Redtree Times

Sentinels of Color– At the West End Gallery

The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.

–Carson McCullers, Reflections in a Golden Eye (1941)

Just this today. Here’s some Donovan for this week’s Sunday morning music. Have a good and color filled day.

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Silent Watch–Now at West End Gallery

Under all speech that is good for anything there lies a silence that is better. Silence is deep as Eternity; speech is shallow as Time.

–Thomas Carlyle, Sir Walter Scott (1838)

Silence. Can we create it, or does it just exist and can we only stumble across it occasionally? Of course, when we do come across it, we inevitably spoil it with the sound of our minds racing to understand, our ears straining to hear and eyes darting to discover.

Once we happen upon it, silence immediately moves on to some new locale far removed from the noise that comes with being human.

Being creatures of speech and time, do we have the capacity for silence and eternity outside of that which comes with death?

I don’t have an answer, of course. I find the idea of silence attractive, something to crave deeply. Yet I doubt that I have the ability to find that stillness within that is necessary for silence to linger more than few seconds.

But maybe those few seconds is all the time silence offers us in this life. Maybe that is enough for us, such as we are. Maybe we only really have the silence that exists between the sound of words and notes of music. 

Hmm. That’s a fine rabbit hole to stumble down on a cold Saturday morning, isn’t it? I could go on but what’s the point of that? More sound and less silence. Just time spent while silence and eternity are kept waiting.

Move on, folks– nothing to see here. Well, maybe one more thing. Here’s a lovely video that aptly visualizes the quietude of one of y longtime favorite pieces, Gymnopedie No. 1 from Erik Satie.

It might not be silence but it feels like it brings one a bit closer.

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Season of Light– Now at West End Gallery

So feast your eyes now
On mimic star and moon-cold bauble:
Worlds may wither unseen,
But the Christmas Tree is a tree of fable,
A phoenix in evergreen

–Cecil Day Lewis, The Christmas Tree (1953)

Things to do so just a reminder of the season today. The lines above are from the Cecil Day Lewis, father of actor Daniel Day Lewis and onetime British Poet Laureate. The music from A Charlie Brown Christmas music by Vince Guaraldi could be listened to year-round. It’s that good. Maybe we should try that. Couldn’t hurt anything, that’s for sure. Here’s his take on O Tannenbaum.

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Shadow of a Stranger– At Principle Gallery, Alexandria

The gods, likening themselves to all kinds of strangers, go in various disguises from city to city, observing the wrongdoing and the righteousness of men.

–Homer, The Odyssey

This is a new piece that is at the Principle Gallery for their annual Small Works show. It’s called Shadow of a Stranger. Though I say it’s new it’s actually a year or more old. It’s been sitting behind me here in the studio, always looking over my shoulder, for all that time.

I always personally liked this piece but just didn’t want to show it for some reason. Maybe it was that it has a roughness, an expressionistic feel in its blacks and grays that feels somewhat counter to the color of my more typical work. Or maybe it was that idea of the stranger–the outsider, the alien, the exile– seemed too close to the bone for me. That certainly has been a recurring theme in my work and my life. 

I don’t really know. Don’t even know why I am showing it here now. Maybe it’s just an excuse to play a favorite song, Wayfaring Stranger.  It’s usually performed in a traditional folk/Americana manner. I’ve played such versions from Johnny Cash, Doc Watson and Neko Case here and all were exceptional. But here’s one from the late Eva Cassidy that is far more jazz inspired than most renditions of this song, including another traditional version of it she herself recorded. It’s a different interpretation but its soulfulness keeps its core feel and meaning intact. Good stuff…

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Three Sheets– Now at the Principle Gallery

Now I’m aimin’ for heaven
But probably wind up down in hell
Where upon this altar I will hang my guilt ridden head
But it’s time I’ll take before I begin
Three sheets to the wind, three sheets to the wind
Yeah, it’s time, I’ll take before I begin
Three sheets to the wind, three sheets to the wind

…

Genuflect all you refugees who fled the land
Now on guilt you kneel
And say a prayer for those left behind
From beyond the pale to the northern sky
So you saved your shillins and your last six pence
‘Cause in god’s name they built a barbed wire fence
Be glad you sailed for a better day
But don’t forget there’ll be hell to pay

Rebels are we, though heavy our hearts shall always be
Ah, no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We’re the rebels of the sacred heart
I said no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We’re the rebels of the sacred heart

—Rebels of the Sacred Heart, Flogging Molly

I call this new small piece, an 8″ by 8″ painting on wood panel, Three Sheets. It is included in the Small Works show currently up at the Principle Gallery. 

I have pointed out before that I am not a sailor nor do I have any knowledge of sailing terms, etc. So, when I was working on this piece that had three sails, I thought I’d title it Three Sheets, wanting to play off the term three sheets to the wind which is used to describe a state of roaring drunkenness. I am more familiar with that subject than with sailing.

But I was also thinking that sails were also called sheets. Made sense to me. Three sails, three sheets, right? 

Wrong.

A sheet, I found out, is the cord that controls the tension on the sail. When the sheet is loosened, it allows the sail to fill out and catch all the available wind. The term three sheets to the winds comes when a three sailed ship with sheets released is on a stormy sea. The ship pitches and rolls and anyone on the deck would stumble about, back and forth. The term came to be used to describe staggering drunkards– on land or sea– who tottered to and fro like they were on a rolling ship. 

I probably don’t have that completely right but I am okay with that. I like this painting the more I see it, particularly the colors and forms of the waves. There’s something in this piece about keeping one’s balance while still letting it fly that I find attractive. I guess that could apply to sailing or drinking or just living your life.You might call it derring-do or reckless abandon. Sometimes you have to let the sheets go and ride it out.

Here’s a song, Rebels of the Scared Heart, from Flogging Molly, an Irish-American Celtic punk band that has been around since the 90’s. The song – there are a few applicable verses at the top- has a sort of sea shanty feel combined with a sound that feels Clash-like to me. Energetic.

Good way to kick off the day– three sheets to the wind!

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Jupiter – James Webb Telescope

As soon as somebody demonstrates the art of flying, settlers from our species of man will not be lacking on the moon and Jupiter… Given ships or sails adapted to the breezes of heaven, there will be those who will not shrink from even that vast expanse.

—Johannes Kepler, Kepler’s Conversation with Galileo’s Sidereal messenger, 1610

The image above of the planet Jupiter was produced by the NASA‘s powerful James Webb Space Telescope earlier this year. I am not a space junkie and have no interest in being blasted into the vast expanses of space to attempt to settle on a planet with an environment that is totally hostile in all ways to our existence– the environment on our home planet is hostile enough, thank you!— but I could stare at this image for hours.

To me, it feels like someone took the totality of all Van Gogh’s paintings, beliefs, thoughts, and unfulfilled artistic desires and created a visual representation of those things as whole.

It is big and bold and both inner-worldly and other-worldly. Magnificent.

As an artist, it is an image that is both inspiring and humbling. It creates a far-flung goal that covers such an imposing range of new inspirations and aspirations that you know you will never reach it. 

And that’s probably how many would-be space explorers feel looking at this same image. It offers so much new to see, to examine and experience yet they know they will never reach that planet or anywhere like it in their lifetimes.

Yet that knowledge doesn’t stop either space explorer or artist from attempting the journey. 

Thinking of this image as a representation of Van Gogh and his work in totality also makes me wonder what our own planets might look like. Would it have anything approaching the beauty and power of Jupiter’s surface? Or the relative tranquility of Earth’s? Would it be comprised of rich blues and greens in spirals and clouds? Or would it be reds and purples in slashing storm fronts? 

I don’t know that I can say how my own planet might appear. Hopefully, it would be inviting, would feel like some form of home. But who knows? It is still being developed, still taking shape. 

In the meantime, Jupiter can stand in as an adequate substitute until mine is fully formed.

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It was as though, so long as the deceit ran along quiet and monotonous, all of us let ourselves be deceived, abetting it unawares or maybe through cowardice, since all people are cowards and naturally prefer any kind of treachery because it has a bland outside.

—William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

Just leaving this here this morning in tribute to the new, though temporary, bottom the GOP has created with their cowardice in standing up to the former president** when he demanded this past week that the Constitution be trashed and that he be inserted as sitting president.

It was the irresponsible and unhinged crazy talk of a desperate creature. 

And as was expected, hardly a word was raised by the GOP to put a sliver of distance between this dangerous demand and themselves.

Just sheer and absolute moral cowardice. Faulkner was probably right, that it is easier and more natural for us to be cowards. But is it even cowardice when you have no examples of courage from them with which to compare? 

You know, I can accept singular acts of cowardice. I know what it’s like to be cowardly. Been there, done that all too many times in my life. Sometimes it is an act of survival and sometimes it again goes back to the words of Faulkner, that is naturally easy and expedient. 

But at some point, as you sink towards the bottom of the abyss, you have to dig in your heels, muster whatever courage you can, and say, “Enough is enough.” 

It’s at that point that you know you’ve reached the bottom and can begin to climb out.

But these guys, natural cowards all of them, may not even know they’re in freefall so I have no doubt they soon find themselves at an even lower, more unfathomable level before this whole thing is over. The bottom is still not there.

Here’s a little tune for all these would-be kings of the forest. I hesitate a bit in doing so because I like the Cowardly Lion though maybe that is because he did finally find courage. I have grave doubts whether that is in these guys’ futures.

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Color Rising – At the Principle Gallery

Simplicity is making the journey of this life with just baggage enough.

–Charles Dudley Warner, The Relation of Literature to Life, 1896

After arriving early this morning and after feeding the trio of feral cats in the garage and Hobo here in the studio, I began listening to music. That’s usually what I do on Sunday mornings as I try to pick out a song for my weekly song selection. I went through a lot of songs on YouTube quickly and nothing hit just right for me. Then I noticed the name Tracy Chapman and instantly knew that she was what I had been seeking this morning.

I chose a favorite one of her songs, one that I had listened to regularly when it first was released in the late 1980’s, All That You Have Is Your Soul. For some reason, it had slipped off my regular playlist and hearing it again raised all sorts of feelings and thoughts, both from that time and now. It’s that kind of song.

Trying to come up with a piece of art to pair with it, I scanned through some new pieces that are at the Principle Gallery. Several would have worked adequately but when my eyes fell on the one at the top, Color Rising, while the song played, I knew I had a match. It was like two gears meshing for me.

There was something in the gray tones of the composition and the bits of color in the Red Tree and the rising sun/moon that spoke to me. The meaning that came across to me was that as we go through this journey of life, in the end all we have is our self and the character we developed during this life.

Not things or conquests or bank balances. No, it was how we acquitted ourselves during the journey. 

How we find ourselves standing in the light, symbolic or otherwise.

It’s a simple message, really. But it’s a simple painting. And sometimes, for meaningful concepts, simplicity works best.

Anyway, here is that Tracy Chapman song, All That You Have Is Your Soul. Good to remember.

Some Extra Info— The author of the short quip at the top, Charles Dudley Warner, was a neighbor and good friend of Mark Twain in Hartford, CT. I didn’t know that he co-wrote The Gilded Age with Twain. That was the book that gave us that term, Gilded Age, for the period of opulence and excess from 1870-1900 when the lords of industry amassed their immense fortunes as the new technology they employed revolutionized — and capitalized on– the lives of the common man. It has been said we have been in a new Gilded Age for the past thirty years, with staggering fortunes made on the new digital technology that again both revolutionizes and capitalizes on the average man. I. personally hope this new Gilded Age is near an end and some balance is restored.

But in the meantime, I still have my soul…

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And Peace Arrives– Now at the Principle Gallery

Endless Possibility- At the West End Gallery

A New Cornucopia- At West End Gallery

One’s destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things.

–Henry Miller, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

Today is the last day to see my show of new work, Places of Peace, that is hanging at the Kada Gallery in Erie, PA. Just a short few hours to get in and see the show in its entirety. I offer up many thanks to Doug and Anne and the others at the gallery, as well as to those of you who have already made it in to see the show. 

As it is with the endings of so many things, exhibits included, one is left to wonder how quickly the time passes before the ending arrives. 

Sounds like a cue.

Maybe we should play a well known Sandy Denny song called Who Knows Where the Time Goes?  Sandy Denny, for those of you who don’t know the name, was a tremendously talented British singer/songwriter, who has long been hailed as being “the pre-eminent British folk rock singer.” She fronted Fairport Convention for a while, alongside pone of my favorites, Richard Thompson, and was the only guest singer to ever appear on a Led Zeppelin recording, The Battle of Evermore. 

But she had bouts of depression along with alcohol and drug issues that often caused her physical injury. In late March of 1978, she suffered a fall where she banged her head on concrete. Soon after, she began to experience severe headaches. On April 1, she made her last public appearance with Who Knows Where the Time Goes?, a song she wrote while still a teenager, being the last song she ever sang in public.

She died in June of 1978 at the age of 31. 

Her wistful song on the passing of time seems like a fitting one to mark the end of this show.

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The Knowing Light– At Principle Gallery, Alexandria, VA

The greatest happiness you can have is knowing that you do not necessarily require happiness.

–William Saroyan

Looking at the new painting shown here on the right, The Knowing Light that is now at the Principle Gallery, I was reminded of the quote above from the late dramatist William Saroyan. I thought a post from 2015 on that quote might fit with this painting as well.

From 2015:

This quote from William Saroyan caught me off guard when I came across it, mainly because it captured in a few words the lesson I had finally gleaned from years of seeking this elusive beast called happiness. And a beast it was, a creature out of mythology. I had made it into a thing that had special powers and was like the Abominable Snowman— rumored to exist but seldom seen.

I discovered over time that this was a mistake.

I was picturing happiness as a once in a life thing, some sort of peak moment, when it was, in fact, just a small part of our being human. The key in Saroyan’s short quote is the word knowing. Once we begin to know who and what we are and are not, the need for peak moments subsides as we understand that there is a sort of happiness in the smaller moments of simply being. It is not a gleeful, heart-pounding joy but a comfortable warm glow and an inner sense of satisfaction that often comes to you at what seems to be the most mundane of moments.

Stopping just now and looking out my studio window, for example. A light snow is falling almost in time to Paul Desmond’s sax that is mingling with Dave Brubeck’s piano, and I sip my coffee. It is gray and almost gloomy, but I feel this glow, this satisfaction in the moment. It is not happiness as most might define the word. It is just a moment of knowing that I exist in the world, that I am here to bear witness to the small wonders that take place around me in my small corner of the universe.

And that’s good enough.

I didn’t include the music in the original blog post and can’t remember exactly what song was playing. But here’s a bit of that Dave Brubeck and Paul Desmond magic, Brubeck’s Japan-inspired composition, Koto Song. It has a grace and elegance in its simplicity. Listening with my coffee in hand, I realize that it’s still good enough just being here now, happy in the knowledge that I don’t require happiness.

That’s saying something…

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