A Rising Peace— Now at the Principle Gallery, Alexandria
Sophia and Grandmother sat down by the shore to discuss the matter further. It was a pretty day, and the sea was running a long, windless swell. It was on days just like this–dog days–that boats went sailing off all by themselves. Large, alien objects made their way in from sea, certain things sank and others rose, milk soured, and dragonflies danced in desperation. Lizards were not afraid. When the moon came up, red spiders mated on uninhabited skerries, where the rock became an unbroken carpet of tiny, ecstatic spiders.
― Tove Jansson, The Summer Book, 1972
It’s a strange thing, walking into a gallery where your work covers the walls. It’s both emboldening and embarrassing, and sometimes even nauseating. I think I’ve written here about experiencing that sensation after going into the Principle Gallery back in 2000 and seeing my first solo show, Redtree, there on the walls.
It felt overwhelming. Too much, like seeing your guts smeared on the wall. Maybe that’s too graphic. But it sure didn’t feel like the thrill I’d thought it would.
But years passed with many shows that followed that first and I got past that stage of nausea, partly by not looking too closely at my work at the walls. Almost keeping blinders on.
In those shows that followed, there was still the excitement and emboldening surge of pride in seeing the groups of my paintings on the walls but that was always countered by a sense of embarrassment at being the center of attention and the nagging worry that I didn’t deserve it and that this would be the group that showed to the world that I was a fraud and a poser. I can’t say for sure, but I believe this is not an uncommon trait among artists.
I didn’t have to really face these feeling too often in recent years where the pandemic walled off my participation. And when I did participate, I was able to feel a bit less exposed behind my N95 mask.
That brings us up to the opening on Friday evening of my current show, Passages, at the Principle Gallery. Not being at an opening there since 2019 and going into this one unmasked made this feel a little like that first show there. I didn’t know what to expect, wasn’t sure anyone would show up.
I still had my blinders halfway on to stave off the nausea but couldn’t quite ignore the work on the walls. I took a few minutes to really take it all in and it was good. Had the sense of wholeness I couldn’t fully discern in the studio. It certainly felt like it had a lot more powerful presence of color than the last show of mine I had attended there.
It felt good. Oh, I was still embarrassed and more than a little worried, but the work felt properly in place there. It was one of those rare moments when I didn’t feel close to being exposed as a fraud, that the work deserved its place there.
The show went well with a good crowd that kept me engaged the entire time. It was good to see many familiar faces and meet many new folks, some who had come across my work in that four-year hole and had been waiting to speak with me. The interaction felt familiar and I discovered I could still make conversation, could still talk about this stuff.
It was fairly comfortable —that’s saying a lot for me— and the night ended with a sense of satisfaction.
It felt good– and almost normal. A rare sensation these days. It made me feel somewhat optimistic going forward, as though the last four years were a period of listlessness and stagnation. As though they were the dog days as we call those sweltering days of summer when little is accomplished except for the days passing.
It felt like these dog days were coming to an end.
A real thank you to those of you who made it to the show and an even bigger, more heartfelt thank you to Michele, Clint, Owen, Taylor and Sierra at the Principle Gallery. My gratitude to them is endless. Champions all.
Here’s this Sunday Morning Music selection. Here’s a new lyric video from Florence + The Machine of her anthemic 2009 song, Dog Days Are Over. What else could it be?
Redtree Times 