Redtree Times

Natural Anthem– Coming to Principle Gallery

I can’t run no more
With that lawless crowd
While the killers in high places
Say their prayers out loud
But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up
A thundercloud
They’re going to hear from me

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

–Leonard Cohen, Anthem

This is a new smaller painting (6″ by 12″ on canvas) that is coming with me to the Principle Gallery for next Saturday’s Gallery Talk. It’s a piece that speaks to an island serving as a symbol of personal sovereignty, as it being a place where one can remain apart from the forces that shape the outer world.

A place where you are bothered by nobody and you, in return, bother nobody.

Of course, that place can’t truly exist in the real world. As John Donne said, no man is an island. We all interact with the world every day in more ways than we realize, in both beneficial and bothersome ways. Regardless of how hard we try to deny it, we are connected to the world as a whole.

But this idea of personal sovereignty, of seeing ourselves on this remote island, plays a vital part in dealing with the travails presented by the modern world. Well, it does so in my mind, at least. I create it for myself in my work and in shaping it from the art of others across the creative spectrum– music, literature, film, drama, etc.

I think this inherent symbolism is why I often go to the island as a subject in my paintings. It has an instant elemental feel that speaks to me and inevitably evokes a response from others. I believe it’s a mostly positive reaction, but I can never know how everyone reacts to any of my work. There might be a whole group out there who hate the island and see it as coldly isolating. I can see that.

I saw the violinist (or is it a fiddler?) here as playing the national anthem for this tiny sovereign state. I was going to call it National Anthem but settled on Natural Anthem as its title. It made me wonder what song I might choose as the natural or national anthem for my own tiny island of being.

I can think of many songs that might serve well in this capacity but perhaps it would be Anthem, a favorite song from Leonard Cohen whose lyrics began this post. I think the sky in this piece illustrate the idea of the cracks in everything where the light gets in. Give a listen and think about what song you might choose as your own natural anthem.

This painting is in a group of new works that will be coming to the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA on Saturday, September 28. I will be giving a Gallery Talk there beginning at 1 PM that is open to all and will conclude with a free drawing for one of my paintings that will go to one lucky attendee. Hope you can be there!

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In the Light of Stillness— At West End Gallery

I said that the world is absurd, but I was too hasty. This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be said. But what is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational and the wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart.

–Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, And Other Essays

There are times when I feel a bit lost with my work. I find myself not sure what I am looking for in it, not sure if I am on the right path with my work or if it has any meaning at all. This always leads me to question what I was originally seeing in the work, what in it gave me the idea that it had purpose or meaning in the first place.

What was I finding in it then? And why?

Thinking about this recently, as I was struggling a bit, I began to settle in on the idea of somehow finding clarity. It was the idea that while I might not be able to completely stave off the chaos and darkness I perceived in the world, I could create a small island of respite from it in my work.

A sliver of reason in an often unreasonable world.

Clarity meant, for me, that the work would be easily entered by the viewer. They wouldn’t need an interpreter to tell them what it meant to them, wouldn’t need prior knowledge of art history or anything else for that matter. They could just hold onto whatever edge they might find in it and find a smoother ride through the chaos.

That didn’t mean that it had to be superficial or shallow in its meaning. The chaos of the world was never ignored or hidden. It was always present, looming. Chaos, in fact, became the background on which this world of clarity was built. The gesso of one of my painting’s surface is applied haphazardly in a chaotic manner.  The hope is that the viewer will not notice it at first, that they will focus on whatever it was in it that attracted them originally.

My belief is that having this chaotic underlayment creates depth in the clarity of the feeling of the painting, whatever that might be. If one takes hope from it, that hope is a rational form of it. Not irrational in a cockeyed optimist sort of way. It is a hope that understands that, while there are forces that turn the world that appear chaotic and beyond our understanding, we have an ability to find some sort of clarity.

Breathing room, I guess you might call it.

I don’t know. Just thinking out loud this morning.

Here’s another song from the new album, The Southwind, from guitarist Bill Mize. I had a post about him last week, mentioning that he had chosen a painting from my Archaeology series for the cover of his new album. I thought this song fits well for today’s subject. It is his arrangement/interpretation of a wonderful Dolly Parton tune, Light of the Clear Blue Morning.

Clarity…

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Maxfield Parrish– Aquamarine

It is generally admitted that the most beautiful qualities of a color are in its transparent state, applied over a white ground with the light shining through the color.

–Maxfield Parrish

I am currently preparing a small group of work for my Gallery Talk at the Principle Gallery on Saturday, September 28. Part of my prep work for the talk is also trying to think through things I might speak about. One question that often arises is what artists I view as influences. I usually respond with a quick list but often forget to mention Maxfield Parrish. 

I came across the quote above recently and I realized that the very thought he expressed about the beauty of transparent color on a white ground was the basis for almost all my early work. I painted then (and sometimes now) with watercolors and transparent inks on a white gessoed surface. It give a glow to the colors that imbues everything with light.

This thought reminded me of meeting someone who had seen my 2012 show at the Fenimore Art Museum who said that he was attracted to my work because they were the paintings he wanted to paint.  That’s advice I often offer to would-be painters and, looking at the work of Maxfield Parrish, I can see myself now in his shoes.  Below is a reposting of a blog entry from January of 2009 that I think really summarizes what I see in his work and how I have incorporated some of these things into my own. I have also added a video slideshow at the bottom of this page containing Parrish’s best-known pieces.

Christmas Morning 1949– Maxfield Parrish

Today I want to just show the influence of Maxfield Parrish on my work. He is certainly well known for his fairy tale-like scenes of scantily-clad young women or children in fantastical settings but I have always loved his other, lesser known work, particularly his landscapes and homescapes. 

There’s an intensity and warmth of color that I find completely compelling, drawing you in immediately and immersing you in a luxurious blanket of warm tones. For instance, in the piece above, Christmas Morning 1949, even though it is a wintry, snowy scene there are warm tones in the snow fields. It changes how you look at and feel about the scene, differentiating it from the normal, obvious winter landscape. 

Hunt Farm- Maxfield Parrish

I am also visually excited by the way Parrish used gradience in the colors of his skies, taking a deep rich color at top and drawing it down in lighter fragments of the colors that make up the original color. It creates a brilliant effect. 

The trees often took a central part in his compositions as well, something to which I was obviously attracted. Many were boldly colored and powerful. 

The houses were mainly long range and very idyllic, warm interpretations. More home than house. There was never a specific story conveyed in these homes, just an overall feeling that was formed by their part in the overall picture. 

I have also been influenced by the way Parrish put his compositions together, how all the elements were placed to create mood. The way the trees fill the picture plane. The way the houses are shown, seldom in full view. More about feeling and inference rather than representation. 

I could go on and on about his work and all the little things comprising his magic that I’ve tried to incorporate into my own work but the images tell the story much better. Enjoy…

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Between the Sea and the Sun— Now at West End Gallery

The untold want, by life and land ne’er granted,

Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find.

― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Too much to do and too much craziness with too little time to comment this morning. So, I am just going to leave this little triad of image, word and song. Hopefully, they blend together well. I have used the short but powerful verse from Walt Whitman (which was also the basis for the great Bette Davis film Now, Voyager) with the song below before.

The song, I’m On My Way, is from a favorite of mine, the extraordinarily talented Rhiannon Giddens. Just plain old good stuff. A solid way to kick off what promises to be an eventful week.

As she sings: I don’t know where I’m going/But I know what to do.

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Facing the Crowd (2019)

The people have the power
The people have the power
The power to dream, to rule
to wrestle the world from fools
it’s decreed the people rule
it’s decreed the people rule
we have the power
People have the power
we have the power…

–Patti Smith, People Have the Power (1988)

Crazy week, wasn’t it? Tuesday night’s debate beatdown by Kamala Harris was followed by several days of escalating insanity from the GOP presidential candidate who lashed out in all directions as he tried to cover the abject humiliation of his defeat.

He claimed victory while still claiming he was somehow cheated by moderators who were obviously biased because they fact-checked a handful of his most outrageous and obvious lies. He also claimed that Harris must have been given the questions because she was too good, too smooth, in her answers. As if the average moron couldn’t foresee what type of questions would be asked in a presidential debate. I certainly could and nobody gave me a heads up. Besides, it’s not like they’re asking you specific Jeopardy! questions or asking you to identify a string of images. Something like person/man/woman/camera/TV.

Only a true genius could do that.

That strange and awful character continued through the week building on his insane they’re eating the dogs/they’re eating the cats riff he first unleashed during the debate. Though thoroughly debunked as being utter racist/xenophobic bullshit, he and his fascist wannabe running mate have continue to harp on this theme. It puts not only the Haitian community both in Springfield, Ohio and around the nation at great risk, it serves as platform on which to build other similar attacks on other groups. We’ve seen it in the all too recent past with the Asian and Jewish communities.

If this isn’t stopped in its tracks, it will continue to spread. It’s right out of the authoritarian playbook. It will spread and eventually get around to most everyone in some way or another.

There were other crazy aspects to the appearances of the former president*** this week. I’m not going to go into them all here. But you should be aware of how dangerously detached this person has become. It’s obvious to anyone who watched even a few minutes of his appearances this week.

This creature is not a mere political actor now. This is not about policy differences about taxation, Social Security or anything else that has to do with the average American’s life. He doesn’t give one good goddamn about any of that. This is only about one man’s hunger for the power to elevate himself to a position where he can grind anyone who has ever opposed him in even the most minor way under his heel. Everyone but he himself is disposable in his quest for this power. His family is an afterthought. He has no real friends– only flunkies.

He has begun to take on the identity of a supervillain, one step from retreating to a lair in a hollowed-out volcano from which he will issue video warnings of the havoc he will wreak on the world if we don’t submit to him.

But it’s not too late. He can be stopped. He will be stopped. Kamala Harris made a big step to doing that by looking him in the face and calling him out in front of 67 million people as the weak and disgraceful being he has become. Punching them in the face, thus exposing their weakness, is how you deal with bullies of any sort.

She punched him in the face. Hard. And the world saw it. And he has stumbled, all the time yelling it didn’t hurt, it didn’t hurt.

We are tired of the never-ending chaos and violence that fills the days of their lives, all brought on by this selfish old fool. It’s up to us to finish the job. Knock him off his feet.

We have that power. The forces needed to do this, people from wide and varied groups, are gathering. You can sense the momentum. As much as I am not a fan of those ridiculous truck parades with flags flying, I saw a big one online yesterday from Texas, of all places, with Harris/Walz flags streaming. I have to say, it raised my spirits. Gave me hope that people are finally waking up and coming to the table.

It’s only about 51 days until the election. Seven weeks. If we care enough about this country, about our future and our fellow citizens, especially the most powerless among us, we can do it.

People have the power.

That leads us to this week’s Sunday Morning Music. I wasn’t planning on writing the diatribe above. I was only going to share this song but sometimes the spirit captures you. The song is People Have the Power from Patti Smith. It’s probably her best-known song after Because the Night. I love this performance of this song with Choir!Choir!Choir! with a group of 250 volunteer choir members as well as Stewart Copeland from The Police on percussion. It captures the spirit and energy needed to face down threats to our democracy. Powerful stuff all the way through to the very end.

I have also included an image of a favorite piece from my Multitudes series of several years back. I call this smaller (12×12 on canvas) painting Facing the Crowd and it’s not about the power of the crowd in this painting. It is about the power of that one person on the far left of this piece calmly standing up to the ugliness and anger of that crowd.

One person can do that. Many people standing for others can do much more.

Let’s do this.

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Something Beyond— At Principle Gallery

Our soul is cast into a body, where it finds number, time, dimension. Thereupon it reasons, and calls this nature necessity, and can believe nothing else.

–Blaise Pascal, Thoughts, Letters, and Minor Works

Busy this morning doing what I do. That’s painting for those of you who have just walked in the door.

I am working on a handful of pieces that will be coming with me to the Principle Gallery two weeks from today, Saturday, September 28. I will be giving a Gallery Talk there on that date, beginning at 1 PM. Hope you can make it– it could be fun.

I thought I’d share a post from 2017 that itself was a repost of one from way back in 2009. Reading it fifteen years later, it still held true.

[From 2017]

Painting has come to play a big part in my life. I’ve had a couple of different conversations with some folks over the past few weeks where I have tried to explain what painting has meant to me, tried to explain the void that it filled for me and the sense of purpose it brought to my life.  I talked about never feeling any sense of destiny or anything like that in becoming a painter. It just seemed to those things I needed.

These conversations brought to mind the blog entry below that I wrote back in early 2009 called The Need to Paint that I thought I’d share today:

I wrote a few days ago about how I am often mystified by the meanings of my paintings and how I this makes me glad that I still have the need to paint.

The need to paint?

I thought about that after I hit the button to publish that post. I have often heard artists say they had to paint, as though it were some sort of exotic medical quandary.

Paint or die.

It always kind of bothered me when I heard this, as though these people were saying they had some sort of predestined calling. Like they were prophets or shamans that without their visionary paintings the world would spin out of control. I don’t think I ever felt afflicted with this and it always sounded just a little pompous to me. 

So when I wrote that I had the need to paint it made me twitch a bit. Maybe I’m the pompous ass here. That certainly is in the realm of possibility.

But I find myself kind of standing behind what I said– I do need to paint.

It’s not some call to destiny. It’s not to transmit some psychic message to the world. It’s more a case of me needing have a voice or form of expression that best suits my mind and abilities. Painting just happens to fill that need. If I could yodel–and thankfully for us all, I cannot– I might be saying that I have the need to yodel.

But I need to paint.

I need to paint to try to express things I certainly can’t put in words, things that awe and mystify me. I need to paint to have a means to a voice to make the universe aware that I exist.

I need to paint just to remind myself that I am alive and still have the ability to feel the excitement and joy from something that I have created. I need to paint to feel the surprise of exceeding what I felt was within me, to go into that realm of personal mystery within and emerge with something new. I need to paint because it has given me the closest thing I know to answers to the questions I have.

I need to paint because it is one of the few things that I’ve done fairly well in my life.

Would I die if I couldn’t paint?

Nah…

I’d adapt and find something new but it would be hard to find something that would suit me as well. So I guess I do need to paint after all. Call me a pompous ass. I don’t give a damn- I’ve got work to do.

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Rene Magritte– The Banquet, 1958

People who look for symbolic meaning fail to grasp the inherent poetry and mystery of the images.

—Rene Magritte

I absolutely love this painting, The Banquet, from Rene Magritte in 1958. It has the effect where I don’t question anything about it. I just accept it as it is presented. I am not looking for symbolism in it at all, not looking for a reason why the red ball of sun is hovering low in front of the trees. The colors, the contrast, the composition– they create a whole sensation doesn’t need a why or what or how.

As Magritte points out, it contains poetry and mystery.

And that is something to try to understand. I know I often feel the need to try to explain my work, to point out where I find an emotional base in a piece. Sometimes that is easy, almost jumping out at you. But sometimes it is not so obvious and it is simply the mystery of the created feel, a great intangible pulse, that makes a particular painting work.

You see it, feel it, accept its reality yet you don’t fully understand the why and how.

And maybe that is just as it should be. Not all we behold can or should be explained. Sometimes, maybe we simply need to experience poetry and mystery.

I have had this painting from Magritte in my mind in recent days. I thought I should share this older post about a quote from Magritte that speaks to the poetry and mystery in it. I’ve been struggling a bit in recent weeks with my work, trying to recover that sense of poetry and mystery in my own work. It’s been a matter of overthinking when less thought is required, of trusting my instincts and reactions, rather than trying to factor in those of others. About explaining less, if at all, and letting what poetry is there reveal itself.

To try to not solve the apparent mystery of it. To just let it be as it is. 

It sometimes seems difficult. But when it eventually happens, you realize how simple it truly is. Hopefully, I am nearing that point.  

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In the Rhythm of the World– At West End Gallery

Something there is that can refresh and revivify older people: joy in the activities of the younger generation—a joy, to be sure, that is clouded by dark forebodings in these unsettled times. And yet, as always, the springtime sun brings forth new life, and we may rejoice because of this new life and contribute to its unfolding; and Mozart remains as beautiful and tender as he always was and always will be. There is, after all, something eternal that lies beyond reach of the hand of fate and of all human delusions. And such eternals lie closer to an older person than to a younger one oscillating between fear and hope. For us, there remains the privilege of experiencing beauty and truth in their purest forms.

–Albert Einstein, in letter, March 1936

This morning, I was looking for some words that spoke to the delusions that people foster. With that in mind, I came across the lovely passage above that Albert Einstein wrote in 1936 to Queen Mother Elizabeth of Belgium who was depressed over the recent death of her husband and daughter-in-law.

My intent had been to write about the way the former president*** was trying to frame his debate debacle as some sort of huge triumph by citing ridiculously skewed online polls from his social media platform as evidence of his victory. His aim is to feed the delusions of his rabid cultists, to divert their attention from his abject failure and defeat in the debate that the rest of the world recognizes.

It reminds me of the old adage: Never play chess with a pigeon. The pigeon just knocks all the pieces over then shits all over the board. Then struts around like it won.

That old loser is definitely that strutting pigeon. Unfortunately, that behavior speaks to his loyal following– the other pigeons, which is exactly what he pegged them as a long time ago.

Pigeons.

That’s the term that the Oxford Dictionary defines as a gullible person, especially someone swindled in gambling or the victim of a confidence trick.

Pigeons who live in a state of delusion, suspending all disbelief to anything their lead pigeon says or does. With a short and faulty memory, they rationalize away the truth of every loss, failure, and rebutted lie. Their pigeon hero might have been checkmated on the chessboard but so long as he knocks everything over then shits and struts on top of it, then his defeat is overlooked and viewed as some sort of victory.

That brings me back to Einstein’s words above. He writes about how, as one ages and moves closer to the end of their time here, one recognizes and sheds certain long-held delusions, then having the privilege of being able to experience beauty and truth in their purest forms. They can then avoid becoming bitter and can then find joy in what the future might bring for the youth of the world, even though they themselves might experience that future.

I think it’s a lovely statement and I hope the Queen Mother found some solace in it. It made me think about my own experience with aging.

It also made me wonder about those aforementioned pigeons. I worry that when one holds so tightly to easily disproved delusions for so long that they will never escape the spiral of bitterness that accompanies believing such falsehoods. Will they never be able to experience the full depth real beauty or wonder at pure truths?

I don’t have an answer for that outside of acknowledging that there is plenty of proof of older folks who hold onto their bitterness and hatred like it was a pot of gold. People who have no concern for how the world will be once they have left it.

I feel a terrible pity for those people who end their lives in such a way, devoid of beauty and truth. And as much as I loathe the strutting and shitting pigeons who frequent the rallies of that former guy, dressed in ridiculous costumes and spewing hateful lies and conspiracies, I also pity them. I feel sorry for how they will experience the future. Short of a personal epiphany, I believe most will go into the end of lives as bitter and angry people.

And that is just so sad. And like so many other things, it doesn’t have to be that way.

As for myself, give me Einstein over a shitting and strutting pigeon any day…

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I was going to put this out there without any context.  You most likely will not need it if you watched last night’s debate.

Wow.

From the opening seconds when she marched across the stage into trump’s space to shake his hand, Kamala Harris was in control, making the ex-president*** look old, weak, stupid, bitterly angry, rattled, and out of control.

Certainly not presidential.

To me, he seemed more like a speed freak holding court in a bus station. His eyes appeared very dilated and he spoke extremely fast as he rattled off what was often pure nonsense or threats and predictions of doom.

And like those commuters avoiding the speed freak in that station, he wouldn’t making eye contact with Harris at any point.

It was pure weakness.

He also lied incessantly, a mixture of pure falsehoods and absurd and already debunked internet conspiracies. For the debate, the oddsmakers set the over/under for the number of his lies at 19.5, meaning that you could bet that he would either have less or more than that number. According to Daniel Dale, the well-known independent fact-checker, the number was 33 in his preliminary examination of the debate. I was surprised that the number was that low.

Kamala Harris dominated the space, even though trump was allowed to speak five minutes more than her. He spoke for 42 minutes to her 37 minutes. She was well prepared and strong with her responses.

I am not a fan of these debates in the form to which they have now evolved. A candidate can’t come out and simply present their policies and plans for the future, especially when facing a candidate who lacks both and whose whole schtick amounts to outrage, insult, and doomsaying.

I think Kamala Harris appeared strong, intelligent, confident, and on message, providing as many details as one could in such a debate while still serving up healthy doses of the required performative aspects that now make up modern debates.

How anyone could look at the performance of the other guy and still think he should be once again leading this country is mystifying to me. He is totally unfit for the position. No vision. No plan though he claims to finally have concepts of a plan for his long-promised healthcare solution.

Perhaps the time has come for him take a long break to go yell at that dark cloud hanging over Mar-a-Lago. That is one job for which he is fully prepared.

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Come the Brightening— At Principle Gallery

Young people know less than we do, but they understand more; their perception has not yet been blunted by compromise, fatigue, rationalization, and the mistaking of mere respectability for morality.

–Sydney J. Harris, The Best of Sydney J. Harris (1975)

I came across the sentence above from late (1917-1986) Chicago journalist Sydney Harris and it struck a chord with me, crystallizing several things that have been on my mind lately.

The first thing that jumped out at me was his comparison of knowledge versus understanding among young people. I’ve been closely following the current presidential election, much as I have done in other years going back to 1980. Maybe more so this year since the stakes are higher than normal, demanding more attention.

In every election cycle in my lifetime, there has always been the anticipation that in that year the youth vote will finally turn out in full force and make a loud statement as to how our nation will proceed. And each time, they have never come close to expectations, usually turning out in smaller percentages than other age categories.

But in 2020, they turned out in higher numbers than in the past and may have very much been the deciding factor in President Biden’s victory. In subsequent years, their participation and enthusiasm in the political process have only risen. As this has taken place, I have found myself thinking about how the lives of modern kids are so much different than my own at that age. They have been exposed to so much more of the world, both the brighter and darker aspects, than I ever was. They have had to bear the horrible brunt of our worship of the gun, serving as sacrificial offerings on the altar of that insane cult.

When I see these kids in the aftermath of our most recent bi-monthly school shooting, I am astounded and at their composure, how relatively calmly they respond to reporter’s questions. But I am also dismayed because this only indicates the normalization that has taken place.

And it’s anything but normal. But I think these kids today can see that plainly. To Harris’ point, they may not know why or how it came to this being the case. They may not yet have fully experienced compromise, fatigue or rationalizations for themselves, but they understand that the older generations that were supposed to be looking out for them have failed them. These kids can plainly see our generations’ willingness to compromise and rationalize away their safety. And they can see that offering thoughts and prayers are nothing but a play for respectability, a mask worn to cover the lack of morals and courage in those who should take action but are unwilling to do so.

And I believe they see this in other ways. They see the hypocrisy for what it is when people are demonized for their skin color, sexual orientation, place of birth, religion, or social status. These kids have been exposed to a much wider spectrum of the human experience than I did at their age and thus exhibit a far greater level of tolerance and acceptance than most of my generation as a whole ever did.

They might not know the whole story, but they understand in a way we were never able to.

As someone who has felt deep fatigue of this life, who has compromised or ran away when I should have stood firm and then, much to my shame, rationalized away my failure to do so, I hope my perception of today’s kids is correct.  I see these kids and am heartened that maybe, now that they see that the older generations are not looking out for their best interests, they understand that it is up to them, the younger generation, to take action.

The future is theirs to take and the path to owning their future is in the voting booth.

I have been wrong about many things in the past but hope I am seeing things clearly this one time and that they own that path to the future. We shall see…

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