Redtree Times

Ring of Fire #4– Coming to Principle Gallery

Cowards are cruel, but the brave love mercy and delight to save.

–John Gay, Fables, 1727

Ain’t that the truth?

And it applies in so many ways today. The bullies who bluster and threaten and prey on those with little power are in great abundance. We see evidence of this in the constant cruelty being exhibited by public officials who hide behind the cloak of their offices and titles and by online trolls who hide behind their anonymity. People who only want to punish and harm those who are different than themselves or those with less power. People who are forever taking for themselves and seldom giving anything to others.

Not money nor compassion and not a hand up or a way forward.

Certainly not mercy.

I guess it’s always been that way. A bully in 2023 is most likely little different than a bully in 1727.

And now, as it was then, the solution to bullies and wannabe tyrants is to cut through the sound and fury of their threats and hold them accountable. To make them finally understand the importance of mercy in this world.

I’m talking in vague terms here, of course. There are some bullies who will never understand mercy and will see it as a weakness to be exploited. These bullies will always claim to be victims. Such people deserve little mercy until they are brought low enough to feel truly chastened and accept the responsibility for their words and actions.

Is that possible? I don’t know.

Maybe I am just blabbing this morning for the sake of hearing my own voice. That’s always a possibility. Actually, I had the quote at the top from John Gay, best known for writing The Beggar’s Opera in 1728 which introduced the world to MacHeath or Mack the Knife as we know him.

I also had this week’s Sunday Morning Music which is Her Mercy from Glen Hansard. I chose his version performed in what appears to be an Irish alley somewhere because I am always impressed by his commitment to his performances, even in a not perfect environment like that alley. He gives the same level of effort whether he is performing for a full arena or an empty alleyway. I love that type of commitment. It most likely comes from his years as a street busker.

I wasn’t sure what image to set beside these two other elements that deal with mercy. I finally settled on one of the paintings from my Ring of Fire series. Five of these pieces are headed down to the Principle Gallery for their Small Works show that opens in early December. These are pieces that are meant to be spare in their rendering while expressing a depth of angst, though that came as an afterthought. The characters in this series are all haunted from which they are seeking some sort of relief.

Perhaps mercy for things they have done?

Maybe.

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A New Cornucopia– At West End Gallery

In big cities, on farms, in remote places, throughout the countryside, people are moving busily. Why? We are all motivated by desire to make ourselves happy. To do so is right. However, we must keep in mind that too much involvement in the superficial aspects of life will not solve our larger problem of discontentment. Love, compassion, and concern for others are real sources of happiness. With these in abundance, you will not be disturbed by even the most uncomfortable circumstances. If you nurse hatred, however, you will not be happy even in the lap of luxury. Thus, if we really want happiness, we must widen the sphere of love. This is both religious thinking and basic common sense.

–Tenzin Gyatso, 14th Dalai Lama, How to Expand Love: Widening the Circle of Loving Relationships

Much to do this morning so I am keeping this short and sweet. Emphasis on the sweet, as we ease into the next week with Thanksgiving and all that it brings. It’s a good time to think less about those things we want or expect from others and focus on those things we have to offer– love, compassion, and concern for others as the Dalai Lama states above.

Things without monetary value but more valuable and meaningful than piles of cash or stock portfolios.

Things that make worth living. For ourselves and others.

Just a thought.

Here’s a song in that vein. It’s the old early Beatles hit Can’t Buy Me Love as performed by Paul McCartney from a 1992 concert at the Ed Sullivan Theater that was recorded for MTV. This is a really nice reinvention of the song in a bluegrass/country style.

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Gino Severini- Red Cross Train Passing a Village, 1915

Philosophers and aestheticians may offer elegant and profound definitions of art and beauty, but for the painter they are all summed up in this phrase: To create a harmony.

–Gino Severini (1883-1966)

I am always a little hesitant to feature Italian Futurists such as Gino Severini or Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, who authored the Manifesto of Futurism which was a rejection of the past and celebrated the speed, machinery, violence, youth and industry of modernity. It was a document that caused the movement to be forever associated with the growth of Fascism in Italy.

And, as we all know, fascism can be a touchy subject. Then and now.

But let’s put that aside for the moment and focus on Severini’s words above. It very much reflects my own feelings on creating a work. For me, the artist’s purpose is to create or find the harmony and rhythm of their subject.

I think any effective piece of art demonstrates this. I could be wrong, of course, but it works for me.

Let’s just leave it at that this morning and look at some of Severini’s work.

Gino Severini– Le Boulevard 1910

Gino Severini– The-Pan-Pan at the Monico, 1959

Gino Severini- The north-south, 1912

Gino_Severini, Dynamic Hieroglyphic of the Bal Tabarin, 1912

Gino Severini- Train f the Wounded, 1913

Gino Severini- Synthesis of the Idea: War, 1914

Gino Severini- Armored Train in Action, 1915

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Robert Smithson– Spiral Jetty

Progress has not followed a straight ascending line, but a spiral with rhythms of progress and retrogression, of evolution and dissolution.

– Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I was looking at a book catalog yesterday, just browsing for something new and I spotted a book on the works of Robert Smithson, who is best known for his monumental earthworks. The most famous is shown here, the Spiral Jetty, which juts out into the Great Salt Lake in Utah. I’ve always been somewhat fascinated by earth-moving on a large scale and have always admired Smithson’s work.

The reason I mention this now is that I found myself thinking smaller lately, perhaps painting smaller paintings for a smaller economy. Part of this was a conscious decision but part was the result of just becoming a little more wary with all the turmoil in the world. There has been a period of introversion marked by a noticeable withdrawal from thinking boldly.

Seeing this image of Smithson’s work reminded me of the need to think big.

I realized I had become a bit fearful of pushing myself, perhaps afraid of exposing my limitations. I had lost a little faith in my own abilities, including the ability to adapt to new challenges.

I was being safe. It was my version of the retrogression that Goethe mentions in the quote above. I was in the spiral.

This all flashed in my head within a few seconds of seeing the spiral jetty. Funny how a single image can trigger a stream of thought with so many branches off of it.

I had forgotten that I had to trust myself and throw the fear of failure aside, that thinking bold almost always summons up the best in many people. Once you say that you don’t give a damn what anyone says, that if you fail so be it, the road opens up before you and your mind finds a way to get you on it.

So, I have to remember to think big.

To look past the horizon. Just freaking do it.

Then progress will come…

This post was from way back in 2009. I was reminded of it in recent days when I was cleaning out a part of my collapsing old studio. I pulled out some remaining old frames from back in the early 2000’s and was surprised at the sheer size of them. Most were much larger than anything I paint these days. I had forgotten how much bolder I was in that manner back then than I am now. And it made me wonder if I had lost something by not maintaining that same boldness, that willingness to make big expressions.

I don’t have an answer.

But it makes me want to do something big.

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Rosalie Gwathmey- Deep South

I was doing a little research on the painter Robert Gwathmey, the social realist painter (1903-1988) whose work most often depicted the day-to-day life of poor African American culture of the American South in the first half of the 20th century. I knew that his son, Charles Gwathmey, was a famous and influential architect but I didn’t know much about his wife, Rosalie. It turns out that she was a talented photographer who chronicled that same rural culture that was the subject of her husband’s paintings. In fact, her photos were often the source material for his work.

Digging deeper, I came across her photos and found them compelling. There were poignant shots of families at work and at home, often in abject poverty. Wonderful compositions of a barn on fire amid the wide flat fields, smoke ominously billowing. All very powerful stuff.

Rosalie Gwathmey- Barn

Reading some articles about her I came across a terrific article from 1994 and Erika Duncan in the New York Times.  It was of an interview with Rosalie Gwathmey, who died in 2001 at the age of 92, focusing on her work as a photographer which, at the time of the article, was being rediscovered as the result of a solo show of her photos.  It turns out that she had been an earnest photographer associated with some of the other great photographers of the time such as Dorothea Lange, from around the mid 1930’s up until 1955 when she abruptly put down her camera, destroyed many of her negatives and gave away her photos.

“I just quit,” was her description.

Reading the rest of the article, she also simply stopped painting at one point, despite having great promise, and she also abruptly ended a long career as a textile designer. She simply stopped, saying, “I did that for 27 years, and then I quit in much the same way. I have no regrets. I just closed up shop. There was no reason to keep on doing it.”

That really made me think. Was this merely a facet of her personality or could this happen to anyone?  Could I one day suddenly decide that I no longer wanted to paint? What was it that made her suddenly lose that need to express herself in a certain way? Is it a loss of passion or something different?

It became a sort of scary thing to think about for me, as though it were some horrible affliction that lay in wait for me somewhere in the future. Maybe never but maybe tomorrow. Or the day after that.

I don’t know that there are actual answers here, only more questions. But her quitting is as intriguing an aspect of her life as her wonderful work and makes me wonder how many others have simply walked away from what seems to be a great career.

I came across this post that originally ran back in 2011 and it gave me pause. I’ve been doing this for 25 years now and there are certainly days when I would love to just shuck it all. However, for me, it’s always just a passing fancy that goes away as soon as I make my first mark on the next canvas. Besides, there’s nothing else I really want to do at this point.

For this reposting, I have added more of the photos of Rosalie Gwathmey below. They certainly evoke time and place. And for another perspective on what makes someone suddenly say “I just quit” I urge you to read a post, Stepping Off the 8:15, from my friend Linda Leinen’s The Task at Hand blog. It’s an interesting story.

Rosalie Gwathmey- Shout Freedom, NC 1948

Rosalie Gwathmey- Tobacco Barns

Rosalie Gwathmey- Parade Charlotte NC 1947

Rosalie Gwathmey- Tobacco Picker 1943

Rosalie Gwathmey- Ploughman and Scarecrow 1943

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Closing the Door, 2013

Maybe it’s not so bad to dwell in the past, and muddle in the memories, to stem the simplification of time, and put some craft back into it. Maybe we should think of memory itself as an art form, in which the real work begins as soon as the paint hits the canvas. And remember that a work of art is never finished, only abandoned.

— John Koenig, Klexos definition from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

It’s been a while since I shared a definition from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. In it, author John Koenig has coined a number of new words describing complex feelings and emotions that have often lacked words to describe them in the past. It took Koenig many years to compile his dictionary, but it ultimately produced a best-selling book. I have shared a number of his definitions here in the past and usually find myself nodding my head as I recognize many of the feelings he describes.

Today I am sharing the word klexos which is briefly defined as the art of dwelling on the past. I chose this word because I have recently mentioned here that this is often the time in which I revisit old work, mostly that from the time before I began showing it publicly. Though I have done this many times before, there is almost always something new to be found in doing this again.

As Koenig points out in the video below, which gives the full definition, the context for the past is always changing.

There is always something new in the present which changes our memories of the past.

I also like a couple of subtle points in his definition of klexos. For one thing, it uses the word on instead of in in its primary definition, the art of dwelling on the past. Dwelling in or on the past are two different things. One, in, has you trapped in the past while the other, on, has you moving on but reexamining the past for potential clues or lessons for the present.

The other subtle point is the suggestion that we think of memory as an artform. That very much aligns with my own thoughts on how we all possess a story or mythology in our lives. The painting analogy Koenig uses for this feels on the spot for me. Some folks choose to abandon their painting as soon as the paint hits the canvas while others continually revisit theirs to organize and embellish it in an artistic manner.

If you read this blog regularly, you know which group I fall in.

Here’s the video that goes with klexos. It’s worth a few minutes of your time.

FYI- The painting at the top, Closing the Door from 2013, is one of those pieces here in the studio that I often revisit in my own personal klexos. Surprising how often I find something new in it that helps me in the present.

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Bradford County– GC Myers, 1994

When we are in competition with ourselves, and match our todays against our yesterdays, we derive encouragement from past misfortunes and blemishes. Moreover, the competition with ourselves leaves unimpaired our benevolence toward our fellow men.

–Eric Hoffer, The Passionate State of Mind (1955)

I love this passage from my favorite autodidact, Eric Hoffer.  As someone who I would consider a competitive person throughout much of my life, I can tell you that life is much simpler and easy when you begin competing only with yourself.

It’s true in life and especially true as an artist.

Early on in, when I first began showing my work and was still developing my artistic voice, everything was a competition. I was constantly comparing and judging my work against that of other artists. And since art is a forever thing, this meant that I was putting myself in competition with all artists. And not just the local, not just the person in the next town over who did lovely watercolors. No, it was a competition with artists everywhere, every corner of the globe

And not just the living contemporary artists. No, it was competition with every living and dead person who ever smeared something on a surface to express some emotion. It was a competition that went from every artist today going back to the first time that early man put his handprint on a cave wall.

I have mentioned here before that early on in my career I had read that author John Irving, when going into a bookstore, saw every book in there, as well as every book ever written, as being his competition. He viewed his task as a writer as being the equivalent of being an Olympic athlete competing against the very best the world has to offer. That meant, he would have to practice his craft with all the dedication and focus of an Olympian.

I took that to heart then and believed that If I worked long and hard, I could compete with anyone. That was probably a good thing at that point in that it gave me the focus and discipline that I needed, as well as a sense of urgency. Without these things, I doubt I would have developed much beyond what the level at which I began.

But while it was beneficial from that perspective, it was also often disheartening. Going to galleries and museums back then, while I usually left with some bit of inspiration, often left me discouraged. All I could see was what I couldn’t or didn’t do with my own work.

And never would.

As a result, I felt bad about my own work then. And I sometimes even resented the talents of those artists I was viewing, much to my chagrin. I found myself disappointed both as an artist and a human being.

And that feeling was hard to live with.

However, these feelings did make me push myself even a bit harder to refine my voice as an artist. It was both bad and good.

So, I worked while harboring these feelings until years when I began to understand that this perceived competition with others only existed in my mind. Yes, it had served a purpose for me at the time, but it was no longer needed.

I could now fully enjoy the works of others without comparing their work to mine. Getting rid of the competitive envy that I had carried for so long felt great. Liberating. 

However, I found that I was still competitive but now it was only a wrestling match with myself. It is much like Hoffer put it, a competition pitting my todays against my yesterdays. I can now look back at the failures and misfortunes, as Hoffer put it, of my earlier work and see where I have grown in many ways.

It is both encouraging and inspiring, even when I find myself cringing at some of those early pieces. More than that, it is a much healthier form of competition. I no longer feel that I am competing with anyone. Not with any contemporary artist, not the Modernists nor the Impressionists nor anyone going back to that prehistoric artist, Thag, in his cave admiring the bull he has just painted. He certainly was not worried about competition.

Plus, competing only with myself and not with all of history has an upside. It still provides enough competition that it spurs me to want to work harder, to delve deeper with my work.

To be better today than I was yesterday or twenty years ago.

That, I can live with…

The painting at the top is from before I began showing my work, one of those pieces I often revisit. I wrote about this piece, Bradford County, here on the blog back in 2011.

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Silent Eye of Night– At West End Gallery

Testimony is an integral part of the Black religious tradition. It is the occasion where the believer stands before the community of faith in order to give account of the hope that is in him or her.

–James H. Cone, My Soul Looks Back (1986)

Wasn’t planning on writing today, only sharing some music. However, I came across the piece below, Testimony, from the Kronos Quartet and the passage above from Black theologian James H. Cone (1938-2018). Both made me think more than I was planning on this morning.

First, the composition Testimony was composed by Charlton Singleton, a wonderfully talented Grammy-winning trumpeter/composer/arranger whose home base is in and around Charleston, SC.

He was chosen to be part of the Fifty for the Future project from the Kronos Quartet/Kronos Performing Arts Association which establishes an online library of 50 commissioned works from 25 male and 25 female composers. These pieces will make up an online learning library that will have the scores and parts, recordings, and other learning materials for each composition. Developed for youth groups and schools, the site is free of charge and available to all.

While listening to Singleton’s piece I began to search for something related to the word testimony. I came across the words at the top from James H. Cone. I was struck by how he put the idea of religious testimony as being one’s public declaration of hope.

I saw this as being similar to the creation of a work of art. A piece of art is the result of a belief in the meaning and purpose of each of us as individual beings, as well as a belief that we all in some way echo into the future. Showing that work to others is indeed a public declaration of this belief.

Hmm. Got to mull that over for a while. While we are doing that, give a listen to Charlton Singleton’s Testimony as performed by the Kronos Quartet. Feels like the perfect fit for this week’s Sunday Morning Music.

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Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery, France

Ah young Willie McBride, I can’t help wonder why
Do those that lie here know why did they die?
And did they believe when they answered the cause
Did they really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying, were all done in vain
For young Willie McBride, it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again

—Eric Bogle, No Man’s Land (Green Fields of France)

Another Armistice Day.

We observe the day now as Veteran’s Day or Remembrance Day, as it’s known in some other countries. It is now a day that recognizes the service of all veterans, living and dead. But originally it was observed to commemorate the armistice signed on the “eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month” of 1918 which marked the end of combat in World War I.

The end of The Great War.

The War to End All Wars.

If only.

Unfortunately, we humans have short memories and a poor grasp of history. The Great War was but a prelude to another World War and in the years since, there have been a multitude of other wars, invasions, genocides and ethnic cleansings.

They seem to always begin with an act of aggression based on greed, ego, or some kind of racial, religious, or ethnic hatred. One nation envies what another nation possesses. One leader desires more power and self-enrichment. People, spurred on by manipulative leaders, feel threatened by the existence of others, those who don’t share their race or religion or social beliefs.

It seems so long as we live in a world ruled by the greed, envy and fear of those who lead the nations of this world, war will always be near at hand.

It will remain a sometimes necessary evil until men stop exploiting other men.

And as such, the continued service and sacrifice of young men and women will be required.

Today is a day to honor those who serve and or have served their duty to this and other countries.

It is a day to remember how much has been given to us, the living, and how much has been taken from those who sacrificed their futures for the living.

A day to remind us all how fragile this world is and how each new war dishonors the veterans of the past and makes their sacrifice seem to have been made in vain.

Take a moment from your day and give it some thought. It is the least we can do.

The song featured today is from 1976 and was written by the Scottish Australian singer Eric Bogle. It is titled No Man’s Land and is also known as Green Fields of France. It tells the story of young soldier named Willie McBride who died in World War I. It was inspired by Bogle’s visits to the battlefield graveyards in Flanders and Northern France, such as the one shown at the top of the page. It is a song that has been recorded by numerous artists but I chose this version from the Dropkick Murphys. Just feels right.

This post ran several years back. With the current conflicts raging around the world, it seems appropriate for today.

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In Still Wonder – At Principle Gallery, Alexandria

Philosophy, if it cannot answer so many questions as we could wish, has at least the power of asking questions which increase the interest of the world, and show the strangeness and wonder lying just below the surface even in the commonest things of daily life.

–Bertrand Russell, The Problems of Philosophy (1912)

I like this passage from Bertrand Russell. Though it deals with philosophy, I find myself applying it to art as well. For one thing, art often allows us to see the wonder that is present in the ordinary. Some of the most powerful and moving works of art revolve around common things, the artist imbuing them with a quality that enhances the wonder of their singularity.

I have also found that art, like philosophy, often provides more questions than answers. We often think of art as making declarative statements. And some does just that in a very straightforward way.

But there is also the work that stirs us a bit deeper. We see the apparent beauty but also see something beyond that surface appearance, something that brings forth emotions that belie what is in front of us. It sparks memories from our past experiences along with glimpses of our hopes and fears for the future. It transports us into the timeless world of wonder where it is always in the present moment.

The Now.

And in the stillness of The Now, questions arise that may have long simmered beneath our own surface, questions that we have not had time to even recognize in the past.

The answers to these questions may not be apparent in the work of art from which they sprung. There may not be an answer at all. But maybe just being made aware of the wonder of our existence by these questions is their sole purpose.

Art, like philosophy, leads to a deeper questioning which perhaps opens us up to finding that sense wonder that exists in the ordinary, transporting us to The Ever-present Now.

Sound good to me but what do I know?

Maybe sometimes a painting is just a painting and a cigar is just a cigar. The smoke is in the eyes of the beholder?

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