Not Dark Yet— 2026– Coming to West End Gallery
Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain
Behind every beautiful thing, there’s been some kind of pain
She wrote me a letter, and she wrote it so kind
She put down in writin’ what was in her mind
I just don’t see why I should even care
It’s not dark yet, but it’s gettin’ there
— Bob Dylan, Not Dark Yet (1997)
Woke up at 4 AM this morning tired and bleakly grumpy. The tired part is not unusual– it is 4 in the morning after all– but the grumpy part seemed out of place since I have been feeling pretty good over the past couple of weeks. I have been tolerating my treatment exceptionally well and I actually feel healthier, more vibrant, than I have felt in a few years. Things to be going relatively smoothly and I find myself enjoying and appreciating small things once more.
In fact, there have been days when I have felt sublimely content with my life as it is at the moment despite the best efforts of the darker forces of this world to fill me with dread.
This morning’s dark tone thus felt strange and unwelcome. I know this feeling all too well. It was a companion for much of my adult life, especially those years before I was forty. I learned over time how to deal with it and for the most part have banished from my kingdom. But every so often it creeps in through the back gate and jumps on my back until I can shake it loose and give it the old heave-ho.
It was clinging to my back as I crossed through the woods in the dark. I came into the studio and performed my usual routine of chores and coffee. I then decided maybe I could find something in my new work that might shed some light or at least help me loosen this critter’s grip.
I finally got back to work in the past week. The past few months have been a barren desert of creativity as I dealt with my health issues. But I had a deadline for the annual Little Gems show in February at the West End Gallery and my June show at the Principle Gallery staring me in the face, so I had no choice but to get back to work.
Thank god for deadlines.
It was such a long time away from the work that I felt like I was in some ways starting over. Awkward. As in the past when I have taken short breaks, I decided to begin with small simple pieces in tones of gray and black. It usually takes a while to get my color groove back and the black and gray work allows me to work on composition and blocking in forms without worrying about color. That comes back in its own way and time frame.
I looked at the first piece of this first session back to work, the first of 2026. It is the painting at the top, black and gray with a tiny touch of color. This first effort had not come easy. I never felt totally comfortable and second-guessed every move. But I knew from decades of experience to trust the piece to show me what it wanted to do, where it wanted to go. I didn’t try to force it to go one way or the other and let it grow and form on its own.
I needed to look at it this morning. It very much had that same feeling attached to it that was clinging to me now. But it also had a way out, an escape hatch.
A glimmer of hope. A bit of light against the darkness.
It was just the reminder I needed in this moment.
I can already feel that little bastard losing its grip. Just writing that sentence made me smile. That’s a good sign.
He’ll be thrown outside the kingdom walls– with extreme prejudice! — by later this morning. Guaranteed.
I am calling this little gem Not Dark Yet after the Bob Dylan song from his 1997 Time Out of Mind album. The lyrics and tone of it seem to mesh with this piece well, at least as I see it. I am including a cover othis song from Americana sin ger/songwriter Shelby Lynne. To be honest, I don’t know much about her or any of her other work. But I came across this version of the Dylan song performed with her sister, Allison Moorer, and thought it was exceptionally well done. Effectively lovely.
Like the painting, it has some darkness yet still holds on to a bit of hope.
Sometimes the tiniest sliver of light, of hope, is all that you need…
Redtree Times 
The black/gray and blue tones complement each other nicely, and the title fits. Perhaps because I’ve seen to many photos of northern snow recently, I saw the straight white line in the middle not as a continuation of the road, but as the remnants of a snowbank.