also hope that it has been always honest.

After 18 years of chronicling my work and, to a lesser extent, my life, I have pretty much exposed the entire spectrum of my being. I think there a quite a few of you out there who know me better than you might believe. But then again, maybe not. We always hold something back, don’t we? We always wear some sort of mask, one that keeps prying eyes from seeing that last bit of who we are.

I have written something every day for about 233 straight days now. There have been some days, like today, when I did not want to put down a word. On some of those days I reran earlier posts but found that I was rewriting and adding so much that they were almost new posts.  It took as long putting them together as it did to write a totally new post. It didn’t feel like I was taking a day off in any way.

Ah, the persistence of habit.

I depend on habit in my work and life. I avoid anything that disturbs my habit and routine. I get a little uptight when it does happen. I don’t know if it’s a mental tic. At this point, what does it matter?

As they– whoever they are– say, it is what it is.

Hey, I might have actually got through this today. That’s a pleasant surprise. My streak continues. Of course, it probably doesn’t say anything worth noting.

Hey, you can’t hit a home run every at bat.

Let’s have a song. No, not Baba O’Riley.  As much as I love that song, I think it might blow my head off my shoulders this morning. This song just popped into my head. It is Johnny Cash performing the Loudon Wainwright song The Man Who Couldn’t Cry. When this was recorded, his career was considered to be over at that point. He was seen as being irrelevant by the country music establishment. This performance was one of the first times that Cash had performed before a live audience without a band in decades. It is reported that he was terrified. But he persisted. This marked the beginning of the last phase of his career and life. I think the work he produced in his last years was as important and vital as anything he made in his heyday.

This performance always gets me. And no drums….

Something Beyond— At West End Gallery

The two ways of contemplation are not unlike the two ways of action commonly spoken of by the ancients: the one plain and smooth in the beginning, and in the end impassable; the other rough and troublesome in the entrance, but after a while fair and even. So it is in contemplation: If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he will be content to begin with doubts he shall end in certainties.

–Francis Bacon, The Advancement of Learning (1605)

I often write here about my uncertainty in so many things, how that in many ways it is, with its many questions and few answers, the basis for my work, which seems to live and function in a world of absolute uncertainty.

But is that so? Surely, there must be a counterweight to some sort to my uncertainty.

A Yin to my Yang. The flipside of my coin. A right to my left. An up to my down. The day to my night.

There has to be something that I believe is a certainty in my life, right? Don’t we all possess such things, those unshakable beliefs that we know, from experience and observation, to be demonstrably true?

While it may seem to be the case on some days, I can say without equivocation that I do indeed possess certainties in my little world, things I know are so true that no amount of debate or persuasion could sway me from my belief in them.

For one, I am certain that the sun will rise tomorrow and the day after that.

Okay, cosmological certainties are not what I am really talking about. I do have other certainties that pertain to humans. Well, certainties other than death.

Take for example, kindness. I believe with absolute certainty in my heart of hearts in kindness. Nothing you could ever say will sway me from believing that kindness is not the best way to deal with others, that kindness is the special seasoning for all things. In love, in friendship, in helping others– all these things are enhanced by the presence of kindness.

I also believe with total certainty that love is the most powerful force we possess as humans. Love nourishes, love encourages, love heals, love protects, and so much more. Much like kindness, love is one of the ultimate enhancers of this world. A spice of life.

I also am certain about the goodness of generosity. I am talking more about a generosity of spirit rather than financial generosity, though it also has its place in my little belief system. Generosity of spirit embraces humanity in all its forms. It is inclusive, not dismissive. It elevates others, doesn’t push them down. It looks and listens and tries to find understanding.

I probably shouldn’t add a negative trait to this list, but I believe, again with absolute certainty, that greed is a cancer on humanity, one that metastasizes into every aspect of our lives. You could gather all the Gordon Gecko-types in the world in a chorus singing “Greed is good” until the cows come home and I will not be swayed. Greed is not about self-preservation or providing for one’s family. No one, me included, would deny anyone those things. No, greed shows itself in lusts of all types. Lust for money. Lust for power. Lust for status and ego glorification and gratification.

I could go on and on about the certainty of my disdain for other negatives– hatred, racism, misogyny, etc. I am fairly sure I could come up with a few more certainties. But I am going to end it here with my little list. If that is all I can think of right now, that’s enough for me. I can live with those certainties.

Not sure why I put this out there this morning. I guess I needed to know that there are some things that I truly do believe in. Sometimes those things seem to be eclipsed by the craziness and din of this world and we need a reminder of what remains in our core.

Here’s a longtime favorite tune from The Young Rascals. This is How Can I Be Sure from 1967.

Wherever the Wind Takes Me – At West End Gallery

“The object of art is not to make salable pictures. It is to save yourself.

The fools who write articles about me think that one morning I suddenly decided to write and began to produce masterpieces.

There is no special trick about writing or painting either. I wrote constantly for 15 years before I produced anything with any solidity to it….

The thing of course, is to make yourself alive. Most people remain all of their lives in a stupor.

The point of being an artist is that you may live….

You won’t arrive. It is an endless search.”

–Sherwood Anderson, April 1927 letter to his son 

These fragments from a 1927 letter that Sherwood Anderson wrote to his son who was studying painting in Paris, really struck chords with me. Forst and foremost is that first line:

“The object of art is not to make salable pictures. It is to save yourself.”

My own experience has taught me that lesson. I don’t know that I would be alive if not for painting. And If I were, I can’t imagine any scenario where I would have found the same level of satisfaction with my life.

Followed by the next two lines:

“The fools who write articles about me think that one morning I suddenly decided to write and began to produce masterpieces.

There is no special trick about writing or painting either. I wrote constantly for 15 years before I produced anything with any solidity to it….”

This makes me think about when I first began painting after my fall. I had been in the midst of an energetic burst of activity when the fall took place and was restlessly anxious from the limitations set on me by my shattered wrist. I had to do something to burn off the mental fire and, as fortune would have it, picked up some old airbrush paints and began to mess around. No expectations, no idea that it would be anything more than a way to occupy my racing mind. Being as impatient and restless as I was, I think now about how improbable it was that I stayed with at the time. As with everything I did, I wanted immediate results. Instant gratification– the curse of our time. Maybe all time.

This brings back the memory of doing a painting in a junior high art class. I knew what I wanted from the paint but didn’t have the knowledge or ability to make it appear on the paper. I was like the fools that Anderson mention who thought that once the decision was made, masterpieces instantly appeared. I gave up trying to paint after that. Well, for a couple of decades. I thought that if it didn’t happen instantly it wasn’t going to happen at all.

But there was something in those early attempts after my fall that kept me engaged, enough of a glimpse of some reachable potential that prodded me to continue. Looking at some of those earliest attempts, I am amazed that I am writing this as an artist. I am grateful for whatever it was that urged me to continue to put in the work.

Then there is this section:

“The thing of course, is to make yourself alive. Most people remain all of their lives in a stupor.

The point of being an artist is that you may live….”

I realized early in my painting life that art indeed elevated a feeling of being alive within me. Dealing with people in the years before, I had seen so many people who lived without art or literature and without much music. It often did seem that they lived their lives in a stupor, as Anderson observed. Art gave me a sense of possibility, acting as an indicator that there was something beyond simply existing. It made me recognize the gift of this life we are given and that I had not yet began to unwrap it.

It made me want to be alive.

And, of course, it ends with:

“You won’t arrive. It is an endless search.”

I know now that there is no end once you have began such a journey. You realize that you are never as good as you could be or even as good as others say you are. There is always more to discover and reveal. It is an endless seeking of a horizon that is always in the far distance. Knowing that it is unreachable makes you appreciate the journey itself.

Each moment’s recognition becomes a destination. That is the reward of art.

Sherwood Anderson’s son was very fortunate to have such wisdom passed on to him. I am not sure I would have understood it fully when I was his age.

But I did come to understand it later, thankfully. And I sure as hell get it now.

Shall we have a little Sunday Morning Music? The first thing that came to mind for me was the first verse of the Neil Young classic, Heart of Gold:

I want to live
I want to give
I’ve been a miner
For a heart of gold
It’s these expressions
I never give
That keep me searching
For a heart of gold
And I’m getting old
Keep me searching
For a heart of gold
And I’m getting old

To my ear and eye, it fits today’s post perfectly. This performance is from a BBC broadcast in February of 1971.

I am heading out for that horizon soon so have to get off my boat now. You heard me– git.

American Music– Jan 1995

No matter how corrupt, greedy, and heartless our government, our corporations, our media, and our religious & charitable institutions may become, the music will still be wonderful.

― Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country (2005)

This passage from Vonnegut sticks in my mind in recent times, especially as the World Cup moves into its final rounds. There are things that seem to be beyond the reach of greedy, corrupt, grubby fingers of politicians and others who seek to manipulate everything for their own benefit.

Some of you might say that the World Cup is not a good example since FIFA, the governing body of soccer, has a hoard of greedy, corrupt, and greedy fingers in its pie. That is indisputable. But I think it is a good example in that the games themself and the joy and excitement of the fans transcend the taint of its corporate bosses and that of our grubby fingered president’s intrusive efforts.

That joy and excitement is not for them to control.

And that has always been the case with cultural forces. The greedy, grubby-fingered ones never seem to quite get that though they might control everything, they can never fully rule over the power and influence of music, art, and literature. It is beyond nationalism and political ideologies.

It is the voice and language of our collective humanity.

Take for example the reach and influence of American music and cinema over the last 125 years.  The grubby-fingered ones are convinced that our military and corporate power were responsible for our extended reach and influence around the world. But I contend that without the influence of our music and films, that power would not been able to take hold abroad in the same way. Our Big Band, jazz, blues, pop, and rock and roll music became the soundtrack for people around the world not because it represented a cold and corrupt corporate-driven government.

No, it was because our music spoke to everyone as an equal. Nobody was excluded in the rhythms and tempos of our music. That became the symbol and lure of America.

That’s all I have the time or willpower to say this morning on that subject. We are in an ugly time and place right now but, as Vonnegut stated, the music will still be wonderful.

That is, so long as it continues to embrace all people everywhere. So far, so good.

When I think of this subject, my mind always goes back to this early 1995 painting that was a bit of an anomaly. It was an experimental piece at a time when I was still firing in many directions, trying to find whatever path might lead me forward in my journey as an artist. And a human.

I don’t think the path forward would have taken me where I needed to go, but then again, how would I know that? Just intuition, I guess, and the satisfaction I feel in where I am right now. But I like this painting very much. Maybe not completely for its qualities as a painting, though I think there are some interesting aspects in it.

It is more the way it speaks to me immediately about how music and art reach out in all directions without qualifiers as to who can understand or appreciate it.

That is real power.

I’ve shared this painting here a couple of times over the years and I always include a song from 1981, American Music, from The Blasters, fronted by Phil Alvin. The song reiterates the message that it is our music and art that represent us. I am pretty sure I had this song and message in mind back in January of 1995.

As anyone who has ever been around a cat for any length of time well knows, cats have enormous patience with the limitations of the human mind.

–Cleveland Amory, The Cat Who Came for Christmas (1987)

I posted this photo of Momopotamus on Instagram on the Fourth of July.  I don’t normally post photos of our cats, I try to respect their privacy. But with her looking at me from her normal perch on the stone wall in my studio space, with her clipped left ear and with Yankee Doodle Dandy as a backdrop, it just felt right for that day.

That should be the end of the story. But my Instagram post are shared to Facebook and when her photo came up on FB, there were several AI generated questions underneath. Pretty innocuous stuff. What movie is she watching? What is the significance of the time and date on the clock?

But there was one that made me somewhat indignant: Why is the cat grumpy?

Actually, I laughed before I decided to take offense.

But after thinking about it for a moment, I chose indignation. I wanted to tell this make-believe being that that is not the face of a grumpy cat. Oh, her gaze tends towards the permanently severe. That’s a fact. But that face you are seeing is that of an extraordinarily happy and content cat, one who knows how fortunate she is to have hit the jackpot.

That is not her grumpy look, believe me. I know that look from when she turned up as a stray cat well over five years ago. She would plant herself on the small porch of our home and peer through windows of the door. When we would open the door to put down some food for her, she would scowl and hiss in a warning way. Once I reached out to gently stroke her back while she ate and received that same hiss along with a pretty good slash on the back of my hand.

Fortunately, I am not the kind of person who learns quickly, never having properly learned about touching a hot stove. I slowly kept trying over the months and after continuing to receive hard bats and scratches on my hand, I was able to run a single finger down her back. It her fur was and is extremely soft and silky. I could feel her respond in positive way, her back arching up a bit against my finger. Then the recognition came to her that I was touching her and she swung around with a hiss.

But the Rubicon had been crossed. There was no turning back.

Don’t get me wrong, it still took well over a year, close to two actually, before I could approach and pet her. It was a process.

She had obviously had a very difficult life before this as a stray. With her somewhat misshapen belly that gave her the appearance of a hippo when she walked towards you, she was extremely defensive and suspicious of every move we made. At that point she was indeed a grumpy cat.

But you could also see she was an extremely loving cat in the way she treated her kittens, rubbing her head against them all the time. The kitten’s father was oddly enough still around much of the time when the kittens first showed up at our place. He later bugged out and wasn’t seen again until this past spring.She was obviously enamored of him and would rub all over him when he was present. It seemed unusual to me for stray or feral cats to behave in this way.

I am not going to go through the whole process today but eventually she, along with her two sons, became permanent residents in the studio.

I am her boyfriend now. She purrs in an extraordinarily loud manner when I come into the studio in the early morning, flopping down on the rug by the door demanding that I pet her. During the day she often follows me from room to room, purring all the time as she waits for the obligatory petting session. And when she plants herself on the stone wall next to where I am writing this now, she stares at me for the longest time in a way that is filled with both love and gratitude. It is a look that melts my heart. She is my well loved girlfriend now.

Grumpy cat? Screw you.

If this AI character can ever find form and make its way here, it better watch out or it will see what truly grumpy cat looks like.

Speaking of watching out, here’s a song from the Big Push, the band with Ren that made their name by busking on the streets and beaches of Brighton, that offers just that cautionary warning. This Watch Out. I am showing both their promo video for this original song, featuring the lovable, spunky determination of a little girl, as well as a live version from what is probably their most famous busking sessions. There are several videos from this session featuring Ren wearing red suspenders doing mashup covers that are big YouTube hits. The red suspender version of I Shot the Sheriff is a must see.

Now, either git or watch out.

Jubilee Waltz (2023)

Soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.

–Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey (1927)

I’ve had this passage in my draft files for a long time. I pull it out every so often and read it several times. Did just that this morning.

It only has four sentences but those four say plenty.  It always sets my mind in motion, sparking thoughts and questions.

To begin with, Thornton Wilder‘s book, The Bridge of San Luis Rey, did just that around the world when it was published in 1927. It tells the story of the 1714 collapse of a rope bridge in Peru in which five people fell to their deaths and how they came to be on the bridge at that moment. The novel follows a friar who sees the bridge collapse then goes on a search into the lives of those five, seeking some sort of deeper, spiritual answer that would justify why this tragedy had to occur.

Is there ever a justification for any tragedy?

That is one of the questions that came to mind but not the overriding one this morning. Today, the last line in this short passage is the one that got me: There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.

It made me wonder that if there was indeed a bridge between the land of the living and the land of the dead that only existed for each of us based on how much we have loved, will that bridge be there for me when that time comes?

If not, do I tumble into the void, falling forever in darkness, taking with me all memory of my existence?

Each of those is difficult question. For myself, I would like to think the bridge will be there for me.

But then again, how can one ever be sure?

I don’t think you can ever know with any degree of certainty. Just saying that you have loved enough does not make it so. It is much like those who claim religious piety then live their lives in ways that are in complete opposition to the religious tenets they espouse, believing that they are absolutely assured of a place in whatever their idea of heaven might be. As though they have earned enough points and don’t have to do any more, like it was a shopping rewards program.

I can only shake my head at the certainty they display. I used to envy those with such certainty. I no longer do.

I guess the best one can do is to love more in the time they have left on the runup to that bridge. Put in the time and effort so that those who you love will have no doubt. Think of it as adding a brace to the bridge you believe you have built.

But keep that question of whether you have loved enough to build that bridge forever in mind.

If you are unsure, as you should be, let your certainty spur you to love more.

And if your answer is yes, that you have loved more than enough, I would advise you to be careful when you come to that bridge. It might be a little wobblier than you expected.

I am not sure if this is what I expected to write from this Wilder passage. It’s one of those that could send you in a number of different directions. But I did what I did and will have to live with that.

Here’s a song that that has a bridge in its title. I guess I could have used the obvious choices today, the old Judds‘ song Love Can Build a Bridge being the first that comes to mind. It’s a fine song but a little too on the nose for me this morning. I am feeling a little spicier, like Red Hot Chili Peppers spicy. This is an acoustic version of a favorite, Under the Bridge. I think it might actually have to do with trying to build that metaphorical bridge.

That’s good enough for me this morning.

Now, git.