I just don’t know.
How do you explain the insanity of what happened in Connecticut this past Friday? How do you explain the terror of any event that has groups of children being led away with their eyes closed so they don’t have see what has transpired in their once seemingly safe classroom ? I don’t think you can, although god knows that the airwaves are filled with those who think they can.
And the idea that there is somehow an answer to how future horrors like this can be avoided seem futile at best. We all know that this will not be the last time such a scene will occur here. This is the seventh mass killing in the USA this year, the most in any single year. By mass, I mean of four or more victims not including the shooter. Last weekend’s shooting at the mall in Portland, with three deaths, doesn’t even qualify.
How many of us even remember that there was a shooting in Portland last week? It has become just another bit of disturbing news that we filter out and discard with a quick thought that it happened somewhere else and that we ourselves, thankfully, are safe. Then we move on to something a bit less troubling.
To our great sorrow and shame, this type of tragedy has become a regular part of our lives, part of who we are. And that means that there will be no easy answers, if there are answers at all, because that would mean that something would have to change and change drastically. And we cannot accept that much change in our lives. We would rather live with the horror of what we have become than face the alternate challenges of a new possibility.
Besides, who could we turn to to lead us to these needed changes in our culture? The dysfunction of our political system, with extreme partisanship tied to self- and special-interests and the demonizing of one’s enemies, is indicative of the problem itself. There is no one courageous enough to propose any type of solutions that would be large enough to remotely change the culture that enables such horrors to be tolerated.
And if there were, we would probably have to destroy them.
That’s just who we are now.
So, we will mourn these children and their grieving parents and families. The media will buzz over the shooter and his psychological state for a week or two, all the while giving undue attention to this sick creature. The politicians will begin to feign interest in taking action while the special interest groups from both sides will spar in public until something shiny and new captures the attention of the public, at which the debate will fade to background noise that we hardly hear at all. And it will soon be a distant memory.
Then it will happen again. And again. And again.
As I said, I don’t know anything. But I do know that this will not be the last time that parents will face this ultimate horror, won’t be the last time we see images like those from Connecticut. And that makes me want to weep even more.
Those darn Mayans may have marked it off on their calendar but I’ve been so busy over the last several months that I completely forgot that the world is coming to an end in a week. I didn’t get my doomsday bunker built. Didn’t hone my survivalist skills in any way. Didn’t stockpile a thousand cases of Campbell’s Soup or nearly enough weapons to fight off the packs of post-apocalyptic cannibals or zombies that will surely be wandering the countryside. However, I did buy a larger bottle of aspirin a few weeks back but that was totally unrelated to the end of the world. Just a good buy.
Today I want to just show the influence of Maxfield Parrish on my work. He is certainly well known for his fairy tale-like scenes of scantily-clad young women or children in fantastical settings but I have always loved his other, lesser known work, particularly his landscapes and homescapes. 
I am also visually excited by the way Parrish used gradience in the colors of his skies, taking a deep rich color at top and drawing it down in lighter fragments of the colors that make up the original color. It creates a brilliant effect. 
One thing I haven’t mentioned yet about our time in California was our visit to the Mariposa Grove in Yosemite, a forest that contains over 500 Giant Sequoia trees. Because we were visiting late in the season and it was a gray, wet day, we pretty much had the trails to ourselves as we wandered among the immense trees. To be able to stand in their presence in the stillness and silence of the forest, to be able to fully take in the wonder of their size and to ponder the timespan of their lives, was magnificent.
I just wanted to share a few more tidbits from the recent foray out west. The image shown here is from the late artist Eyvind Earle, who I have mentioned here a couple of times before. I have quite an attraction to his graphic style and as we finally emerged on our drive westward from the wide agricultural central valley I began to see how the landscape of the coastal hills of California inspired his work. Golden hills with perfectly crowned oaks placed sporadically upon them were in abundance. It was hard not to see paintings coming to life as I drove through the hills.
I am slowly trying to get back into some sort of rhythm in the studio after getting back from what for me was an extended absence while traveling out to California for my show there. It was only a week or so but it was enough to disrupt that fragile balance and set me a bit off kilter. I can sense it in getting back into my painting rhythm as well as writing this blog. Just a bit more of a struggle at the moment. I don’t fret over this as I once might have because I’ve been through this more than a few times. If I put my head down and forge forward, it returns after a bit.
On our recent trip west, we headed first into Yosemite National Park before heading over to San Luis Obispo for the show. Both Cheri and I had always wanted to see the iconic sights with which we were so well acquainted and thought that a few days there beforehand would better acclimate us to California time. We’re really glad we did. Yosemite was everything we had hoped for, even with the iffy weather as the storms that buffeted California would occasionally pass through.
Going as we did, in late November when the hustle and traffic of the high tourist season has long passed by, there were very few people there which added to the drama of the place. It’s easier to reverently take in the full power and magic of the place without the constant sound of human voices. And there is an elemental power there. It is all granite and water and wood and mists that shift quickly, one moment shrouding the cliffs and the next moving on to reveal a grand vista. Awe inspiring.
Well, I’ve been back for a couple of days now and I’m still trying to recall details of our trip out to California, particularly those from the show at the Just Looking Gallery on Saturday evening. I am trying to recollect the many faces and names and stories that flash in my memory, trying to make sure that I account them all properly. For instance, here is a photo taken during the show with Yvette and Akshay along with two paintings they chose from the show. We had a lovely conversation during the show where I learned more about their lives and their backgrounds. While I know it’s important to expound and to shed some light, if I can, on the work, the meaningful part of these shows for me comes in hearing what people who find something of value in my work have to say. I realize how fortunate I am to be in a position where I can listen, a position where people are willing to speak earnestly with me.
Well, we got home last night after several days on the west coast for my show this past weekend at the Just Looking Gallery in San Luis Obispo. And though it was very wet , we had a great time. We saw a lot of great sights, from the heights of Yosemite down to the coastal area around SLO. But it was the friendliness and warmth of the people there that made the biggest impression. We met so many wonderful people. My biggest complaint is that they were there to hear about my work so I did more talking when I would rather be listening, hearing about their lives and stories.
Redtree Times 