This is an early piece, a small painting on paper that was completed in 1996 or 1997. Called Night Clouds Creep In, it is one of those pieces that quickly left my hands but whose image remains with me vividly, forever burned into memory. Unfortunately, I had no real image of this piece. I had somehow either misplaced the slide of it or had not taken one in the first place. There were times early on, when this happened more than I would like to admit.
But the collector who acquired this painting those many years back recently brought several early pieces of mine that he owned back to the Principle Gallery so that they could photograph them properly for his records. I was thus able to be reunited with this image and several others that also fell into this category of lost images of mine.
As I said, this piece resonated with me. It’s a great example of my early work, with its spase composition and two distinct blocks that make up the sky and the foreground separated bya thin white line of unpainted surface. It is a continuation of a series that did early on that I called the Haiku series, inspired by the evocative three line poems of Japan. These paintings were meant to be simply put yet very imbued with feeling. Most were field scenes like this.
This piece really captures everything I wanted for this series. Quiet and still, yet filled with the anticipation of what is to come. There is a calmness and a tension at one glimpse. Soothing and ominous, but balanced. In equilibrium. It just works for me as I see it. I am grateful to have it back to reinforce my memory of it.
I’ve struggled here for an hour, looking at this blank page and wanting to say something of value. There are many things , many issues, I wanted to address today but it seems best to continue yesterday’s theme. Council of silence. Just sit and wonder, contemplate the imponderables. There are things, events, we will never be able to fully understand yet we struggle to put them into a form that we can at least tolerate, a form that gives us some rationale for their occurrence. We need to do that in order to make our our own world somehow make sense in going ahead.
But it’s a difficult thing. There are things that will never make sense, that will never fit neatly into the rationale we form in our own mind because we all live in our own internal worlds and no one outside that world can ever know exactly what goes on there. No one can truly know the depth of another’s pain or despair in their own world.
Yet we try to understand.
So, I sit here this morning in my council of silence and try to comprehend other worlds I will never know.
Here’s a song from Steve Earle. I think I’ve played it here before but it seems a good fit today.
I am feeling a bit melancholy today and there are many things swirling in my head that I could talk about but the title of this piece fits the bill for me today. Council of Silence. There are places I don’t want to venture today, especially in a public forum such as this, so I will keep this short.
I’m thinking today, as I have for the past few days, of a friend who passed away unexpectedly this past week, a person too young and talented to go so soon. I would be stretching the truth to say we were close friends but I can honestly say that I had a genuine fondness and regard for this person. Our conversations, though less frequent than I think both of us would have hoped, were always easy and in rhythm, as though part of one long conversation that stretched over the years. A conversation that has ended this week, leaving me and many other friends alone, like the black birds in the tree above, to contemplate a number of things, such as a life ended much too soon and what lays beyond that far horizon for all of us.
I wish you a peaceful journey to that horizon , my friend. You will be remembered well.
I usually don’t like remakes of older movies, don’t like taking something that stands up so well over the years and trying to redo it with a slicker look and more technology. You usually can’t outdo the original actors who made certain parts iconic. How could you remake Casablanca today and who could replace Bogart in it? Who could have the sheer charisma of Clark Gable’s Rhett Butler character in Gone With the Wind without appearing to do a lame impersonation of him? Or Henry Fonda’s Tom Joad in The Grapes of Wrath?
But after seeing the trailer for True Grit I am willing to make an exception, despite John Wayne’s iconic portrayal of Rooster Cogburn in the 1969 version. Maybe it’s the trust I have in the Coen Brothers who are doing this remake. Or maybe it’s the short clips of Jeff Bridges’ version of Cogburn that I’ve seen (this is no Dude here). I don’t know. It looks darker and angrier than the original, more about a biblical sort of wrath than the earlier version. I liked the early Wayne version but this looks like it could have fallen from the pen of Cormac McCarthy, and in the Coen’s hands that’s okay with me. I know it will be a different interpretation and not a mere retelling with new window dressing.
There are few films I look forward to but this is one. Look for it around Christmas. Here’s the trailer:
I had an interesting conversation at the opening a week or so back at the Kada Gallery in Erie. It was near the end of the night and John D’Angelo, the brother of Joe D’Angelo who owns the gallery along with wife Kathy, approached me. John is in his 80’s but it is not an old 80’s. He is vibrant and filled with energy. He is also a very talented man. After his retirement, John started carving full size carousel animals, copying the masters who crafted the beautiful creatures that adorned the merry-go-rounds of the late 1800’s and the early parts of the 1900’s. His beautiful beasts were the subject of a show at the gallery that drew huge crowds and raves.
We talked for a short while about the paintings then I asked him more about his carvings. He talked about how he just couldn’t sell them. Not because there was no demand. On the contrary, he described how many people were upset that he wouldn’t put a price on them, wouldn’t part with them at the show. He said he only gave them away to family members and held on to the rest. He talked about the joy of carving the animals and how, after he was done, he would run his hands over the large smooth carvings and be filled with wonder as to how he had done this. It seemed beyond him, more than he was capable of doing. He asked if I ever finsihed a painting then ran my hands over it with that same feeling.
I immediately knew the feeling he described. In fact, it brought back a memory of the piece shown above, Big Fish. It is a large wide painting that is over 60″ wide in its frame and now spends its days in a very prestigious office in DC. When it was still in my studio, I was part of a project for a book by photographer Barbara Hall Blumer where she would visit artists’ studios and chronicle them in their work environment. On the day she visited my old studio, which was infinitely more rustic than my current one, she had me show her around and talk about my process as she snapped away. At one point, I stood at one of my painting tables where this piece was resting, nearly complete. As we talked, I absentmindedly ran my hands over the surface of the heavily textured painting, feeling the coolness of the paint on my skin. Barbara noticed and commented as she took a shot of my hands on the painting, asking if that was something I did regularly.
I thought about it and said I guess I did.
Thinking about it now, I was indeed doing that very thing that John D’Angelo had described. I often look at my work after it is done and wonder where it came from, how something so graceful came from someone so often awkward. About how it seemed more than me, just as John had described. I needed to feel it if only to verify that it was real, that it indeed existed outside of my mind. It’s a strange feeling and one that I was pleased to share with John that night, comforted in knowing he knew that same feeling of surprise and wonder.
I wrote some time ago about how a series of my paintings from several years back, the Outlaws series, had been influenced heavily by the imagery from a number of silent movies. One that I mentioned specifically was Sunrise, the 1927 film from the great German Expressionist director FW Murnau of Nosferatu fame. I mention this today because TCM is showing the film tonight at 9 PM EST.
The film was made at a really interesting time in the history of films. Just as talking pictures were emerging , silent films were reaching their apex of artistic expression. Within a few years they would be gone completely.
This film is the answer to a trivia question in that it won won the award for Best Picture at the first Oscars ceremony in 1928. Trivia fans will be shouting at this point saying that I’m wrong, that Wings won the first Best Picture award. Well, they’re correct but I so am I, as Sunrise won the award for Best Picture: Unique and Artistic Production. There were originally two awards to honor two separate aspects of the industry- the popular and the artistic. This practice ended after this ceremony and Sunrise became the only winner of the award for a unique and artistic film.
The cinematography in this film is beautiful and there is a long continuous shot from inside a streetcar that shows the city passing by that is breathtaking for its freshness, even by today’s standards. The story is a fable telling the story of farmer and his wife and his struggles with a big-city temptress who nearly lures him into murdering his wife. It is beautifully expressed and is a must-see for anyone who has seen more than enough special effects extravaganzas of the Transformers sort. It is considered by many critics to be the finest silent film ever made and some even rank it up there with Citizen Kane as one of the greatest films ever.
I always hesitate in recommending films because we all have such different and subjective preferences, but if you get a chance and have any interest, take a look tonight on TCM.
This is a piece that’s been bouncing around my studio for a month or so, one that I call No Mail. It’s a smallish painting on paper, measuring about 8″ by 14″. I haven’t decided whether I will show this one or simply hold on to it. It’s a matter of whether I believe others will see anything in it rather than me wanting to keep it for myself. Maybe it’s that I see a very personal meaning in the piece that is reflected in the title and I can’t decide if it will translate to others.
For me, this painting reminds me of my childhood and the house I consider my childhood home, an old farmhouse that sat by itself with no neighbors in sight. Specifically, this painting reminds me of exact memories I have of trudging to the mailbox as an 8 or 9 year-old in the hot summer sun. There’s a certain dry dustiness from the driveway and the heat is just building in the late morning. It’s a lazy time for a child. Late July and many weeks to go before school resumes. The excitement of school ending has faded and the child finds himself spending his days trying to find ways to not be bored into submission.
The trip to the mail box is always a highlight of the day, filled with the possibility that there might be something in it for me. Soemthing that is addressed only to and for me, a validation that I exist in the outside world and am not stranded on this dry summer island. Usually, the tinge of excitement fades quickly as I open the old metal maibox and find nothing there for me. But occasionally there is something different, so much so that I recognize it without even seeing the name on the label or envelope.
It’s mine, for me, directed to me. Perhap’s it’s my Boy’s Life or the Summer Weekly Reader. I would spend the day then reading them from front to back , reading the stories and checking out the ads in Boy’s Life for new Schwinn bikes. Oh, those days were so good. The smell of the newly printed pages mingling with the heat and dust of the day to create a cocktail whose aroma I can still recall.
But most days, it was nothing. Just the normal family things– bills, advertisements and magazines. Or nothing at all. The short walk back to the house seemed duller and hotter on those days.
That’s what I see in this piece, even thought it doesn’t depict everything I’ve described in any detail. There’s a mood in it that recalls those feeling from an 8 or 9 year-old, one of anticipation and one of disappointment. Childhood days with no mail.
In the town that I call home there is the local theatre and center for the performing arts, the Clemens Center, that underwent a remarkable renovation a few years back and emerged as a spectacular and beautiful showcase. It has real presence as you sit and take in the restored mural above the stage or admire the intricate carvings that form a frame around stage opening.
Just a beautiful facility. A gem.
Unfortunately, it is not always as well attended as one might hope, especially for events that are quite remarkable. Seeing so few people come out makes me wonder if we deserve such a beautiful theatre or if our area will soon lose the ability to attract world-class musicians.
Last night, there was a performance by world-renowned and Grammy nominated violinist Robert McDuffie accompanied by the Venice Baroque Orchestra. They were performing The Seasons Project which featured, in the first half of the show, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and, in the second half, modern composer Phillip Glass’ composition The American Four Seasons. This new piece was written specifically for McDuffie and is inspirationally derived from Vivaldi’s seminal work.
Let me point out that I know little of classical music and cannot speak with any degree of specificity about any piece of music. I can only tell you what I like. Like art, all you need to know is your reaction to it.
The Vivaldi was wonderful. The sound of McDuffie and the 18 musicians of the Venice Baroque Orchestra played the well known work with passion and grace. There is something quite amazing in the power of an acoustic orchestra and I found myself wondering what it must feel like to be one of those violinists when they are fully immersed in such a piece, with the sound of the other instruments all around them in unison. Or how this piece must have stunned audiences in 1725. Truly powerful.
I really didn’t know what to expect for the second half. I had heard Glass’s work before and had found it always interesting, though not always pleasing to my ear. I can’t fully describe the piece but I will say that as it grew I began to realize I was witnessing something quite remarkable, both in the compostion and in McDuffie’s performance. His emotional rendering propelled the piece forward and as it climaxed all the pieces of the composition seemed to suddenly come together as a whole, giving the whole thing an impact that I hadn’t seen coming. I know that is hardly descriptive in musical terms but I can do no better.
It was breathtaking to see an original piece played with such passion.
And for a theatre that was perhaps filled to one third its capacity.
The elation of the show was tempered for me by the size of the crowd and thr realization that soon such shows would no longer be brought to our area for lack of an audience. As I looked over the audience last night, I saw a tremendous amount of gray and white hair. I was among the younger set there and I am no longer young. We, as an area, do not have a large number of young professionals that might take in such a show in larger metropolitan areas. Over the years, we have lost many of our brightest and best to larger cities due the limited prospects caused by the financial hardship that seems to have a permanent home in this area. The recession that swept the country over the last few years has been in these parts for about thirty years.
I guess that’s just the way things go. For now, I am pleased to have witnessed something special and will put aside the fact that it may not be a possibility here soon. If McDuffie is coming to a city near you with this tour, take advantage of the opportunity.
I received a very favorable review yesterday in the Erie newspaper for my show at the Kada Gallery in Erie. I debated over writing about mentioning it at all this morning. There seemed to be something just a bit too self-congratulatory in saying, “Hey, look! They wrote nice things about me!” But unfortunately, that’s part of the business, this sometimes shameless self-promotion.
I’ve written about this before here. One of the things an artist must do to succeed is to get their work and their name in front of as many people as possible. An artist seldom succeeds in making a decent living without stepping forward and drawing some attention to their work and themselves, which is usually a very difficult thing for many artists, given that many artists tend to be observers rather than instigators of action. Myself, I would certainly rather stay in my studio and paint than have to go out and promote my work.
But it is part of the package, part of the job. So I will mention this lovely review in the Erie Times-News from writer Karen Rene Merkle. Visual art does not get a lot of press these days and unless your show is in a major metropolitan area reviews of any sort are rare. Just getting press coverage beyond printing the details contained in press releases from the galleries is becoming more and more difficult, given the dwindling status of the print media. So, as an artist, you can imagine my surprise and delight when I found that someone had taken the time to spend real time looking at the work and to write substantively on it. And in an effective and well written manner, to boot. Ms. Merkle, who I have not met, is a very fine writer and gives the fortunate people of the Erie area a much deeper examination into her subjects than most would expect from a newspaper of that size.
To you, Ms. Merkle, I extend my thanks for taking the time to look at my work and give your opinion. It is most appreciated.
This is a painting, an 18″ square canvas, I just completed yesterday that I’m calling Answer Given. I did it at the request of a collector who wanted a companion piece for an existing painting of mine. It’s always tricky taking on this kind of request because I can never be quite sure how the person sees this painting matching up with the one they already possess. I was given some parameters but you just never know for sure if they want something different than what you see as a companion. The existing piece was composed very much like this painting, with a blowing tree and a watery horizon, except with a foreboding deep purple sky with tinges of red through it.
I chose to make the color field of this piece different, going with very warm reds and yellows that give the sky a real presence. This piece is very much about the sky and the interaction between it and the tree, as though there was a running dialogue between them. This interplay is where I found the title, Answer Given. Though the paintings are similar in composition there are differences in feel with this piece feeling more at ease with its world and its place in it, giving it more a sense of optimism than the piece with the ominous purple sky.
I think the two pieces will sit well with one another, as though they are two sides of a coin- part of the same but with a different face.
This is an early piece, a small painting on paper that was completed in 1996 or 1997. Called Night Clouds Creep In, it is one of those pieces that quickly left my hands but whose image remains with me vividly, forever burned into memory. Unfortunately, I had no real image of this piece. I had somehow either misplaced the slide of it or had not taken one in the first place. There were times early on, when this happened more than I would like to admit.
Redtree Times 