The Welcome Tree–At the Principle Gallery, Alexandria, VA
No farther will I travel: once again
My brethren I will see, and that fair plain
Where I and song were born. There fresh-voiced youth
Will pour my strains with all the early truth
Which now abides not in my voice and hands,
But only in the soul, the will that stands
Helpless to move. My tribe remembering Will cry,
“‘Tis he!” and run to greet me, welcoming.
–George Eliot, The Legend of Jubal (1869)
I am still on a short hiatus but thought I’d briefly return for Sunday Morning Music along with an updated rerun of this post from just a few months ago that is about a new painting that is part of my annual June show at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. This year’s show is called Passages which refers to both the actual movement into the painting as well as the phases of our lives through which we all pass. This painting, titled The Welcome Tree, falls neatly into those categories.
For me, it represents the idealized memory of home we sometimes carry with us, the thought that somewhere there is a place where you belong. A place with people who instantly recognize and embrace you as one of their own.
A place much like that described in the lines above from the epic poem from George Eliot, The Legend of Jubal. It is her version of the story of Jubal, a minor biblical figure who is only mentioned once, who is considered by some to be the inventor of music. Jubal, a descendent of the murderer Cain, is portrayed in Eliot’s long poem as a roaming artist who invents music then sets out to explore the world for inspiration for new songs. In the process, he spreads music and melody wherever he travels. Years pass and as his renown grows, Jubal dreams of a homecoming, as the lines above indicate.
This painting might well represent that warmly imagined and hoped for reunification with his early home and family.
In Eliot’s poem, Jubal returns home to find that he is now revered and worshipped as a god there for his gift of music. Unfortunately, he is now old and nobody recognizes him. He is seen as a sacrilegious imposter and beaten to death by those he once thought would be embracing him.
Of course, I am not representing this part of Jubal’s tale in my painting. But maybe that’s the danger that comes in dwelling in idealized memories. Perhaps Jubal’s fate is one of the reasons that many folks through the years have said that you can’t go home again. As Thomas Wolfe noted in his book You Can’t Go Home Again:
You can’t go back home to your family, back home to your childhood … back home to a young man’s dreams of glory and of fame … back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting, but which are changing all the time – back home to the escapes of Time and Memory.
But that doesn’t keep us from keeping those fantasies of coming home and being embraced in our minds. There might be some comfort in that fantasy even though the rationalizing part of our mind tells us it cannot ever happen.
Maybe we should not try to dwell in that mythical home of the past but instead carry home with us, appreciating those who welcome and embrace us as we are in the here and now.
I chose the title The Welcome Tree because I have come to see the Red Tree that marks so many of my paintings as a symbol of welcoming. It is often the first thing that the viewer latches onto and serves as a kind of welcome mat into the painting. Often, though the painting might seem to be about the Red Tree itself, the real meaning is contained in the other parts of the piece– the color, the textures, the composition, etc. All the things that create mood and carry feeling.
I think that’s the case here though I like to think of it as a personal tip of the hat in recognition of the importance the Red Tree has had in my work over the past quarter century. This simple tree has been my boon companion.
For this week’s Sunday Morning Music, here’s a lovely cover of a favorite song. The song is from David Byrne and the Talking Heads, This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody). This version is from Andrew Bird playing with the Lumineers. It fits this painting for me this morning.
Redtree Times 