Redtree Times

Insula Solitudo— Coming to the West End Gallery

An island always pleases my imagination, even the smallest, as a small continent and integral portion of the globe. I have a fancy for building my hut on one. Even a bare, grassy isle, which I can see entirely over at a glance, has some undefined and mysterious charm for me.

—Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

Aah, islands.

Islands appear quite often in my work. For example, there is the new painting at the top. It is included in my upcoming solos show at the West End Gallery, which opens next Friday, July 21. It’s title, Insulata Solitudo, translates as Island of Solitude.

Maybe this idea of combined isolation and solitude is behind the appeal of islands for me. I very much like this idea of a private space that doesn’t have borders with any other land. Nothing grand.  Just a small and simple islet where it could be, as it was with Thoreau, my own tiny continent and place in the world with me bothering nobody and nobody bothering me.

Not too much to ask, is it?

Of course, while there are no borders, there are shorelines. Borders to the sea. So, the larger the island the longer the shoreline which means greater access to your island. I came across two very different views on shorelines. One was a positive spin from the late pastor of Christ Church in NYC, Ralph Washington Stockman:

The field of knowledge which even the best of us can master is like an island surrounded by a limitless ocean of mystery. And the larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of wonder.

Shorelines of wonder. Hmm.

The other has s lightly more pessimistic take on islands– and us as whole. It is from the late theoretical physicist John Archibald Wheeler:

We live on an island surrounded by a sea of ignorance. As our island of knowledge grows, so does the shore of our ignorance.

Shorelines of ignorance. Hmm.

I would guess that if you wanted to retreat to a private island, free from all others, you might be more aligned with the second quote’s bit of misanthropy. After all, something made you want to be there. If you see your time on the island as a temporary getaway, you probably agree more with the first.

Potato, potata?

I don’t know. Maybe. If I were on my little island, I wouldn’t have to face such questions. I would just be there. And that would be good enough for me.

Here’s a fine acoustic version of the well-worn Police song, Message in a Bottle from Sting to complete the triad. Maybe I am on my island and these blogposts are my messages in bottles?

Hmm. Let me think about that while you get off my island. Just keep walking– you’ll find the shoreline pretty quick.