Redtree Times

New Year’s eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights.

–-Hamilton Wright Mabie, My Study Fire (1890)

Toddlers flying at us on the back of bats on New Year’s Eve. I was going to say to say that those Victorians were just a little off then out of the dark a whole bunch of these bat-riding babies descended on me this morning. Getting a jump on the holiday, I guess.

I had never heard of Hamilton Wright Mabie before about 5 AM this morning– right after being accosted by those nasty urchins. I came across a group of quotes and passages from his work and found myself nodding in agreement to many of them. I was intrigued. It turns out he was an American essayist, editor, critic, and lecturer. Mabie published many books, including a series of children’s books called Every Child Should Know which included titles such as Heroes Every Child Should Know and others in that vein. Most of his other books were essay most of which dealt with literature or his personal observations on nature and life.

Even so, there’s little written about this fellow who died on this very day, December 31, back in 1916 at the age of 70. It appears that that New Year’s Eve was not like every other night for him.

Several of his other quotes caught my eye:

Nothing is lost upon a man who is bent upon growth; nothing wasted on one who is always preparing for – life by keeping eyes, mind and heart open to nature, men, books, experience – and what he gathers serves him at unexpected moments in unforeseen ways.

And this one which advises us to live life fully and take risks rather than sit idly by:

It is better to go down on the great seas which human hearts were made to sail than to rot at the wharves in ignoble anchorage.

There were more equally interesting passages, but it was one at the top that caught my eye. The natural world including the universe in its entirety takes no note of this particular day yet for we humans this transition from one year to the next holds a certain fascination.

Maybe it’s the memento mori aspect of it, that the change of the year moves us one calendar year closer to our ultimate demise.

Or maybe it’s the tabula rasa aspect, that the new year offers us a clean slate on which we can write our destinies.

I can’t think of any other applicable Latin phrases at the moment, so I guess I’m done with trying to figure out our fascination with the New Year.

I tend to agree with Mabie, that it is pretty much like every other night. But, of course, like everybody, I do take pause on this eve to recollect the past year, to note the changes and make an accounting of the gains and losses that took place.

To consider what I might do differently in this future year. To utter a hope or two for myself and others.

Like I said, it’s pretty much like every other night.

Except for the babies and bats.

Here’s song that has nothing to do with New Years on its face. But maybe it does. This is What a Difference a Day Makes from the great Dinah Washington.

Have a good New Year’s Eve. Just keep an eye out for bats, especially if there’s a menacing baby bat-jockey on board. Believe me, I know. One got tangled up in my hair and I think I might have to get a rabies shot.

It’s the same every New Year with these little punks and their pet bats. Damn this day.

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Moonrider— At West End Gallery

Objective evidence and certitude are doubtless very fine ideals to play with, but where on this moonlit and dream-visited planet are they found?

–William James, The Will to Believe (1897)

William James’ question above is, of course, about religious belief but reading through my own lens, I can extend it to our search for the elusive answer to that eternal question: Why are we here?

It’s a question that has no doubt been raised since our time began on this planet and our brains evolved to the point where they could ponder things beyond thinking about obtaining shelter and food. Most likely there came a day when Og felt that his family could be sufficiently fed and kept warm and that he was finally safe from the saber-toothed possum that had been terrorizing them for so long. I am sure one evening, standing by the fire. Og looked up at the stars and began to ask questions.

Why am I here? How did I get here? What does it all mean?

We still don’t know the answers to those questions though we have been on an unceasing search through the eons of time.

And maybe that is the point.

The search for answers, a meaning, and an understanding of our existence or purpose might be the answer in itself. That need to know more, to get closer to some form of certainty, might well be a primal urge within us, a driving force that is on equal footing with others, such as the need to procreate.

Without it, we might wither away as a species.

Psychoanalyst Carl Jung said just this in his 1967 book Alchemical Studies:

The serious problems in life are never fully solved. If ever they should appear to be so, it is a sure sign that something has been lost. The meaning and purpose of a problem seem to lie not in its solution but in our working at it incessantly. This alone preserves us from stultification and putrefaction.

Stultification and putrefaction. 

If you don’t want to get out the thesaurus or google the meaning, that means becoming stagnant, losing interest, and rotting.

Most of us know some folks that have went that way. People who have lost all interest in life and seem just erode as they wait for it all to end. They no longer have the energy to ask questions or seek answers.

Some think that they have found answer in their acceptance of the inertia they are experiencing. However, it is a concession or surrender, not an answer.

Perhaps the best gauge of our vitality and will to live is in our need to keeps asking questions?

I sure hope so because I have more questions than I can put a number on and have found anything that vaguely resembles an answer only geometrically raises a multitude of new questions.

It is like trying to climb up an inverted pyramid.

Just like life– challenging, seemingly impossible, and filled with uncertainty.

As it should be.

So, knowing that it will be unlikely that I ever find any degree of certitude, I will keep asking questions, seeking answers that I know will never come to me.

In the meantime, don’t ask me any questions for which think you need absolute answers. I only have questions and any answers that I might have are filled with uncertainty.

In that vein, here’s an old favorite of mine from Howlin’ Wind, the 1976 debut album from Graham Parker. Great album. This song is Don’t Ask Me Questions and has been a constant refrain in my head since that time, especially whenever I have those days where I am tired and don’t want to be bothered by questions and chit chat.

Like now. So, give a listen if you want then hit the bricks.

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Land of Plenty– At West End Gallery

Negativism to the pain and ferocity of life is negativism to life.

We are not there until we can say “yea” to it all.

To take a righteous attitude toward anything is to denigrate it.

Awe is what moves us forward.

As you proceed through life, following your own path, birds will shit on you.

Don’t bother to brush it off.

Having a comedic view of your situation gives you spiritual distance. Having a sense of humor saves. 

— Joseph Campbell, A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living (1991)

I thought about yesterday’s post for a long time after it went online and it kind of bothered me.  Even though it was not meant to be negative or woe-is-me, it still felt that way to me.

I felt that in it I was painting this past year with too dark a color, one that didn’t reflect the fact that even though it was a challenging year there were also joyful and illuminating moments that provided invaluable lessons.

Joseph Campbell expressed just this sentiment on the page before the one with the passage at the top in his Reflections on the Art of Living:

“Opportunities to find deeper powers within ourselves come when life seems most challenging.”

I know that this is the truth. Nearly every lesson that has ultimately benefited, directed, and shaped me thus far in this life has come as a result of some the most challenging moments in my life. I wouldn’t erase those moments of pain or suffering for fear that I would lose those lessons. The insight and experience I gained was worth far more to me than sparing myself the pain that it took to acquire these things. 

This year, though I call it awful, has provided me the opportunity to rediscover a belief in the goodness and kindness of people that had all but disappeared in recent years. It taught me to unconditionally accept kindness and love that was offered to me. It allowed me to understand that our burdens do not have to be shouldered alone, that there are more folks willing and wanting to take on some of the load.

It reinforced to me the point that our time here in this world is limited, maybe much more so than we would like to believe at any given moment. This limited time should not be spent not on grievance and complaint. It should be spent on appreciating and spreading whatever joy we can find in it.

There’s more, of course. But you get the gist. This past year has been challenging but those lessons alone have made it worthwhile.

I may occasionally curse the year 2025 but deep down I am thankful for it. It has been, as Campbell says, just some bird shit along the way.

Believe me, I know the feeling. While I was walking in the local cemetery a few years back, I had a crow take a dump on me as I passed underneath him as he sat on a tree branch six or seven feet above me. He gave such a satisfied caw just after its warm excrement hit and ran down the back of my neck that I burst out laughing. I think we both had pretty good laugh.

Campbell would approve; I am sure.

So, 2025, you can do your damnedest, but I am still going to wear it proudly. You might think you showered me with crap but I will find some gold in it, guaranteed

Here’s Brittany Howard and the Alabama Shakes with This Feeling. Good stuff in every way.

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The Wanderer’s Compass— At the Principle Gallery

Well, you’re high on top of your mountain of woe
Gotta come on up to the house
Well, you know you should surrender, but you can’t let it go
You gotta come on up to the house, yeah

Gotta come on up to the house
Gotta come on up to the house
The world is not my home I’m just a-passing through
You gotta come on up to the house

— Tom Waits, Come On Up to the House (1999)

The last Sunday of 2025. Only a few more days and we can put this cursed year behind us.

I probably shouldn’t say that it is cursed or the profanity I opted not to use in its place. Maybe you don’t see this past year in the same way. I am sure there are some people out there who will remember 2025 as a banner year, filled with memorable moments and new highs. Maybe their best year ever.

Well, good for those folks because that hasn’t been the case for me this year. 

This is not a complaint, mind you. I have no right to bitch and moan. We all have to take a beatdown now and then. Nobody is exempt.

It’s all part of life’s sometimes strange and inexplicable wheel of fortune. Sometimes the wheel stops and you’re a winner. Sometimes, it passes you by and you lose.

But you never know what the next spin might bring. 

You got to stay in the game, graciously accept your losses, and humbly accept the rare wins that might come your way.

The wheel of fortune has passed over my number several times this past year.

But, hey, I am still in the game.

I am counting that as a win. Maybe that small win allows me to get out of this ugly year on a somewhat higher note. I will humbly accept that, knowing full well that it could have been much worse and I still have some chips to play.

What more could I ask?

Here is the last Sunday Morning Music selection for 2025. It is the Tom Waits song Come On Up to the House. I am sharing two covers of the song with two distinctly different interpretations. A great song (and art in general) has room in it for different interpretations. The first is from the clown with the golden baritone, Puddles Pity Party, with a rendition that is closer in tone to the Waits original. The second, for those of you with a fear of clowns, is a more upbeat version with a singalong element from Americana singer/songwriter Sarah Jarosz, from a 2010 performance on Austin City Limits. 

I think both are winners. And a win is a win anytime.

Now get out of here and take that wretched year with you. It’s beginning to stink…

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Men can only be happy when they do not assume that the object of life is happiness.

–George Orwell, Critical Essays (1946)

I pause a bit anymore when I use the word happy, especially when referring to it in the context of anything long-term, such as it being a goal to be pursued. My feeling about this is much like that described by Orwell above, that you can’t actively pursue a short-lived reaction.

And as pleasant as it might be when we are happy, happiness is generally a temporary state of being.

Maybe I am arguing semantics here this morning. Probably. Maybe the word that better describes a similar feeling that might be pursued for the long-term is satisfied.

Satisfied encompasses those higher moments of happiness we experience while at the same time recognizing that things might have been better and worse. It indicates a level of contentment with things as they are. 

For example, I am often happy. But not always and seldom on some days. On the other hand, I am satisfied as a whole with where I am in life. I accept both the highs of happiness and the lows of sadness as a fact of life and am most content when I am in that middle ground between them.

Nowadays (what a great word!) I try to find moments of happiness to temper the angst and trepidation of this sometimes-maddening modern world. These temporary moments keep me in that middle ground.

Keeps me satisfied.

And that’s nothing to sneeze at.

Actually, this babble of me thinking out loud this morning is all a pretext for me wanting to share a version of Happy, the Pharrell Williams mega-hit from a while back, from Postmodern Jukebox featuring Swedish jazz musician/multi-instrumentalist/dancer Gunhild Carling. I shared this a couple of years ago and smiled when I came across it again this morning.  

Seeing Gunhild play three trumpets at one time, tap-dance and move seamlessly from instrument to instrument– 10 in all including the bagpipes!– made me happy in a very satisfying way.

All I can ask.

Clap along if you feel that happiness is the truth….

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On the Sunny Side – At the 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, Man and Superman (1903)

I came across a word I hadn’t heard the other day.

Freudenfreude. 

It is basically the opposite of the German word Schadenfreude which, as we all know all too well, is the act of taking joy in the misfortune of others.

Freudenfreude, on the other hand, means to take genuine pleasure or joy in witnessing the success, good fortune, or happiness of others.

I loved this idea of taking joy in the joy of others. I know and have experienced this feeling. I have tried to describe it to the folks who have attended my gallery talks over the years. but don’t know that I have did a good job in doing so. My words seem so weak compared to the actual feeling that feels like a burst of joy fills the heart. A good kind of heart attack.

It reminded me of a blogpost from back in 2016 that shared one instance of the Freudenfreude that I have been privileged to experience. The original blogpost has been reworked a bit and is below, followed by a jazzy version of On the Sunny Side of the Street from Esperanza Spalding. It’s from a 2015 White House performance and it showcases her virtuosity on the double bass. Nice version with a lot of joy in it.

I hope some of you have felt some freudenfreude for yourself during this holiday season. That would make me– and you– very happy.

Joyful Contentment was the phrase that first came to mind when I finished this painting, On the Sunny Side, a few years back. There was just a feeling of realized joy and uncomplaining contentedness throughout it, the kind that Shaw described above in his play Man and Superman.

I think the feeling he describes must be one of the greatest joys 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. It was my perspectives. My emotions. It was even called self-expression.

But I found that there is purpose in it and that this came from having others find comfort and happiness in their reactions to my expression.

Their joy fed my joy, even more than my own satisfaction and joy from the work.

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 immediately 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…

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2011

We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past, like ancient stars that have burned out, are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. New styles, new information, new technology, new terminology … But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.

― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Touchstones are those memories and recollections by which we judge every new experience in our lives. Each of us have memories that stand out and above other memories of certain days. There are certainly memories of from the Christmas holidays from my past that dwell in me in vivid detail, and color, much more so than some others. There are some that are now barely detectable, remaining only in tiny bits and pieces in black and white, all color drained from them.

Perhaps sometime today you will be able to take a moment to revisit those touchstones from Christmases past that remain with us like ancient artifacts just waiting to reveal their secrets and stories.

Though they are buried beneath the layers of the new, like archaeological treasures, they remain there for us always. And when we extract them from under the vast accumulations of new memories and information, they immediately shine for us, fresh and vibrant and filled with as much meaning for us as when we last inspected them.

Here’s hoping that you have a Christmas morning that might someday become a touchstone for you or someone you love in the future or that you unearth a long-hidden touchstone of your own to inspect and cherish anew.

Here’s a song, Remember (Christmas), from the late great Harry Nilsson that captures this perfectly.

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Do you hear what I hear?
Do you hear what I hear?
A song, a song
High above the trees
With a voice
Voice as big as the sea

— Noël Regney and Gloria Shayne (1962)

Let’s keep it simple today. I am just going to wish you all well for this Christmas Eve and safe travels to all that have to hit the road or soar through the sky on this day.

Many of you will be busy with last minute holiday preparations or travel and will be immersed in the din of it all.  Silence and quietude might be in scarce supply which is a pity. One of my fondest memories of Christmas as a child is sitting in the still darkness being cut by the soft lights of our Christmas tree. The image of that tree and the peaceful quietness surrounding it remain deeply etched into my psyche.

Like Citizen Kane‘s Rosebud, that tree and its aura of peace and quiet might be that thing I have pursued my whole life.

Hmm…

We seldom appreciate the treasures given to us by a found silence. We are able with it to hear those things that evade us normally.  Almost as if we can hear the sound of the world turning or the universe slowly shifting.

The sound of eternity speaking to us.

I hope to find that same quiet again where I can listen for such things.

Here’s a song whose title and tune you most likely know, Do You Hear What I Hear? Written in 1962 by the married songwriting team of Noël Regney and Gloria Shayne, it has been recorded by hundreds of artists and sold tens of millions of records. It’s one of those carols that has been a part of our holiday season for most of our lives to the point that it feels like it should be a much older song.

This version is a bit different than the one that you know. It is performed by the Blind Boys of Alabama and it is what I would call a bit deconstructed, paring away certain parts of the song and focusing on the chorus. It has a bluesy feel that you don’t associate with the original. I like it as it gives me a different perspective on the song.

I am sharing two versions with slightly different tempos and beats. The first is a live performance with a bit more of a blues shuffle and the second is their recorded version with Taj Mahal. I included both because the live performance ends a bit abruptly.

Wishing you a peaceful and joyful Christmas eve. May you find a bit of that silence during this time so that you can better hear the sound of eternity, if only for a few moments. 

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Winter Wonder Moons— At West End Gallery

Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people, and to remember what other people have done for you; to ignore what the world owes you, and to think what you owe the world; to put your rights in the background, and your duties in the middle distance, and your chances to do a little more than your duty in the foreground; to see that your fellow-men are just as real as you are, and try to look behind their faces to their hearts, hungry for joy; to own that probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life; to close your book of complaints against the management of the universe, and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of happiness–are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.

— Henry Van Dyke, Keeping Christmas (1905)

I recently came across the short essay that is included in full below titled Keeping Christmas. It makes the case that if we can demonstrate our connection with humanity with acts of decency and a spirit of generosity during the Christmas season, then we can surely maintain that same spirit throughout the year.

We can keep the spirit of Christmas with us all year long.

I don’t think keeping your holiday decorations up all year-round or running Christmas movies nonstop in June and July on certain TV channels would qualify in Van Dyke’s way of thinking. But if by doing so, folks can somehow maintain a higher sense of compassion and generosity of spirit befitting the true holiday season throughout the year, then maybe he would indeed approve.

Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) was one of those interesting multi-talents that the 19th century spawned. He was a clergyman, a Princeton professor, author, poet, and diplomat, serving as the ambassador to the Netherlands and Luxemborg just before and during WW I. He was a great friend of Mark Twain and officiated the NYC funeral service for Twain in 1910. He wrote the lyrics for Beethoven’s Ode to Joy that became the well-known hymn Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee. He also appeared here a couple of times, most recently for a poem of his, For Katrina’s Sundial, that was to be used an inscription on a sundial on the estate of a wealthy friend. The second verse of this poem has become well known on its own as a poem called Time Is. It was read at the funeral of Princess Diana and used on a London memorial to British victims of the 9/11 attacks, as well as inspiring a 1969 song from the rock group It’s a Beautiful Day.

His life and his work both as a clergyman and a writer centered around serving others. He was one of those people who were able to keep Christmas.

And he never saw one Hallmark movie.

As I said, his short essay is below and is well worth reading. I am also including a performance of Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee, that features Van Dyke’s lyrics. This is lovely and joyful version with the full chorus and audience engaged.

It probably doesn’t fall into the category of little-known holiday songs that I have been trying to maintain here in recent days.

If not, so what? Tough biscuits. I don’t even know if tough biscuits is a real phrase, but it kept me from using a more earthy one.

I am trying to keep Christmas, after all.

And if I– someone who is not adhering to any one religion or creed–can do it, anyone can.

Give it a shot.

ROMANS, xiv, 6: He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord.

It is a good thing to observe Christmas day. The mere marking of times and seasons, when men agree to stop work and make merry together, is a wise and wholesome custom. It helps one to feel the supremacy of the common life over the individual life. It reminds a man to set his own little watch, now and then, by the great clock of humanity which runs on sun time.

But there is a better thing than the observance of Christmas day, and that is, keeping Christmas.

Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people, and to remember what other people have done for you; to ignore what the world owes you, and to think what you owe the world; to put your rights in the background, and your duties in the middle distance, and your chances to do a little more than your duty in the foreground; to see that your fellow-men are just as real as you are, and try to look behind their faces to their hearts, hungry for joy; to own that probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life; to close your book of complaints against the management of the universe, and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of happiness–are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.

Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs and the desires of little children; to remember the weakness and loneliness of people who are growing old; to stop asking how much your friends love you, and ask yourself whether you love them enough; to bear in mind the things that other people have to bear on their hearts; to try to understand what those who live in the same house with you really want, without waiting for them to tell you; to trim your lamp so that it will give more light and less smoke, and to carry it in front so that your shadow will fall behind you; to make a grave for your ugly thoughts, and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open–are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.

Are you willing to believe that love is the strongest thing in the world–stronger than hate, stronger than evil, stronger than death–and that the blessed life which began in Bethlehem nineteen hundred years ago is the image and brightness of the Eternal Love? Then you can keep Christmas.

And if you keep it for a day, why not always?

But you can never keep it alone.

— Henry Van Dyke, Keeping Christmas (1905)

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Purpose Bound— At Principle Gallery

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveler, thousands of miles away, back to his own fire-side and his quiet home!

–Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers (1836)

I came across the passage above from Dickens and thought it matched up well with the painting at the top. It was that idea of being transported home that made the connection for me. In the Dickens piece the transport comes in the form of memory sending one to their youthful home during holidays past. In the painting, it is the lure of home and the idea of once again being with those who they love that inspires haste in the journey.

I’m adding a tune from Yo-Yo Ma and Friends, A Christmas Jig / Mouth of the Tobique Reel. It is off his Songs of Joy & Peace album. I can imagine hearing this music playing as the boat glides homeward on the waves.

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