Red Sun Dance— At West End Gallery
This is the true joy in life: the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one, the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap, the being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.
-George Bernard Shaw
I was going through some older posts this morning and came across one that pointed out the grim joylessness that overwhelmed us during the trump years– that short but seemingly never-ending era doesn’t deserve capital letters. There was never a single unifying moment in those years nor even a half-assed attempt to try to bring us together as a nation. Even during the covid outbreak, at a time when we should have been brought together, there was division sowed as he pitted blue states against red states in doling out federal resources.
Negativity reigned in that dark time. It was an administration of greed, grievance, and retribution. I can’t recall a single moment when a positive unifying vision was presented to the country. He declared American Carnage in his weird and creepy inauguration speech and, unfortunately for us all, delivered just that to the American people.
I think that is why the Harris/ Walz campaign’s embrace of joy and inclusion has been so effective thus far. Its positivity stands in stark contrast to the constant griping and whining coming from the other side. It’s like one side goes onto the dance floor to express their feelings of joy out in the spotlight while the other side sulks angrily in a dark corner, bitching that nobody asked them to dance.
The dance of joy is infectious. It grows and glows. The glumness and anger of that other guy is just an infection– sore and red and eating away at everything it touches.
That being said, I thought I would use another earlier post that talks about the joy found in purpose. I adapted it a bit to fit the painting at the top.
Joy was the word that first came to mind when I finished this smaller new piece, Red Sun Dance, now showing at the West End Gallery as part of my Persistent Rhythm exhibit that hangs there until August 29. There was just a feeling of realized joy and happiness throughout it, the kind that Shaw described above in his play Man and Superman.
It’s a feeling of finding the joy contained within that dances with positivity, sweeping away anger and grievance.
I think the feeling he describes must be one of the greatest joy in this world: to find a purpose into which you can fully throw your whole being for all of your time on this planet.
A purpose that gives you a place to stand and rise above the selfishness and pettiness of those, including yourself, who would drag you down.
A purpose that allows you to tap into some greater force in order to gain energy for your toils.
A purpose that lets you deny the cynicism that sometimes shows up in abundance in this world.
A purpose that serves you endless joy in what seem to be empty moments.
A purpose that even finds the joy in tears.
I think there is a purpose for each of us. Finding it is not always a simple matter and some of us will never find the one purpose that is truly our own. We may not be willing to give enough of ourselves to something that is beyond our own needs and desires. We might still find some joy in our life but it will no doubt be short lived.
For me, it has been painting. At first, I found this surprising because I often viewed it as being selfish in nature. My perspectives. My emotions. It was even called self-expression. But the purpose came from having others find comfort and happiness in their reactions to my expression. Their joy fed my joy.
But there are days when I still find myself losing sight of this purpose, when it is a struggle both in the studio and in the outer world and I feel drawn back down to less positive feelings. But I will be somehow reminded of that purpose and that joyful feeling returns.
That happened the other day. A gallery owner called and told me of a person who had bought a painting of mine that they had desired for quite a long time. In fact, this person had come into the gallery for this painting and it was gone, having been returned to me. I sent the piece back to the gallery and when the person returned to get it, they started crying in joy. I can’t even express how this makes me feel outside of saying again that their joy fed my joy, their tears became my tears.
Those moments make my time alone in the studio seem more special and filled with purpose. They make me that joyous one, if only for a while.
And that is good enough for me…
Redtree Times 