Jason Thieves the Golden Fleece (May, 1994)
It is a fact that we tribes of suffering men never plant our feet firmly upon the path of joy, but there is ever some bitter pain to keep company with our delight.
–Apollonius of Rhodes, Argonautica (3rd century BC)
For this week’s A Look Back, we’re going to focus on a small group of experimental pieces. They came at a time when I was trying a lot of new things that gave me insights into how different paints reacted and moved on the painting surface as well as how to apply paint in different ways.
I remember this time as being very exciting for me. My mind was in overdrive and ideas were firing out of it at a dizzying pace. The problem with this was that it was unfocused. Instead of being like a fireworks display lighting up the sky, it was more like a big bag of fireworks being shoved into a steel 55-gallon drum then being set ablaze. Loud, but no direction or flow.
But it was what it was and being so, I took what I could from the explosions and bursts that rattled around and emerged from the steel drum that was my mind.
At one point, I was experimenting with moving paint on the surface with a simple drinking straw. Placing a drop in one spot, I would direct it by blowing through the straw. I loved the tendrils of paint it created, long and thinning as they progressed. If I changed the direction of my blowing, it created a lovely organic bend that mimicked the branch of a tree. I also applied thin watercolor washes as I normally would as well as playing with this same thinned watercolor in an atomizer to create an interesting background texture.
It was all abstract in nature. There was no intention, nothing that I was trying to represent. These pieces acted more like Rorschach tests, where one gives their first impression of random ink blots. I have vague memories of a board game we had from the 1960’s that incorporated these inkblots. I don’t remember us actually playing the game, just looking at the blots and trying to figure out what we were seeing in them.
As for these pieces, I wouldn’t even consider what they might be until they were what I felt was complete. And determining this finish point was completely intuitive. If all the elements and colors felt whole and unified, then I thought it was done.
I only did a handful of these pieces at the time. Though I enjoyed painting them and felt some excitement in the finished pieces, I didn’t feel I could mentally commit to the process in any meaningful way over the long term.
It didn’t feel like a found voice. I was still searching for that and while I didn’t know what it would be, I knew that I would recognize immediately when I came across it. And I was right, but that’s another story.
This particular piece intrigued me from the minute I felt it was done. I immediately saw a character with something tucked under their arm running towards some destination represented by the blue ball and the bit of a swirl around it. That looked like some form of destiny to me.
Though the item under its arm appeared mainly red there was bit of gold that I instantly saw as the golden fleeced ram stolen by Jason in order to fulfill his quest in the Greek myths. I don’t know why exactly why that came to mind. Do we ever truly know why we think many things? If we did know why, couldn’t we do a better job at thinking?
Now, you might see it as something completely different, though I have probably given you too much mental direction at this point, which I probably should not have done. But give me a break– I’m an artist, not a psychoanalyst.
I always particularly enjoy coming across this small experimental group. I still get a kick out of them that makes me wonder how things would have went if I had felt more committed to this style at the time, if I would have been able to develop this voice in a way that would connect with others. Would it have led to the same sort of life that I was later fortunate to find? Maybe it would have led to an even better one?
I kind of doubt it. If I had went that way, I’d probably right now be the guy collecting shopping carts in the Walmart parking lot. That’s not a knock on that job. There have been many points along the way when I have envied that guy. Hell, I have been that guy before.
And if not for inkblots, fireworks in a steel drum, and falling ladders, I might still be that guy.
Funny how that works.
Redtree Times 
Let’s just say that, personally, I’m glad this represents a period of creative experimentation and not a first step on that particular sort of road!
I am glad, too, even though it still makes me smile.
This may amaze you as much as it did me. At 3:32 a.m., I woke up from a dream. An unknown friend and I were at an exhibit of your abstract paintings, which included this one. In front of another painting (which seems only to exist in the dream and which portrayed something like a dropped ice cream cone on the sidewalk), I said to my friend, “The force that remains once the dreams have faded..”
It was so clear that I actually looked for my phone and texted that line to myself so I’d remember it accurately in the morning. I don’t usually remember dreams, but that one was so vivid I still can see the ‘ice cream cone’ and this painting as it appeared in the dream.
I almost mentioned this story in my post today about the Ren song I featured. It’s funny how things stick in the front– or maybe it’s much deeper?— of our minds and pop up when we least expect them. I find it so interesting that this particular painting popped up in your dream, when it seemed that it didn’t particularly hit a favorable note for you. Love that line, by the way: “The force that remains once the dreams have faded.” If I had dreamt that I would definitely text it to myself!
It is interesting. Jeff and I were just talking about how small events in our lives could have changed the total trajectory of our lives.
That’s kind of a coincidence, Lucy. Just this morning I read an article about something called the “adjacent possible” world, which basically states that each decision and action we take opens doors to a brand-new world of possibilities. It is like being in a room with wall filled with doors. You choose one of those doors and going through it takes you into another room filled with more doors. Each door is another possibility. It reminded me of the conversation I had with Jeff at the West End a week or so back, where he recounted how chance meetings with people that seemed insignificant at first, eventually opened up new opportunities. Our wholes lives seem to have been built by encountering new doors that we somehow dared to open. All good things to you, Lucy!
All good things to you and Cheri too!