Redtree Times

Archaeology: A New Wind (2009)

How sweet it would be to live in society if the exterior appearance was always an image of the heart’s tendencies, if decency were virtue, and if our maxims were our rules of action.

–Jean-Jacques Rousseau, First Discourse (1750)

A little over a week back, I had a post here called The Exception and the Rule that was basically about how things are turned upside down when what was once the unacceptable aberration becomes the norm and what was once considered normal behavior becomes deviant.

Sin becomes virtue and virtue becomes sin. The seven deadly sins–-pride, envy, wrath, gluttony, lust, sloth, and greed— rule the roost while the seven cardinal virtues— chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, kindness, patience, and humility— are sent away to wander as exiles in the desert.

Kind of like now.

You know what I’m talking about.

Unfortunately, it is not unique to this time and place. As Rousseau wrote over 275 years ago, human society has always known the topsy turvy nature of virtue and sin. There have always been those who would deceive and exercise a cruelty born of greed. Those whose only rule is to do whatever serves their best interests.

You know what I’m talking about.

It certainly would be sweet to live in a world where you didn’t wonder about what evil motivation lurked behind a smile. A world where decency was the primary goal for everyone and wise words guided our every action.

I don’t know that any of us can fully live up to the standard Rousseau wished for. And the few that do, stand out like beacons of hope in this often dark world. People who let us know that we can exist without the world distorting and twisting away the goodness within.

That the virtues should be the rule, not the exception.

We lost one of those rare beacons when Dolly Parton died yesterday at age 80. I am usually not moved by the deaths of famous folks. Death is part of the deal, after all. It comes for us all at some point. However, the death of anyone, famous or not, leaves a hole in this world for those left behind. But losing a person like Dolly Parton hurt a bit more than I thought it would. It leaves a bigger hole in this world. Takes away some of the light.

It broke my heart. The death of any person whose whole being is comprised of decency and compassion, someone who diligently used the soapbox granted to her by her fame to uplift others, someone who made helping others from all walks of life her own life’s mission, is a loss for us all.

I think Dolly Parton may be remembered as much for the good works she pursued as for her immense talent as a performer and songwriter.

And isn’t that the way it should be? Shouldn’t that be the rule and not the exception?

I think that Rousseau would agree that a society made up of Dolly Partons would be a sweet one indeed.

Here are a couple of songs from Dolly. The first is a favorite of mine, Don’t Let It Trouble Your Mind. The second is from the award-winning guitarist Bill Mize who I have featured here several times, including this beautiful interpretation/arrangement of her song, Light of the Clear Blue Morning. His sharing of this song online yesterday was how I heard of her death and listening to it made me a bit teary.

Good travels, Dolly…

Grandpa (January 7 1995)

Alice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better with the time,” she said, “than wasting it in asking riddles with no answers.” “If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you wouldn’t talk about wasting it.”

–Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865)

I’ve gone through my old works innumerable times over the years, spending many hours examining the small and often rough paintings for a memory of how or why they were painted. To see if they held something that was a step towards or even a hint of later work. Some of these pieces have held my attention and gaze for quite a bit of time.

This painting is not one of them.

I seriously believe I haven’t spent a total of thirty or forty seconds over the 31 years since it was painted. It’s just one of those pieces I give the shortest of glimpses, just to see what it is, before moving on the next one.

I don’t know the reason for this dismissiveness. Maybe it is the color combinations or maybe the flaws in its surface, especially in the sky. There are several dots of gathered cobalt blue pigment or dust in the sky that might have distracted me then. Or maybe it is such a simple and stark composition that it just never caught my eye back then or in those later quick looks? Or maybe it just felt incomplete?

I don’t know.

A layer was added to this riddle this morning when I went into the back bedroom here in the studio where my old work is stored. For the first time in decades, I held this piece up and looked closely at it. There was a lot to like when looking at it with eyes that have transformed over the years. The line of gathered pigment making up the silhouette of the hillside was strong yet delicate, exactly the sort of organic feel that has always attracted me. It was lovely.

And the anomalies in the sky that might have turned me off then now seemed like little treasures. The perfection sought then seems ridiculous now.

Then I noticed the title written in pencil at the bottom along with the date: Grandpa 1//7/1995.

For all I know, this might have been the first time I noticed that title in all this time. It caught me off guard and surprised me.

I have absolutely no idea why I gave this painting that title. Don’t remember it at all.

Maybe it was that large bare tree?  Years before the Red Tree came about, I always felt like trees were family members of a sort. That’s probably why the Red Tree came to dominate my work. Maybe this large old tree with all its leaves long gone symbolized my grandfather for me. It does somewhat remind me now of the large old black walnut trees that were anchors of our yard in our early home. A lot of my memories revolve around those trees including the August day on which my Dad’s father died. I remember him sitting in an old Adirondack style wooden chair by the house for the longest time, silent with a blank faraway stare after getting the news.

Maybe it was that connection that had me titling this piece Grandpa?

Again, I don’t know. It will remain a riddle for me.

But it adds a layer of interest for me, one that will no doubt having me examine it a bit closer when I go through my work next time.

I’m glad I looked closer this morning. Nice to have yet another riddle to ponder.

Here’s a song that doesn’t really have anything to do with this post. Or does it? I just happened to stumble across this version of a favorite song this morning and loved it. It’s Ella Fitzgerald accompanied by Joe Pass on guitar performing Nature Boy. Made popular by the great Nat King Cole, I’ve shared the story of the song and the man who wrote it, eden ahbez, a few times here. Great song and performance. You can never go wrong with Ella.

Carried Across (2020)

Listen and learn.
Time
is divided
into two rivers:
one
flows backward, devouring
life already lived;
the other
moves forward with you
exposing
your life.
For a single second
they may be joined.
Now.
This is that moment,
the drop of an instant
that washes away the past.
It is the present.
It is in your hands.
Racing, slipping,
tumbling like a waterfall.
But it is yours.
Help it grow
with love, with firmness,
with stone and flight,
with resounding
rectitude,
with purest grains,
the most brilliant metal
from your heart,
walking
in the full light of day
without fear
of truth, goodness, justice,
companions of song,
time that flows
will have the shape
and sound
of a guitar,
and when you want
to bow to the past,
the singing spring of
transparent time
will reveal your wholeness.
Time is joy.

–Pablo Neruda, Elemental Odes (1954)

Time is joy.

When all is said and done, isn’t that the truth?

I love this poem from Neruda. The idea that we stand at the confluence of two rivers, one moving forward and one backwards, speaks clearly to my own perceptions of our place in time and space, that our present is simply an intersection of two lines on a great continuum or grid– a past line which veers away from us as it meets the future line which takes us ahead.

Where they come together– the present– is unique in all the time-space continuum. There will never be another such point, another such moment for each of us. In a mere moment it will become part of the past line receding from us, swept away by the river of the past as Neruda describes it. Though another point on the continuum soon replaces it, the present, with all the richness, joy, and potential it holds, is taken from us.

It moves into the past tense.

The wholeness we encompassed in that now is gone.

I’ve watched a lot of such nows be washed away from me. Most of the time they erode without my knowledge

But over time one learns– hopefully– to notice and appreciate the two rivers as they come together for that brief moment. When that happens, that now, that present moment, is indeed joyful as we see the singularity of the moment in all of time and space.

There will never another now like it.

Celebrate it.

Since Neruda writes that time that flows will have the shape and sound of a guitar, here’s a song from a favorite album, When I Was on Horseback from 1991, from guitarist Martin Simpson. The song is The Keel Row and has the joyful feeling I struggle to describe. The song itself is an old English folk song that refers to the keelmen who used their flat-bottomed bat to ferry people and things on the rivers. The painting at the top, Carried Across, depicts such a boat. It hangs here in the studio now and take a precious moment most days to give it a look. I never get the feeling that it is wasted time.

I am trying to cut back on telling you to git.  But this morning you really are crowding my present moment, my time of joy, so I will respectfully ask you to git.

The Attunement– At Principle Gallery

Across the sea to an island
Where the bridges brightly burn
So far away from my land
The valley of the unconcerned

I was walking down the road, man
Just looking at my shoes
When God sent me an angel
Just to chase away my blues

–John Prine, Everything Is Cool (1991)

Woke up late this morning so this will be short and, hopefully, sweet. You can never tell about these things. Sometimes they start with the best of intentions and go wildly off the rails. I’ll try to keep things under control.

Though I slept late it was the result of a restless night’s sleep. Not restful in any way. I woke up feeling like Methuselah filling in for Sisyphus in trying to push that boulder up that hill.

That damn rock wouldn’t budge for my Methuselah-feeling self this morning.

So, I’m sitting here, not know what to write or if I even want to put anything down on this digital paper. Like Sisyphus pushing that boulder that is forever destined to roll back down that hill after it has reached the top, it seems like it would be an act of futility.

But my obligation to myself in posting everyday overrules my tiredness. Plus, it’s Sunday and I have posted music most every Sunday for a long time here.

So, I sat here, hazy and uninspired. Then, thankfully, a song came on. It was favorite from John Prine, one that always hits just right for me, especially on days like this. The song is Everything Is Cool, a song that soothes the soul right out of the box with its opening lines: Everything is cool/Everything’s okay.

I was pretty sure I had shared it here at least once or twice but was surprised when a search revealed I had not. It seemed like a tiny bit of serendipity, if serendipity can come in such small doses. I don’t care. I’ll take serendipity any time in any size or shape in which it is presented to me.

Not a fan of rules but that’s a rule for me, one I can live with. And today is no exception to that rule..

The first painting I pulled up seemed to be part of this small dose of serendipity. It is the piece shown above, The Attunement.  It could that strongly emotes and could easily be retitled Everything Is Cool.

Hey, there you go– a blog post on a day when none was seemingly in the cards. Go figure. Do with it what you will.

Reunion— At West End Gallery

When I consider the short duration of my life, swallowed up in the eternity before and after, the little space that I occupy, and even that which I see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces of which I know nothing and which know nothing of me, I am terrified, and am amazed that I am here rather than there, for there is no reason why here rather than there, why now rather than then.

— Blaise Pascal, Pensees (1670)

I’ve been rolling this passage around in my head for some time now. It’s from the great mathematician/philosopher Blaise Pascal and it questions our existence at any one time or place. It’s something I have thought about quite often, especially when I was in the midst of doing a lot of genealogy. I believe it becomes obvious to anyone who has spent much time delving into their family lines that our existence in this time and place is the result of random series of bad and good decisions, losses and triumphs, missteps, strength and endurance along with a healthy dose of the pure luck that comes wrapped in serendipity. We dangle at the end of an extremely thin thread that winds back through all our time here on this planet, a thread that could have been sheared off any number of times over the ages.

We are the product of dumb luck. A random throw of the dice or spin of the roulette wheel has brought us here.

But even though that thought deserves more examination, it was another thought that came to mind when I was pondering Pascal’s words that intrigued. 

Are there people who are out of time and place? Are there people out there who were never intended to be who they are and where they are in this present day?

I know it’s a silly question, one that doesn’t have an answer. Even so, it came to mind. I know that there are times when I am convinced that I should have lived in another time and place where my thought process would do better than it does in the present day. I realize this is pure fantasy on my part, a result of my dismay and dissatisfaction with the state of the world. I recognize that any time or place that I might choose would present a whole series of unforeseen circumstances and problems that would make my being in that time as frustrating as being here and now.

It’s fun to consider just as a daydream sort of thing. 

But more tangible to this discussion is another thought that came to mind. As an artist, I sometimes finding myself wondering if certain work of mine is out of its time. This especially comes up when I think of the theme of last year’s shows, the Entanglement work as I call it. The piece shown above is an example from this group of work. It was not absolutely new work as I had painted a number of similar pieces in the past that featured somewhat entangled skies as almost mere background to a landscape. But last year’s work pushed the entanglement to the forefront.

It was the absolute subject and object of these pieces. However, even as I painted these works, I somehow felt that they were out of time, that their time a would come some day in the future when they would be properly appreciated.  Just not quite yet even as I gloried in them now. It would most likely be in a time after I die, if they can survive dumpsters and neglect.

Of course, I could be wrong. It certainly wouldn’t the first time. And after all, an artist’s opinion of their own work is not the most accurate measure of any works importance or durability. But I still wonder about being out of time and place when I look at this work. I’ve had a couple of these pieces here in the studio resting on my fireplace for most of the year. Thankfully, they are now behind new work because they had a habit of swallowing me and my attention, causing me at always ask when their time might come. They still feel important in ways I can’t put into words.

I don’t know if that’s good or bad or just some form of derangement beginning to take hold in me. Then again, maybe I am here out of time and, as a result, my work sometimes is the same.

Who knows?

Here’s a song that speaks directly to this thought. Well, kind of. This is Out of Time, an old Rolling Stones tune that I remember listening to on our old console stereo back in the 60’s. It’s one of those songs that is always in its proper time and place.

Peak Solitude— At West End Gallery

I have a firm belief in this now, not only in terms of my own experience, but in knowing the experiences of other people. When you follow your bliss, and by bliss, I mean the deep sense of being in it and doing what the push is out of your own existence—it may not be fun, but it’s your bliss and there’s bliss behind pain too.

– Joseph Campbell, The Hero’s Journey

We throw the word happy around a lot, usually without much thought.  But how do we really define happiness for ourselves?

It certainly can’t be a one-size-fits-all proposition, right? Your happiness may not be mine. In fact, there is happiness out there that saddens and maddens me. For example, those who find a level of joy and contentment in their greed and cruelty. We won’t focus on them today.

For myself, though I use the word often, I try to think more in terms of happiness and bliss. Happy is a temporary thing, something that visits like a pleasant guest that comes and brightens you day for a short time then abruptly leaves. If we’re lucky, it sometimes has an extended stay. But it always feels like a visitor. Something on the outside that comes easily and breezily.

Bliss, on the other hand is something that becomes part of you. Something that places demands on you, asks for sacrifices, requires enduring discomfort and even pain before giving its gift to you. You have to put in the work, bleed and struggle a little, to know bliss.

As Joseph Campbell says above, it may not be fun, but it’s your bliss and once you have realized it, the pain that it took to get there seems precious and blissful in itself.

I have been fortunate to know both happiness and bliss. I like happiness. No doubt about it. But I don’t expect much from it. Happy is the easy. breezy way but I know it will bail on me once the going gets rough.

Bliss, on the other hand, is a loyal companion that makes the rough patches endurable, telling you that there is sunshine on the other side of the clouds if you just hold tight and true to yourself. Bliss is a guide to the top of the mountain, one that tells you to keep your eyes on the path ahead and to keep moving.

Bliss is a reassuring smile in a storm.

As always, I am leaving at a point when much more could be said. Oh, I want to write more. Just short on time this morning. Actually, I’m a bit surprised this came out. I sometimes freeze up a bit when I am so time-limited here.

But at least there’s something to chew on this morning. And that makes me happy.

Or does it? I don’t know anymore.

Here’s song that makes me both happy and blissful. I share it about once a year and on those days, I replay it numerous times. It just hits the spot for me.  This is a remake from horn player Takuya Kuroda of the 1976 song, Everybody Loves the Sunshine, from jazz artist Roy Ayers. The original is great, but I personally prefer Kuroda’s remake. I think what I take away from it is that while everybody loves the sunshine– it’s a love that comes easy– the blissful know that the clouds will soon come to block the sunshine and that’s alright because their bliss is still there.

Happy in the sunshine, blissful in the rain.

Give Me One Reason– At Principle Gallery

As machines become more and more efficient and perfect, so it will become clear that imperfection is the greatness of man.

—Ernst Fischer, An Opposing Man (1969)

I’ve wondered about the concept of perfection for some time, given the way some folks are always going on about it, looking for it because they think they can’t live without it.

Not me, of course. Quite some time back, I came to that conclusion that perfection is not a human quality, that we are defined by our imperfections and how we cope with them. How we adapt and compensate for all the area in which we are lacking.

And that’s somewhat what the quote above says, as I read it.

When I read it, it struck me at once but I had never heard of the writer, Ernst Fischer.  Looking him up, I found him to be an Austrian Marxist writer/journalist born in 1899 who waved the banner for Stalinist policies for many years but in his later years– he died in 1972– Fischer came to regret his past. His memoir of his life began with a chapter that was titled Was That Me?  in which he expressed his astonishment at looking back and seeing the many phases and changes he went through in his life.

I think most of us could start our own memoirs with that same first chapter title.

I know I could, even though I feel that I am very much the same at the core now as I was in my earlier days. However, my actions were not always consistent with that core and often didn’t really reflect well on me. I did some things that were–how should I put this? — less than perfect. I was then, and am now, a walking collage of flaws and imperfections.

As are we all. At least, that applies to everyone I know. I could be wrong, of course. Being wrong out loud is part of that imperfection. Been there, done that.

Maybe it’s when we finally recognize– if we are fortunate enough to do so– what sort of person we want to be that we begin to alter and align our actions to what we are at our core. Then life becomes somewhat easier to swallow and our imperfections become less evident, not worn on our sleeves for all to see. Not the first thing people notice or remember about us.

I’m not talking about trying to acquire perfection. No, I mean that we just try to recognize the flaws that make up each of us and to accept them. Life is in toleration– of others as well as of ourselves. And in adapting to and overcoming our shortcomings.

Please bear with me here. One of the negative aspects of doing a daily blog is that I often post things as though I were writing them in a journal, unedited and just as they fall out of the mind. They are not always fully realized thoughts or ideas and will soon be questioned in my own mind.

It’s like reading an old journal written when much younger and wondering, “What was I thinking there?” or, echoing Fischer, “Was that me?”

You hope that, as we age and gain experience, that this is a less frequent happening in our lives.  But writing in this public forum, forcing out words each day, it sometimes, maybe even often, reappears. One’s imperfections become apparent the more you put yourself out there.

Maybe silence truly is golden.

Phew!  I don’t know what I just said here and I don’t really want to reread it so I’ll let it hang out there for now, flawed though it may be. Someday in the near or distant future I just know I’ll read it and ask myself, “Was that me?”

This post first ran back in 2010 then again in 2021. Some things never change. 

I did reread this post this morning. Instead of being shocked at some earlier stupidity being displayed, I was pleasantly surprised that the years have been kind to this post, that I am not embarrassed by very presence. Of course, this post only goes back 16 years.  by then I had already had a show at the Principle Gallery several years before that was called Seeking Imperfection. Any illusions of my own perfection had long went out the window.

However, I am sure that if I truly wanted, I could dig something out of an old journal from many years before that would make me cringe in shame and embarrassment.

As luck would have it, I don’t want to do that.

The only perfection I know now comes in small moments, one that come unexpectedly and reveal a simple profundity. It sometimes comes in a flickering of light and shadow through the forest as a bird sings. An unexpected smile from a stranger. Or simply catching Cheri’s eye while I pour her second couple of tea at breakfast and, in that moment, the richness of the many years we have been together, all the good times as well as the bad, flash between us, expressed as a glance knowing contentment.

That’s the only perfection I seek.

I chose the recent painting shown at the top, Give Me One Reason, for this post. It initially had a different meaning for me, one that had the figure on the roof questioning some higher power, asking for answers. A reason for living. But I now see it as someone standing out in the open on that roof, proudly displaying themself as they are for all to see. All flaws and imperfections on full display.

I guess it could be seen as symbolic of writing this blog.

Or being an artist.

Or being a human being.

Maybe. I don’t know.

Here’s a song from Little Feat that is right on point this morning. It’s a song from 1979 that I had completely forgotten until stumbling across it just a short while ago. This is Perfection Imperfection. See? Right on point.

Blue Moon Rising– At West End Gallery

Self is.

Self is body and bodily perception. Self is thought, memory, belief. Self creates. Self destroys. Self learns, discovers, becomes. Self shapes. Self adapts. Self invents its own reasons for being. To shape God, shape Self.

[…]

All prayers are to Self
And, in one way or another,
All prayers are answered.
Pray,
But beware.
Your desires,
Whether or not you achieve them
Will determine who you become.

— Octavia Butler, Parable of the Talents (1998)

I read these verses several years ago in the sequel to the 1993 dystopian classic The Parable of the Sower from the late Octavia Butler. The books depicted a world not completely unlike our own right now, one torn apart by corporate greed leading to extreme wealth disparity, water shortages brought on by overuse and climate change, and growing unrest among the citizens. In fact, the books are set in the 2020’s.

Butler was pretty darn prescient in her writing.

It appears that prayers were answered for the greedy few who realized that their desires could only be achieved by making those desires the same for the masses. Once the desires of the many became the same as those of the greedy few, even though these desires could never be achieved by the masses, we became a different people.

Greed became good. More, more, more became our credo. Emathy for the unfortunate and the poor became disdain. We no longer saw ourselves in their plight, couldn’t imagine walking a mile in their shoes. We instead saw them as almost inhuman others who took from us, keeping us from achieving our desires.

We began to put style and glitz over substance. We began to make celebrities out of people who achieved nothing, who became our fascination by displaying the worst of human behaviors.

Conspiracy-driven belief overwhelmed knowledge, science, and intellect.

Honesty became a poor man’s quality as lying and deceit became accepted, even applauded, behaviors.

The greater good and accountability became punchlines.

It seems as though the prayers of a greedy few long ago have been answered. And we, the ones who will ultimately pay and suffer for it, sit waiting for those same prayers which are now our own to be answered.

Of course, the only answer we receive will come when we look in the mirror and shiver at what we have become.

Maybe then a new prayer will be born.

Wow.

Had no idea I was going to write this just now. Surprised me. Hope it makes some kind of sense since there’s little if any editing on these things.

I actually intended to focus on us as individuals, how our desires shape what we become. How those desires shape our decisions and perceptions.

How we must take care when taking a desire into our hearts. How while every prayer may be answered, there is always a price to paid in the form of unintended consequences. How we must try to look a bit into the future when forming our desires in order to weigh if we are willing to be changed in ways we may not be able foresee in order to attain them.

In short, any prayer is asking for change of some sort. Make sure your prayers are in line with the person you wish to be.

Nobody would choose to become greedy, cruel, uncaring, or hateful. But some desires create those things in us.

Be careful. Just saying.

Here’s a song in a somewhat similar vein. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. But I like it and needed to hear it this morning. This is the Talking Heads’ Once in a Lifetime from David Byrne’s stage show American Utopia from a few years back.

Eldridge Park 1994

Far more disturbing than any spook house at an amusement park is a ride through the old hometown if you’ve been away for years.

–Jonathan Carroll, The Marriage of Sticks (2012)

Like cars in an amusement park, our direction is often determined through collisions.

–Yahia Lababidi, Signposts to Elsewhere (2008)

I was trying to find a quote or passage or something to start this post and discovered that there aren’t a lot of short quotes or passages out there about amusement parks. But these two both seemed to sort of describe what I was seeing in this early painting of a local amusement park, so I made the decision to use both. The painting is an early foray from late in 1994 taken from some photos I had snapped earlier in the year when I was looking for things I might want to paint.

These photos of Eldridge Park and a couple of other spots were, with only one r two small exceptions, the only reference material I ever employed in my work. This piece was painted several months later after I had my Eureka! moment when I developed the painting process that dominated my early years. I am talking about what I call my reductive process where a darker layer of paint is set down on the surface — this is a wet process– then most of it is taken off with either brushes or paper towel as you continue to flood the area with clear water, forcing the pigments to the edges and creating a semi-transparent layer of paint. This painting is a great example of that process, outside of the buildings that were painted directly on the surface in a more traditional manner.

Eldridge Park is an old amusement park in Elmira that fell into disrepair in the 1970’s and 80’s. It has a rich history that goes back to the 1850’s when it was first a private statue garden with a variety of statuary and a large fountain began by Dr. Edwin Eldridge. In 1870 Eldridge opened the park to the public, primarily as a picnicking spot for families. A large four-story building called the Casino was built, that offered long views and a restaurant– but no gambling. Eldridge had grand plans for the park but passed away in 1876. The park fell into disrepair until the city acquired the property around 1890. Over the next few decades, Eldridge Park developed into a real amusement park with a variety of rides including an old wooden roller coaster and a carousel with hand-carved horses and other animals.

Eldridge Park became a big gathering spot for the local folks, where one could get some greasy food, play skee-ball, ride the bumper cars then take in a talent show or go skating or dancing. Most folks of a certain age around here have plenty memories of good times spent there. As I mentioned, it fell into disrepair in the 70’s and 80’s and finally was no longer a functioning amusement park. In the past couple of decades there has been a revitalization of the park and though it lacks the glitz of bigger modern amusement parks, it remains a gathering spot for the folks in this area.

Walking around it in the 90’s was a sad and wistful experience. It was a place filled with memories and ghosts. I was particularly struck by the old skating rink/ dance hall that sat on a small rise above the park, next to the railroad tracks that back in the day once delivered passengers directly to the park. The building had two spires at each end that had an elegant bend in their roofs. I was captivated and painted the building a number of times in my early days in a number of different ways. That building is no longer there along with several of the buildings depicted in this old painting.

The park sat in the shadow of what was then Thatcher Glass, a manufacturer of bottles. This painting has a rough depiction of the silhouette of that factory with its distinctively angled cooling tower standing behind and above the park.

This little piece never fails to bring back memories for me. Some are of exuberant nights banging around on bumper cars with friends and others are of quiet wanderings in what felt like an abandoned space on a distant planet in 1994. The quote at the top really hit the mark for me. Coming back to a place that holds a fond place in your memory formed many years before is often as shocking as a ride through the old Spook House that once stood there at Eldridge Park.

I think it is this juxtaposition of memory and reality that attract me to this old piece. I also like seeing it in my evolved style painting back then. I can see that I was on the right path.

And it took me for a short while though Eldrige Park.

A note: Realized I didn’t explain the second quote at the top. It seemed fitting because so many of the things that led me here today were like the bang of a bumper car, from the literal bang of hitting the ground after falling off the ladder which initially led me to painting to the often-unexpected bits of serendipity that have marked these past thirty years. It’s been a fun ride in many ways.

The Burning Secret 

Let nothing be called natural
In an age of bloody confusion,
Ordered disorder, planned caprice,
And dehumanized humanity, lest all things
Be held unalterable!

–Bertolt Brecht, The Exception and the Rule (1930), Prologue

I’ve had this verse in my draft files for some time. Around two years, actually. I haven’t shared it up until now even though it felt applicable then. The world at that time seemed to be spinning so out of control that it didn’t feel as though it could get a lot worse. Man, was I mistaken in that assumption. I am not going to go into specifics today. I will spare you that. Anybody with eyes and a brain that works even slightly can clearly see what is taking place.

And it ain’t good, kids.

These line from Bertolt Brecht capture the essence of our current experience for me. Not surprising considering the time and place in which he wrote it– 1930’s Germany as the Nazi Party was on the rise. The lines are from the prologue to a play that I didn’t know. Doing a quick check on Wikipedia and reading the summarization of the play, I was struck even more by its parallels to our time.

The title refers to how things get flipped in such times, when cruelty and greed become the norm, the Rule, and kindness becomes the Exception.

Here’s that Wikipedia entry:

The Exception and the Rule is a short play by German playwright Bertolt Brecht and is one of several Lehrstücke (Teaching plays) he wrote around 1929/30. The objective of Brecht’s Lehrstücke was that they be taken on tour and performed in schools or in factories to educate the masses about socialist politics.

The play itself is short and lasts no longer than 60 minutes if performed in its entirety. It tells the story of a rich merchant, who must cross the fictional Yahi Desert to close an oil deal. During the trip the class differences between him and his working-class porter (or “coolie” as he is called in most English-language editions) are shown. As he becomes increasingly afraid of the desert, the merchant’s brutality increases, and he feels terribly alone without police nearby to protect him. Eventually when the Merchant fires his guide, the porter and the Merchant himself get lost and the water supplies are running low. The Merchant mistakenly shoots the coolie, thinking he was being attacked, when he was in reality being offered some water the coolie still had left in his bottle.

Later, in a court room scene, the evidence of the murder is presented, and ultimately the Merchant is acquitted. The Judge concludes that the Merchant had every right to fear a potential threat from the coolie, and that he was justified in shooting the coolie in self-defense regardless of whether there was an actual threat, or whether the Merchant simply felt threatened.

Brecht intends to show the coolie as a victim caught in the gears of the merciless logic of class warfare. The play, due to its investigation of class differences between rich and poor, with the poor ‘losing out’, can be seen as arguing in favor of Brecht’s Marxist politics. Brecht wishes to draw attention to the status quo, in which the working class is exploited by the ruling class, and show the absurdity of such an arrangement.

That last sentence says it all for me. I know that the wealthy have always had an oversized voice in how things are, but when Citizens United went into effect, allowing unlimited money to enter into the political process, we stepped on to a slippery slope. Scratch that last sentence– we went over a cliff. It was inevitable that allowing unlimited money into politics would soon lead to the corruption of the whole process. The system of checks and balances would be corrupted. The electoral system would be corrupted. As would the justice and judicial systems.

Money and power would rule everything with no boundaries or controls, and the citizens would be left empty-handed with little say in the matter and few alternatives outside of their now diminished voice at the polls.

I worry what the next few months will bring much in the way someone who has plunged over a cliff worries about the fall coming to an end.

Sorry to be a bummer this morning, especially when I don’t have an answer to anything. I just want us all to be aware and on guard. That’s something in itself.

Her’s a cover of an old Beatles song, Things We Said Today, from folksinger Mary McCaslin. It’s a charming cover. It came on while I was writing this and stuck in my head. Maybe it will stick in yours as well. Maybe it will wash away the worry in this post.

Who knows?

Now, three little letters– git…