Redtree Times

LEGACY, n.  A gift from one who is legging it out of this vale of tears.

–-Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary

While doing some background work for yesterday’s post on Wassily Kandinsky, I was reminded of one of my favorite passages from the artist:

In the final analysis, every serious work is tranquil….Every serious work resembles in poise the quiet phrase, ” I am here.” Like or dislike for the work evaporates; but the sound of that phrase is eternal.

This concept of the I am here has been a big motivating force for me throughout my career. Actually, probably back to my earliest remembered days. Even then, there was always a desire to be heard, to have my existence acknowledged in some tangible way. It was a powerful inducement to me that a book, a poem, or a piece of art might be left behind so that someone in the future who might stumble across it and recognize something of themselves in it. Maybe even inspiring them to do something to make their own voice heard.

I think this idea of leaving something behind that tells the world you exist must be a universal urge. The many examples of ancient graffiti in Greece and Egypt and even those first prehistoric handprints in caves around the globe attest to this. The image at the top, Kilroy Was Here, was a ubiquitous image from WW II. Though it was attributed to US troops, it was a symbol of all the allied soldiers. The simple-to-draw Kilroy, derived from a British cartoon character from the late 30’s, appeared everywhere the allies fought in all sorts of places from the sides of fighter planes and tanks to barracks, bombed out buildings, torpedoes, missiles, and on and on.

It is said that Stalin encountered the drawing on a bathroom wall at the Potsdam Conference and was upset by it. It is also reported that even Hitler was made aware of it as so much of the ordinance was hitting German positions carried the slogan.

It is now even part of the World War II Memorial in Washington. Even Bugs Bunny encountered it on a trip to Mars.

Those cavemen, those ancient Greeks, those troops — they all understood the I am here. The idea of some small evidence of themselves left behind. It’s a powerful driving motivation.

Believe me, I know.

Here’s a song on that subject from Sean Rowe that I played several years back. This is To Leave Something Behind. His strong, deep voice really adds a dimension to this song. Good stuff to leave behind…

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Wassily Kandinsky– Composition 8, 1923

With few exceptions music has been for some centuries the art which has devoted itself not to the reproduction of natural phenomena, but rather to the expression of the artist’s soul, in musical sound.

A painter, who finds no satisfaction in mere representation, however artistic, in his longing to express his inner life, cannot but envy the ease with which music, the most non-material of the arts today, achieves this end. He naturally seeks to apply the methods of music to his own art. And from this results that modern desire for rhythm in painting, for mathematical, abstract construction, for repeated notes of colour, for setting colour in motion.

–Wassily Kandinsky, Concerning the Spiritual in Art

Much like the artist indicated in the words above from Wassily Kandinsky, I have always envied the way in which music elicits deep emotion in a non-material, almost abstract manner. To attempt to draw similar emotions forward as an artist who deals in the visual without losing their impact to the weight the subject matter creates is a difficult task.

As a result, somewhat like Kandinsky, I have over the years looked at my painting as a form of music. Using the flow of lines as rhythm, the arrangement of forms as melody, and colors as notes. The repetition of elements are choruses and themes in the body of my work.

I believe this equating with music is the reason I often think of a painting as a performance of a composition that is unique to its time of creation, with new improvisations and changes in tempo and tone.

Though the subject matter is often repetitive– Red Tree, Red Roofed House, Red Chair, etc. — they ultimately are the mere armature on which the music surrounding them is composed. They are important, yes, but they serve the emotion of the music of the colors, textures, lines and forms around them.

It’s a difficult thing to describe and I don’t really think much about it except at times like this when I am trying to give some insight to others. Most of the time, it is an ingrained part of the process.

I do what I do and hope for music.

Sometimes it comes and it is good. Sometimes it doesn’t and the result feels more like noise than music.

And sometimes it is a music that approaches silence. And that, ultimately, is what I am seeking.

Here’s a fine video that intersperses music and the work of Kandinsky. Might be worth a moment of your time. He is another of those artists whose both work and words strike chords in me.

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Carry the Blue Flag— At the Principle Gallery

Men must be able to engage in business and go to war, but leisure and peace are better; they must do what is necessary and indeed what is useful, but what is honorable is better. On such principles children and persons of every age which requires education should be trained.

–Aristotle, Politics and Poetics

How do you define honor for yourself?

A sense of fairness, truthfulness, loyalty, compassion, empathy, tolerance, and generosity of spirit — are these defining elements of honor the same for others as they are for me?

What are the principles that guide your sense of honor? Is honor a universal and singularly defined concept or does it vary from person to person or nation to nation?

Are your guiding principles carved in stone or written in the sand on the shore? Would you be willing to carve your guiding principles in stone and then live by them?

I know this might sound a little moralistic or judgmental. Or that I am preaching as to how anyone else should live. It’s not meant in that way. I just have real questions given the number of prominent people who seem to live lives with little or no honor.

Besides, I have little moral ground on which to stand. My principles were pretty shaky for the first half of my life.

However, at a certain point you realize that your true wealth in measured not in dollars and possessions but in your honor and the principles you uphold.

How much do you value your honor? Do you ever think about what principles make up your own sense of honor?

Aristotle probably had it right. The world might be much better off if children were educated on matters of honor, on principles and ethics. Maybe throw some civics lessons into the mix, as well. We’re seeing way too much evidence of the harm that people without honor or shame can do in this world.

We might all sleep better at night in a world that held honor in higher esteem than money or power.

Here’s song that deals with honor. It is from Jeremy Dutcher, a classically trained Canadian Indigenous tenor, composer, and activist. An interesting person. This song is Honor Song and Dutcher performs it in his native Wolastoq language with accompaniment from the great cellist Yo-Yo Ma.

It’s a powerful song, as it should be for something as valuable as one’s honor.

If you made it this far, thanks for hearing me…

FYI— I used the small painting at the top, Wave the Blue Flag, because the blue flag in it always reminds me of the phrase True Blue. It means honest and loyal and devoted to a sense of rightness. Honorable things all.

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Mystic’s Dusk

Ye realms, yet unreveal’d to human sight,
Ye gods who rule the regions of the night,
Ye gliding ghosts, permit me to relate
The mystic wonders of your silent state!

–Virgil, Aeneid

On Monday, I showed the painting to the right as a Work-In-Progress in the stage where it began fully showing itself. I liked where it was at that point and didn’t want to venture far from the feeling I was getting from it. I determined that I wanted to stay within the red tones and hold back on moving out into other colors.

Felt something very moody, almost mystic, in those tones. As though the dusk represented something more than the sun descending behind the horizon.

I can’t say exactly what it might mean or symbolize. Sometimes there is something satisfying in simply bathing in a mood without knowing the meaning behind it, in just accepting the mystery of the moment and resting within it.

This might be one of those pieces that does that for me. Only time will tell. I need to sit myself in that chair for a bit longer to take it all in.

Then I’ll know. Well, maybe. Who ever really knows?

Here’s a favorite Van Morrison song that I believe goes well with this painting which I am calling Mystic’s Dusk. The song is Into the Mystic and this version is from a 2007 performance from Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit. It’s hard to live up to the original but this is a fine rendition.

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Lawren Harris, From the North Shore Lake Superior, 1927

Art is not an amusement, nor a distraction, nor is it, as many men maintain, an escape from life. On the contrary, it is a high training of the soul, essential to the soul’s growth, to its unfoldment.

–Lawren Harris

Whenever I need a lift or a reminder that what I am doing is more than a mere triviality, it’s always good to revisit the work and words of the late painter Lawren Harris.

Harris, who died in 1970 in his native Canada at the age of 85, had a way of capturing of grand spaces and forms and imbuing in them a sense of absolute stillness. It’s a created atmosphere that is conducive to the unfolding and growth of one’s soul.

Some might say that this in itself is an escape from life and, in the simplest terms, they would be correct. But art transcends the mere act of escape in that while doing so, it provides the space and nourishment for the growth of the soul.

I know that I have often looked to art as a safe haven, an escape from the cruelty and often illogical nature of the outside world.

But it was never just that single thing. This separation between the outer and inner world created an environment, a time and place, where lessons could be learned and insights could be formed. These lessons and insights become part of who we are and then undoubtedly travel with us back into that outer world.

No, art is not an amusement or an escape. It changes us in fundamental ways and by that, we are always made better.

I needed to write that this morning, if only for myself. Thanks, Mr. Harris, I feel a little better now.

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This post ran a few years back as it is above. I have added a couple more quotes and images from Lawren Harris below that very much complement his words above.

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Every work of art which really moves us is in some degree a revelation: it changes us.

–Lawren Harris

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Lawren Harris, Lake Superior Thomson Col, 1923

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It requires a conviction that every people has a unique contribution to give to mankind, and that this they must make or else remain sterile, subservient, sallow, and that this contribution they must have commenced to make before they can hope to understand the spirit that informs all great works and inspires all noble living.

–Lawren Harris

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Lawren Harris, Mt Lefroy, 1930

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Work-In-Progress 2023

I aim here only at revealing myself, who will perhaps be different tomorrow, if I learn something new which changes me.

–Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592)

This is a Work-In-Progress that is currently on the easel here in the studio. Thought I’d show it this morning because it’s at that point where it begins to reveal its true self in its evolution from the nothingness of a bare canvas to whatever it turns out to be.

It’s my favorite point in the process because the tones of the red oxide underpainting and the first few touches of color coalesce into a wholeness that begins emitting an emotional radiance.

Yeah, that sounds kind of pretentious, I know. But you have to give me a break– if I had better words I most likely would be a writer and not a painter. Or maybe a plumber. Who knows?

But the point I am trying to make is that it’s at a point where it begins to tell its story with feeling. My struggle is to keep this first burst of feeling intact or increase it as the painting progresses from here. Actually, it’s to try to figure out now to not obscure that feeling that I am getting from it at this point.

And that sometimes happens. I have had pieces where they feel very strong at this juncture but end up losing a bit of their emotional impact under the layers of paint that will follow. I toy with the idea of going just a touch further than this before leaving the painting alone but am blocked in doing from some compulsion to see it go as far as I can take it.

It’s a kind of metaphor for our personal evolution, much like the words at the top from the 16th century French philosopher Michel de Montaigne. We are like the painting in that we find ourselves revealed to be who we are at certain points in our lives. But we do not have to remain at that point. With knowledge, new revelations about ourselves and the world around us, we change. We have that same underpainting in place but we are now somehow different.

Hopefully, for the better.

I am eager to see where this piece goes. I will be sure to share it at some point.

Here’s a song in that same vein. It’s a live version Changes from David Bowie. Good way to kick off the new week that is facing a difficult world.

Now, get the heck out of here. I got work to do.

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Tangled Light, 2015

Our final results appear almost self-evident, but the years of searching in the dark for a truth that one feels but cannot express; the intense desire, and the alternations of confidence and misgiving, until one breaks through to clarity and understanding, are only known to him who has himself experienced it.

–Albert Einstein, University of Glasgow Lecture, 1933

To paraphrase: The answers we seek are almost certainly before us. We just don’t recognize them as such, grasping as we do at threads that only serve to overcomplicate the situation. It twists our thinking to the point that the simplest and most logical answer seems nonsensical.

We become like the conspiracy theorists who see intricate plots with complicated and illogical twists and turns in places where the easiest and most evident answer contradicts their every assertion. We wander in the vast mazes we create only to discover that a simple straight line, in the end, leads to the answer.

It’s only when we finally come to that answer that we see that simplest way was the right and only way to get to the answer.

But everyone who travels that straight line afterward can plainly see that it was the right way. But they will never know the confusion, consternation, and doubt of those who were lost in the maze before finally stumbling across that direct path.

Okay, I’m done. That’s too much whatever-this-is before 6 AM on a Sunday morning. Here’s a song from the Postmodern Jukebox for this week’s Sunday Morning Music. Featuring the vocals of Rogelio Douglas, Jr., this is their version of the U2 classic I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.

FYI: The painting at the top is a companion piece to the one shown yesterday. It also lives with me in my studio now. I am looking at it as I write this, and it reminds me that I still have a maze to contend with. If you know how to get out of here, let me know. I just can’t see it yet…

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October Sky, 2015

Human lives… are composed like music. Guided by his sense of beauty, an individual transforms a fortuitous occurrence… into a motif, which then assumes a permanent place in the composition of the individual’s life… Without realizing it, the individual composes his life according to the laws of beauty even in times of great distress.

–Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I was reading an article this morning about the role serendipity plays in shaping our lives and our perceptions of it. How we shape our being by the meaning we find in coincidences and the parallels we recognize in art– those books, music, and films we take in– and our own lives. I can certainly point to such instances in my own life. This somehow reminded me of the painting above and the blog entry below from a few years back. The blog post featured little close-up chunks of the painting and that reminded me in a way of how we put together the composition that is our life. Little bits that by themselves often go by unnoticed but ultimately interweave and coalesce into something more than themselves.

Felt like it was good morning to replay this post, especially given that the title of the painting is a timely one, October Sky.

I was looking for something to play this morning and put on this album, Blues Twilight, from jazz trumpet player Richard Boulger. I’ve played a couple of tracks from this album here over the years.

While the title track was playing, I went over to over to a painting that hangs in my studio, the one shown above. It’s an experiment titled October Sky from a few years back that is a real favorite of mine. I showed it for only a short time before deciding that I wanted it hanging in the studio. I never really worked any further in the direction this piece was taking me. Part of that decision to not go further was purely selfish, wanting to keep something solely for myself, something that wasn’t subject to other people’s opinions.

A strictly personal piece. A part of the prism that doesn’t show.

I look at it every day but generally it is from a distance, taking it in as a whole. But his morning, while the album’s title track played I went and really looked hard at it, up close so that every bump and smear was obvious. And I liked what I was seeing, so much so that I grabbed my phone and began snapping little up-close chunks of it.

It all very much felt like the music, like captured phrases or verses. Each had their own nuance, color and texture and they somehow blended into a harmonic coherence that made the piece feel complete.

It’s funny but sometimes when I am working hard and in a groove that takes over from conscious thought, I almost forget about those things that I myself like in my work because I don’t have to think about them in the process of creating the work. Looking at this painting this close made me appreciate the painting even more, made me think about it in a different way than the manner in which I now used to seeing it.

Guess it’s a good thing to stop every now and then and look at what you’ve done, up close and personal.

Here’s Blues Twilight from Richard Boulger. Enjoy the music and take a look at the snips below the song, if you so wish.

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At the age of six I wanted to be a cook. At seven I wanted to be Napoleon. And my ambition has been growing steadily ever since.

–Salvador Dali, The Secret Life of Salvador Dali (1948)

From 2008:

At the opening for my show at the Haen Gallery in Asheville, NC, a young woman approached me, telling me first that she had a piece of mine which she loved. She said she felt the same about all my work. We talked for a bit then she came out with the inevitable.

“You’re not what I had expected. I thought you might be wearing a beret or a cape or something like that.”

Strangely, I get that a lot.

People expect me to be something much different than I appear to be. More flamboyant, I guess. Maybe more boorish. Maybe like this guy, Salvador Dali, who exemplified that stereotype of the crazy artist.

But they’re faced with me– a thick-waisted, middle-aged guy with a sloppy gray beard. I used to kid with the folks at the Principle Gallery that one day I would show up at a show in a Dali-like manner, swooping in to hold court in my flowing black cape, waving my arms about in dramatic flourishes. Maybe wearing a monocle and spats like Mr. Peanut. Maybe with a waxed rat-tail moustache a la Dali?

I sometimes wonder if people would look at my work differently then.  Would they find different attributes in the paintings? Would they find a different meaning in each piece?

I don’t know. I hope not.

But I do know there is an illusion behind each person’s impression of a piece of art, that it is a delicate web that supports how they value a piece and that can be affected by my words or actions or even appearance. I have had collectors who did not want to meet me at openings for that very reason, fearful that I might end up being a total dope and that the paintings on their walls were now worthless in their eyes.

Probably a wise move on their part.

That is one of the reasons I’m a little reticent to do this blog. I could write something off the cuff, something that I might soon realize was a product of flawed logic, and quickly destroy someone’s whole perception of my work.

Perhaps that is not giving the work enough credit for its own strength and life. Perhaps this is the flawed logic I mentioned. Whatever the case, it’s something I bear in mind. But for the time being, I will keep the cape and moustache wax in storage and stick with the credo of my childhood hero, Popeye: “I yam what I yam.”

And that’s all that I am…

Followup from 2012:

In the comments from the original 2008 post, someone made the point that the work should stand on its own regardless of the mannerisms or perception of the artist. Of course, I agree completely with that in theory. 

However, I point out that sometimes the artist can affect, both positively and negatively, how their work is viewed with their words and actions. I cite a story I’ve told innumerable times of going to a local college to hear a famous author speak. I was seventeen years old and aspiring to be a writer at the time, armed with a legal pad filled with questions that I hoped to ask this author so that his words of wisdom might guide me along. At the reception afterwards when I finally got a chance to speak with him, he was half in the bag drunk– and a smug prick as well. He rudely dismissed me, moving on without taking a second to consider my question to him. I was crushed and left promising myself that I would never read another word that fool would write.  I have kept that promise to this day.

I also vowed to myself that if I was in that position, I would never treat anyone so dismissively. Hopefully, I have kept that promise.

This was written in the first few months of writing this blog so some things have obviously changed. I was still up in the air about writing this blog, something which I have obviously reconciled with myself. But I am still the same middle-aged guy with a thick waist and a sloppy gray beard.

Followup from 2023:

Since it’s been fifteen years now, must be I have gotten over my hesitancy in writing this blog. Still the same thick-waisted middle-aged guy with what is now a white sloppy beard. The cape and moustache wax have, like Elvis, left the building long ago. Still worry about inadvertently coming off as rude or dismissive of folks at openings and talks. 

And still strong to the finish ’cause I eats me spinach…

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Sharing Heart– At Kada Gallery, Erie PA

Illness is the doctor to whom we pay most heed; to kindness, to knowledge, we make promises only; pain we obey.

–Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past

There is always some sort of conflict and atrocity taking place somewhere on this Earth of ours. History tells us that. It’s so prevalent that many of us are able to tune it out altogether, barely noticing it.

We become inured to the pain and suffering of so many others.

But there are moments when it feels like the hurt and horror of the world reaches some sort of peak. Like a psychic string has been plucked that reverberates around the globe, pealing out a tone that anyone with an iota of empathy can feel.

It feels like such a moment. Maybe it’s just me.

And even if it is something that is felt by others as well, I am left wondering what one can do in response to that vibrating tone. Is it a call to action or a warning to be prepared when whatever evil is taking place heads your way? Maybe a warning that it can come your way?

I don’t know. It certainly has me on edge but, then again, maybe it’s just me.

For the moment, let’s act on the words from Proust at the top of this page. Let’s fulfill our promises to kindness and knowledge. Maybe that is the thing that will dampen that plucked string.

What can it hurt?

Here’s one of my all-time favorites, Try a Little Tenderness, from the immortal Otis Redding. This is a performance in Cleveland that took place the day before he died in a plane crash back in 1967. I am still in awe of all that he left in his 26 years on this planet. Let’s listen to his advice.

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