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the white album

February 8, 2026 by redtreetimes

Inner Sanctum    (2002)

We tell ourselves stories in order to live. The princess is caged in the consulate. The man with the candy will lead the children into the sea. The naked woman on the ledge outside the window on the sixteenth floor is a victim of accidie, or the naked woman is an exhibitionist, and it would be “interesting” to know which. We tell ourselves that it makes some difference whether the naked woman is about to commit a mortal sin or is about to register a political protest or is about to be, the Aristophanic view, snatched back to the human condition by the fireman in priest’s clothing just visible in the window behind her, the one smiling at the telephoto lens. We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the “ideas” with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.

Or at least we do for a while. I am talking here about a time when I began to doubt the premises of all the stories I had ever told myself, a common condition but one I found troubling.

–Joan Didion, The White Album (1979)

We tell ourselves stories in order to live…

This short opening sentence from the Joan Didion essay, The White Album, says so much about how we put together our pasts, our stories and myths, and all our perceptions of it all in a way that brings makes small degree of sense to it all. As she writes, we try to create a narrative out of disparate bits and pieces that somehow makes our life worth living or at least gives a small degree of meaning to it.

It’s what we do to try to make sense of an often-senseless world.

It is a process of synthesis in which we all take part, usually without even recognizing the process. For writers and artists, the process comes closer to the surface of our consciousness. Every work is created out of this synthesization of all we know and experience. It is an internal weighing of all these things, determining what is important and what is trivial. Sifting through a lifetime trying to separate the meaningful from the meaningless. The beautiful from the ugly.

I sometimes think that a good work is that which allows a bit of all of these things through. The good with the bad. The dark with the light.

They are, after all, part of those stories we tell ourselves. The stories that shaped us, that informed how we came to view the world.

I could go on and on. Probably wouldn’t say anything more than what I’ve already said. And I don’t even know why I wrote what I did so far. That sentence, those simple eight words, from Didion spark so many thoughts about how I see the mythology of self that we maintain and present to the world as ourselves and in our creations.

There’s a lot of meat left on that bone which we could keep chewing on but let’s just leave it there for this morning.

Let’s have a tune. It is Sunday Morning and there is always a song on these mornings. Let’s go with a song from the Beatles’ White Album. It only seems right, given Didion’s use of that title for her essay and the book of essays in which it was contained. The album was in heavy rotation when I was 10 or 11 and is now part of those stories which show up in my work. This is a version of Dear Prudence that is an impromptu performance from two powerful vocalists, Haley Reinhart and Morgan James, who both came to prominence with Postmodern Jukebox.

The painting at the top is a piece that has been hanging in my studio for at least 20 years. Inner Sanctum is part of a group of paintings that were created in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. My work at that time took on a much darker tone with deeper blues and more saturation of color over a black base. It was a departure from my prior work and became what I call my Dark Work. It very much reflects the struggle in maintaining those stories we tell ourselves in order to live.

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Obvious Child

February 7, 2026 by redtreetimes

Fiddler’s Moon--At West End Gallery

Well I’m accustomed to a smoother ride
Or maybe I’m a dog that’s lost his bite
I don’t expect to be treated like a fool no more
I don’t expect to sleep the night
Some people say a lie is just a lie
But I say the cross is in the ballpark
Why deny the obvious child?

— Paul Simon, Obvious Child

I spent way too much time on a post this morning that will probably stay forever locked in my drafts file. Just a little too much of too many things. Let’s just move on to something else on this bitter cold and extremely windy morning. The trees were frantically squeaking and squealing in their ancient voices to one another as I crossed through the woods to the studio. There’s something in their language that I find comforting on such mornings even as I try to hurry to get out of the frigid temps and into the warm studio.

Thanks to everyone who made their way through the falling snow to the West End Gallery last night for the opening reception of their 32nd annual Little Gems exhibit. As is always the case with this show, it was a great turnout and the response to the work in the show has been phenomenal. It was great catching up with so many folks last night. It made for a wonderful ending to a long day.

Many, many thanks to everyone who came out last night. If you were looking to chat a bit and found that I left before you got there, I apologize. As I said, it was a long and tiring day yesterday. The hormone therapy has hit me pretty hard this past week and I am pretty wiped out most days around the time the reception began. Just glad to be there for even a short time, however.

Let’s just leave it at that this morning and wrap things up with a song from the Grammy-winning Americana/Roots group I’m With Her. This is their beautiful cover of the Paul Simon song Obvious Child from the Colbert show earlier in the week. I just love this performance and find it strikes so many chords in me in so many ways.

I’ve been listening to and enjoying this song for a long time but never took the time to consider some of the lyrics. Like many folks, you just know the words and sing them without even understanding what they mean. For example, the cross is in the ballpark in this song. I have sung along to this for 35 years now and never gave that phrase a second thought. It means that at a certain point, we understand what crosses, what obligations and responsibilities, are ours to bear and realize they are in our ballpark, that we can handle the load. It’s a glad acceptance of the challenges we face.

Sorry that I missed that for all those years. I just looked out the window in the first light of the day, and big gust of wind blew up a huge swirling cloud of icy snow crystals.

Sorry to kick you out into that but it has to be done. Now, leave or I will call security.

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Pimples

February 6, 2026 by redtreetimes

Moment of Pride— At West End Gallery

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.
It is easy to display a wound, the proud scars of combat. It is hard to show a pimple.

–Leonard Cohen, The Favorite Game (1963)

I am not sure why I chose this passage from a Leonard Cohen novel to pair with this painting, Moment of Pride. Maybe it is because I just discovered, even though I have been a fan of his music for a very long time now, that Cohen had been a poet and novelist for ten years before finding his way into the world of music.

During that time in the 1950s up through the mid 60’s, he experienced a variety of ups and downs with varying degrees of success, as is the case with any artist. But he did have quite a bit of acclaim. In fact, in 1966, a critic for the Boston Globe in a review for his novel Beautiful Losers compared him favorably with James Joyce. There was even a 1965 film, Ladies and Gentlemen… Mr. Leonard Cohen, produced by the National Film Board of Canada on the work and life of the author/poet, a couple of years before he set out for what was to be a legendary career as a singer/songwriter.

I was kind of surprised that I didn’t know this upon discovering it this morning. Adds a layer of interest to what was already an interesting and unique figure in the world of music. Coincidentally, a song of his just came on the station I listen to each morning.

But it was his words on a pimple that struck me and how we proudly display our wounds and scars but try our best to conceal our natural flaws., often viewing them with shame, fearing that we will be somehow judged on them. This observation resonated me personally, as it probably does for most of you, as well.

Been there. Done that.

As with everything, I immediately equated it with my work. After all, I do think of each piece as having a life of its own and like all living things, each has its fair share of imperfections. When I first began to paint, I viewed these little flaws in much the same way that each of us does our flaws, trying to hide them. To somehow deny that they were present and part of the painting.

But time taught me that these little flaws and glitches were the thing that made them unique, that gave them depth of flavor, to use a culinary term. After a while I began to celebrate these pimples in my work. Don’t get me wrong here. I don’t try to create them nor are they planned beforehand. It’s just that I know that sometimes burst through the surface, like pimples do, but do nothing to detract from what is beautiful in the painting.

If anything, they validate its humanity.

How this applies to this painting is kind of circumspect. Oh, it has little flaws throughout. I am sure I can find plenty if I want to concentrate on them. I like this piece as it is, no matter how many little blips I could find.

How it came about might apply. I don’t know, maybe it doesn’t. No matter. Consider this a pimple in this blog, okay? A couple of years ago, some friends and their daughter stopped in and I gave them a quick tour of the studio, something I seldom do. While they were here, I gave them a quick demo of my wet painting style. I opened the container of some sepia ink and its stench filled the space.

There’s a longer story about the ink but the short one is that I have been working off of a number of 5-gallon pails of ink for about the last 17 years now. Some have organic elements that cause them to almost ferment in the buckets. The black and sepia are most susceptible to this. When I open these buckets there is often a skim of mold on the top of the ink and along with it, a pungent stink that hits you in the face like a punch.

It’s not quite so bad when I open the smaller containers in which I keep the ink for use on my painting table but it still bites pretty hard sometimes. On this occasion it was enough that it caused their teenage daughter to immediately run from the room in revulsion. Laughing a bit, I proceeded to paint the top block of color as Ebba, the daughter, watched from a considerable distance. It started with sepia which I then diluted. I then removed most of the sepia and replaced it with a red that I washed down to the shade you see.

That ended the demo for that day. I set this little block of color aside for a long time, always chuckling at Ebba’s response to the smell of the sepia whenever I would pull it out to consider it. I didn’t know if it would ever be another other than an anecdote.

But there was some latent potential in it that spoke to me. Something well beyond a mere anecdote, though that is part of it now. I think it was the idea that the many elements that go into creating beauty often seem less than beautiful in themselves.

That is where the title, Moment of Pride, came from. The fact that it takes effort and stink, sweat and sometimes blood, to create something that transcends its parts and its inherent flaws is a point of pride for me. I sometimes stand in front of a piece, unshaven and unwashed in grubby, paint-covered clothes with the stench of acrid paint in the air and feel a sense of awe for what I am seeing. I sometimes wonder how something possessing even a small degree of such beauty can come from such a person as I. How can such a thing seem to dispel all my flaws, hide all my pimples?

I don’t really know. And to be honest, I don’t really care. So long as it keeps me with that small sense of pride and awe, I will live and die a happy man. Pimples and all.

Amen.

This piece, by the way, is included in the Little Gems show opening tonight at the West End Gallery. The Opening Reception is from 5-7 PM.

I guess we should have a Leonard Cohen song, right?  The natural pick is Anthem, a song that I have shared here a few times. Let’s go with that. This is a live version from 2008 which opens with Cohen speaking the song’s famous lyrics which applies to this post: Ring the bells that still can ring / Forget your perfect offering / There is a crack, a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in

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Wondering Why

February 5, 2026 by redtreetimes

Blue Moon Rising– At West End Gallery

I have no doubts that our thinking goes on for the most part without use of signs (words) and beyond that to a considerable degree unconsciously. For how, otherwise, should it happen that sometimes we “wonder” quite spontaneously about some experience? This “wondering” seems to occur when an experience comes into conflict with a world of concepts which is already sufficiently fixed in us. Whenever such a conflict is experienced hard and intensively it reacts back upon our thought world in a decisive way. The development of this thought world is in a certain sense a continuous flight from “wonder.”

A wonder of such nature I experienced as a child of 4 or 5 years, when my father showed me a compass. That this needle behaved in such a determined way did not at all fit into the nature of events, which could find a place in the unconscious world of concepts (effect connected with direct “touch”). I can still remember—or at least believe I can remember—that this experience made a deep and lasting impression upon me. Something deeply hidden had to be behind things. What man sees before him from infancy causes no reaction of this kind; he is not surprised over the falling of bodies, concerning wind and rain, nor concerning the moon or about the fact that the moon does not fall down, nor concerning the differences between living and non-living matter.

–Albert Einstein, Autobiographical Notes (1949)

This passage from Albert Einstein seemed to fit well with what I see in this new painting, Blue Moon Rising, as well as an observation that has been on my mind for some time. It is about our sense of wonder. Or should I say, our sometimes lack of wonder.

Einstein writes about some events in his early life that upset his view of the world in some way, that went against what he felt he knew and believed at that point. Instead of simply accepting this new view, it instead awakened a sense of wonder in him. He goes on to say that without this sense of wonder, we begin to accept whatever appears before our eyes without thought or question.

It’s the equivalent of sleepwalking through life. The great wonder of this world and our place in it is simply taken for granted and largely ignored. Unseeing and unquestioning, we become inured to both the beauty and ugliness of this world. We lose the ability to be emotionally connected to the world around us, to feel, to love, to care for others.

It is our sense of wonder that is the basis for all compassion and grace. And it is a lack of this that creates all ignorance and cruelty.

Asking a question out of wonderment often has a unifying effect for us to whatever or whoever the question is directed. It sometimes feels that we have become a society based on statements of belief that are devoid of that sense of wonder. It feels like we don’t ask many questions of others nowadays. We say what we think we need to say and just accept what others say or present to us. No sense of wonder about the other person is ever created and, as a result, our connection to them is tenuous at best.

I see this scenario in this painting, Blue Moon Rising. I see it as the Red Tree observing the unusual Blue Moon rising. It alone questions the why of it all while its neighbors in the houses around it remain locked away. Unseeing and unquestioning. The colors in the Blue Moon and the Red Tree, for me, symbolize the connection created by the Red Tree’s observation and wonderment. The very questioning of why the rising moon is blue creates a connection to it.

Of course, that is only how I see it. Like all art, you will see it in your own way, with all that you bring to it.

Hopefully, you will bring your own sense of wonder.

Here’s a song from the Red Clay Strays that is kind of about this sense of wondering, except in a very specific way. Called Wondering Why, it’s about wondering why someone loves us in the way they do. Given all our faults, that’s a good question.

 Blue Moon Rising (6″by 12″ on canvas) is included in the Little Gems show at the West End Gallery that has an Opening Reception tomorrow, Friday, February 6, running from 5-7 PM.

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Fashionista

February 4, 2026 by redtreetimes

Dedicated Follower of Fashion (1996)

Fashion is made to become unfashionable. I design my clothes always for tomorrow. Already I would throw out nearly everything in this collection.

–Coco Chanel, Life magazine (August 1957)

And, after all, what is a fashion? From the artistic point of view, it is usually a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.

–Oscar Wilde, The Philosophy of Dress, The New-York Tribune, 1885

This post came about in a weird way this morning. Or, at least, I think it will come about. It’s still taking shape in my head.

I began with no idea as to what to write this morning, thinking it might be a good day to take a break. I’ve posted something every morning for something like 75 days now which is a little unusual, even for me. It might be some sort of response to my treatment, a psychological recognition that our time here is limited, making me want to blurt out what I have to say now because there may not be many tomorrows.

We won’t get into that now.

Getting back to this post, I knew that even though I had no ideas, I was going to play Eli’s Coming, the Laura Nyro song that was a big radio hit for Three Dog Night in 1969. The reason for this was that one of the vocalists for the band, Chuck Negron, died Monday at the age of 83.

Watching the video below from 1969 reminded me of the fashion of that time and into the 70’s, particularly the striped bell bottoms worn by Danny Hutton. I never had striped bell bottoms at the time but it did remind me of a pair of bell bottoms that I did own.

I bought them at Harold’s Army Navy store in downtown Elmira. Harold’s was the cool place to buys jeans at the time, with a widely known reputation. When the Grand Prix teams hit Watkins Glen every year many headed to Harold’s to buy the Levis that were hard to obtain in Europe at that time. Not long after this time, Tommy Hilfiger made his first foray into the world of fashion, opening his People’s Place store a few blocks away from Harold’s.

I would go into Harold’s after school during my Junior High days, looking for bargains. One day, I found what I thought at the moment might be the greatest pants ever. They were maroon bell bottoms and the price was great, too low to pass up. They would certainly look cool on me as I walked down the hallways of Ernie Davis Junior High.

And maybe they did. All I can remember is that they were the stupidest pants I ever came across. They had no zipper. They had a button fly, which is okay in itself. However, this pair of pants had two sets of button flies, one running up the top of each thigh, forming a big square flap at the front. It was a pain in the butt fiddling with the eight buttons to simply get the damn things on, and going to the bathroom took on a greater urgency. Every trip to the toilet was an ordeal.

But being a dumb kid, this didn’t keep me from wearing these awful pants. I lived with its drawbacks and discomfort all for the sake of feeling cool. It wasn’t my first or last experience with trying to stay fashionable back then. These days, I make no effort at all to wear what the cool kids wear. I am as unfashionable as they come.

I often equate this with my work. It has been fashionable at several points in my career, the flavor of the month. It seems like everything I put out flies off the walls. And that is great. Who doesn’t enjoy that? But I realized years ago that that kind of reaction is ephemeral. I’ve seen it with my work and with the dozens of other artists who replaced me as the then flavor of the month. Many, if not most, are not even with those galleries where they once shined brightly for a short time. Most are still trying to satisfy the appetites of others.

I realized that I couldn’t remain the flavor of the month all the time. Trying to do so meant that I would forever be trying to satisfy the ever-changing appetite of a fickle public. That is an impossible task. It also goes against whatever idea of artistic integrity I maintain. I wouldn’t try to change my work to please others.

I would cook for myself, first and foremost. If others like the flavor, they are welcome at my table.

It might not be the fashion of the moment, the flavor of the month. But that would be okay with me. I would just do what I do and do it as well as I can with a consistent level of quality. I saw my work as being like a good pair of jeans. Sturdy, comfortable, and fitting into most any situation. Dependable and never thrown into the trash heap of fashion.

Wasn’t planning on writing about this when I set out from the house this morning. But there you go. You never know what the day will bring you.

Here’s Eli’s Coming. The late Chuck Negron is to the far left.

Better hide your heart…

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Odd Bodkins Blue Sky…

February 3, 2026 by redtreetimes

Odd Bodkins Blue Sky– At West End Gallery

And where are the dreams I dreamed
In the days of my youth?
They took me to illusion when they
Promised me the truth
And what do sleepers need to make them listen,
Why do they need more proof?
This is a strange, this is a strange affair

—Richard Thompson, Strange Affair (1978)

This is another of the small early paintings that I have released from their captivity. This one carries a memorable title, Odd Bodkins Blue Sky. which in itself indicates that it is a favorite of mine. It was painted in August of 1994 and it is being shown at the West End Gallery as part of the annual Little Gems show that opens on Friday.

It’s a piece that has always elicits an approving reaction those many times I’ve looked at it over the years. It makes me both happy and slightly regretful. I get a lot of joy from the painting itself but there’s just something in it that makes me wonder what might have been if I had followed the path that it promised me.

And it seemed to promise a lot.

It has a sort of organic abstraction that gives only hints of a narrative. It gives no answers but instead raises many questions. What is that red patch in the upper foreground? Are those clumps of grass? Is this even a landscape or something else altogether? What is the significance of the blocks of blue and violet making up the sky?

I, of course, can’t answer these questions for anyone but myself. And I am not sure I can fully answer them for myself. This enigmatic quality think that is part of this piece’s appeals for me.

Another part of that I am particularly drawn to is the organic feel of its forms and lines. It has the feel of a living thing, if that makes any sense. One part of it that gives me great pleasure comes in the line between the two green forms that make up the foreground. You might not be able to see this unless you zoom in to the image, but there are little flecks of white from the underlying paper. I don’t know why they give me such joy but they do. It’s a tiny aspect of this painting but for me, it makes the whole piece resonate.

It’s a strange little piece in many ways. And that is also part of its appeal.

A special child whose oddness is its gift to the world.

Odd bodkins, by the way, is an old English exclamation that comes from the Middle Ages. It was a way of swearing without actually blaspheming. If you yell Gosh darn it! after you hit your thumb with a hammer now, you might have yelled Odd bodkins! if you did the same thing in England a thousand years ago. How this applies to this painting, I have not a clue except that it kind of points out its strangeness.

Speaking of strange things, here’s a favorite song that, much to my surprise, I discover that I haven’t shared since early 2016. This is the great Richard Thompson song, Strange Affair, performed beautifully by June Tabor, accompanied by another of my favorites, Martin Simpson, on guitar. Tabor’s smoky voice makes this a memorable interpretation.

 

A quick note: The Opening Reception for the Little Gems show at the West End Gallery is this Friday, February 6, from 5-7 PM.

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A Look Back: Into the Valley

February 2, 2026 by redtreetimes

 

 

Into the Valley (1995) – At West End Gallery

There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.

–Charles Dickens, David Copperfield (1850)

 The painting at the top is another early piece that is going to be included in the Little Gems exhibit opening at the West End Gallery this coming Friday, February 6. This painting, Into the Valley, has a direct connection to the Little Gems show of 1995, which was the first such exhibit for the gallery as well as the first public showing of my work.

Painted on February 4, 1995, this was the first work produced after I had attended the opening of the show the night before, on February 3. In the painting diary I kept at the time there was no mention of the night before. I was a bit surprised that there was no mention of the opening since it had an immediate effect on me. But after looking at the diary a little more, I wasn’t so surprised. It included mainly simple direct information about each piece such as the date, title, the type of paper used (I was working solely on paper at that point), and some notes on the piece. These notes sometimes pertained to the paints I was using as well as my first impressions of the painting.

Here’s the entry for this painting what will be from 31 years ago in just two days:

Lovely piece, good greens, interesting sky and eye-intriguing shape. I like it, at this moment. Fabriano is exquisite.

It’s a short entry but it gives me a world of pertinent info. Mainly, it tells me that my first impression of it was very positive, but I wasn’t totally confident in my own opinion of it. Some things never change. It was this hesitation in my judgment that probably kept this painting in a box for the past three decades.

My first impression of Into the Valley as I wrote then was right on the money. It is a lovely piece. It does have good greens and its sky is interesting and its shapes are eye-intriguing. And the Fabriano paper that I was just working with for the first time around then was and is exquisite.

Looking at it now, I realize that I made a mistake in not freeing this little guy long ago. I hope that it gets to have a long life of the appreciation it due.

A little side note. I stopped using this painting diary at the end of 1995. My entries for the time after that are regrettably even less informational. But I am thrilled in having these notes for the earliest works. Reading recently, I noticed that I seldom went beyond this terse format in my painting diary.  One interesting except was an entry a few weeks before I painted Into the Valley.

It came on January 17, 1995. I don’t remember much about the painting from this entry except that it was renamed Teasdale which I remember did find a new home later in the year. I don’t think I even have an image of that painting or, if I do, it is lost in a jumble of poorly shot slides from that time.

But the painting is not the interesting thing here for me.

More importantly, this short entry came from the day I took my work stuffed willy nilly into man old blue milk carton out to the West End Gallery. That was the day when all kinds of new horizons opened for me that I hadn’t even dared to imagine before that day. Here’s what I wrote after that meeting with Tom and Linda Gardner at the West End:

A good day… I floated all day. It now seems like such a restrained understatement for what I was feeling on that day and for what it came to mean for my future.

This probably gives you an idea why I have such deep appreciation and fond feelings about the Little Gems show. It is an integral part of my career, the point of departure for my artistic path. Without that day in January back in 1995 and that first opening a few weeks later, I have no idea where I might be now. The only thing I can say for certain is that I could not be any more content wherever I might have ended up.

When I see new artists, especially the younger ones, show for the first time at the West End, or any gallery for that matter, I look at them closely, knowing how excited and hopeful they must be. I can only hope they use the opportunity to find a path forward that is as satisfying for themselves as mine has been for me.

I’ve said it before, but I owe so much to Tom and Linda Gardner for that opportunity, that good day back in January of 1995.  Thank you, Linda. Thank you, Tom. Thanks to you both, I still find myself floating.

The 32nd annual Little Gems opens Friday, February 6, 2026, with an Opening Reception that runs from 5-7:30 PM.  Hope to see you there.

 

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Maintaining Balance

February 1, 2026 by redtreetimes

Maintaining Balance— At West End Gallery

Silence has many dimensions. It can be a regression and an escape, a loss of self, or it can be presence, awareness, unification, self-discovery. Negative silence blurs and confuses our identity, and we lapse into daydreams or diffuse anxieties. Positive silence pulls us together and makes us realize who we are, who we might be, and the distance between these two.

–Thomas Merton, Love and Living (1979)

I’ve had this passage from the late Trappist monk/poet/author Thomas Merton rolling around in my head for a while now. Silence and quiet have been themes in my work for a long time for a good reason. I have found peace and understanding at times in silence, in stilling my mind and just trying to be where and what I am at the moment.

It’s a good place to be.

On the other hand, I have also known the negative silences of which Merton writes. There is silence but not emptiness nor stillness–important distinctions. Even in this silence, there are things– worries, fears, regrets, grievances, despairs, etc.– occupying the space and in constant motion. They distract the mind and take its focus off its silence. The mind darts through the mind space from each of these things to the next.

The desired stillness is lost in what seems to be a cacophony of motion.

I don’t know that you can totally eradicate these negative silences. They are insidious, always ready to jump back onstage and do their little silent song and dance. Maybe you can if you’re monk or a total hermit far removed from the world in all ways.

I am neither of those nor are most folks.

I guess the best we can hope for is to keep trying to find silence and stillness when it is most needed. To not fall prey to the lures of the negative silences. To drop the curtain on them when they start their little act.

And to make the most of those times when we find ourselves in that positive silence. To heal. To appreciate. To be.

It’s easy to write this. Much harder to accomplish. I always felt that if I have many more moments in the positive silent space than in the chaotic negative space, I am doing okay. I’ve been doing this delicate balancing act for a long time now and it’s always difficult to maintain. But it has become get easier. As it is with anything, rehearsal, practice, and repetition are the key to getting where you want to go.

I don’t know that this makes any sense this morning to anyone outside the space in my head. I’d be surprised and glad if it does and can only say sorry if it doesn’t. Don’t want to waste your time.

In the spirit of saving time, let’s move on. The image at the top is of a new piece, Maintaining Balance, a 6″ by 12″ painting on canvas. Just a little bigger than a true Little Gem, it is now at the West End Gallery whose Little Gems show opens this coming Friday. I had the Merton passage in mind when I was painting and titling this piece.

For this Sunday Morning Music, I am going with a song originally sung by Dick Van Dyke in the 1968 movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It was written by the Sherman Brothers who produced more motion picture song scores than any other songwriting team in film history, including the many memorable songs from Mary Poppins and The Jungle Book. This performance is from a favorite of mine, Lisa Hannigan, and British musician Richard Hawley.

Just a lovely stillness and delicacy. Just what’s needed to maintain balance…

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Let Me Be

January 31, 2026 by redtreetimes

Let Me Be— Now at West End Gallery

Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.

 -Helen Keller, The World I Live In (1908)

Really tired this morning. I think the hormone therapy is finally catching up with me a bit as my fatigue has increased a lot in the past couple of weeks. Still not terrible, not yet up to the fatigue I suffered last summer with the undiagnosed anaplasmosis. That kicked my butt in several different directions.

Even though I am tired, I already wrote a post this morning. However, it felt too personal, too exposing. That may surprise some of you since I seldom hesitate with openness or transparency. But I think my physical weariness made me a little more protective of my private domain this morning.

Made me want to withdraw a bit.

Which coincidentally and fortuitously might pertain to the new painting at the top. It’s called Let Me Be. It’s a 6″ by 8″ painting on canvas that is part of the Little Gems show that opens this coming Friday at the West End Gallery.

Its title and the feel of wanting to be left alone that I take from it suit me this morning. Well, most of the time actually.

There’s a lot more to say about this painting and what I see and feel in it. It has a lot to say. But this morning I am going to let it speak for itself.

If it speaks to you, great. If not, that’s great as well. I am on my little quiet island. I can’t trouble my mind with such concerns this morning.

Here’s song from Rising Appalachia that fits the feel and tone of the morning for me. This is Silver.

Listen but don’t linger. The boat is leaving to take you back to shore. You better catch it now. Otherwise, you’ll be swimming back. Only room for me here this morning.

Now get on the damn boat.

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The Juncture

January 30, 2026 by redtreetimes

The Juncture— At West End Gallery

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing which stands in the way… As a man is, so he sees.

–William Blake (1757–1827), 1799 letter to Dr. John Trusler

Ot it could be a red thing, right?

I would like to think that Blake would be okay with red trees. He was someone who definitely marched to his own drum in his time, never compromising his artistic vision to suit anyone other than himself. He willingly paid the price for choosing to maintain the integrity of his work, dying a pauper.

Such choices are not the sole province of artists. We all face similar choices in our lives about love, family, friends, work, and so on. Our lives are built on the decisions we make when faced with such choices. Some of our choices have huge and obvious consequences but even the smallest decision has some bearing on where we eventually end up and who we become.

To me, this new small painting, The Juncture, represents such a choice.  The path brings us to a fork in the road. We can see a bit ahead where one path will lead us. It seems safer and even bends back towards us. The other veers off and over the mound, giving away few hints to where it might take us. One is safe and one entails the risk of the unknown.

There is no telling if it will end up being a big or small choice. You often don’t know at the time you decide. Choices can sometimes hide or mask their eventual importance and, as a result, we end up taking them too lightly I think that’s why we make so many decisions.

Some may see the Red Tree here as just something to rush by, much like those who according to Blake see trees as something merely standing in the way. In my mind, the Red Tree here is advocating for taking that risk, for pushing ahead to the new unknown. I see it as a knowing guide, letting you know that it can see further ahead than you and that it can be okay– if you commit fully to that path.

That unknown path is not for the squeamish or those require absolute comfort and security. The unknown path has other rewards.

William Blake understood this.

This is a simply constructed painting but its colors the relationship of its forms make it seem bigger and more complex. It makes it feel like makes a statement even though it is smaller and spare in detail.

Well, that’s how I see it but, of course, I am more than a little biased.

This piece, 6″ by 8″ on canvas, is included in the Little Gems exhibit at the West End Gallery, opening one week from today, on Friday February 6.

Here’s a song from Ray LaMontaigne that may or may not mesh with the other part so this post. Actually, it just came up on my playlist as I finished that last paragraph. It’s a song that I have liked for a while and it felt right in the moment. Even its title feels right– Highway to the Sun. And its chorus below could easily be applied to this painting, representing why one might decide to take that unknown path.

I just wanna wake upUnderneath that open skyJust wanna feel something realBefore I die

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