The Sky Is Always the Sky (1995) – Coming to Principle Gallery, June
One of the few things I know about writing is this: Spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Don’t hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The very impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.
–Annie Dillard, A Writer in the World (1989)
It seems to me that most everything Annie Dillard writes about the act of writing has some application to all the other arts. I read so much from her that could pertain to painting. At least, in the way I paint. Every artist has their own way of working.
This particular passage didn’t really apply to my painting. I seldom hold back anything when I am working, never withhold something for some later and hopefully better painting. I view whatever I am working on at the moment to be the only thing that matters. It is the most important thing to me then and receives every potentiality I can offer it. I think that is why I generally don’t do studies in my work. What might start out as study usually turns into a full-bloomed painting.
What caught my eye and mind in this passage was sparked by my recent excavation of older work to fill out my upcoming solo show, Flow, at the Principle Gallery in June. Pulling out these older pieces, I had long held assumptions on so many that I felt were untouchable, pieces I could not possibly give up.
But this time it felt different. Maybe it was the reminder of the impermanence of this life that I took from my recent health issues. I don’t know. But much like Annie Dillard wrote, I found myself feeling as though I was hoarding them. For what reason or purpose, I do not know.
Her last two sentences struck a chord with me: Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.
What good were these pieces serving for me now? I do like going through them periodically and having them reignite memories of how they came about or how they were painted or how I felt when they were done and how I feel about them now. But I do the same thing with images of paintings that left the studio long ago. I didn’t need to have these in my grasp to do that.
And if I were to die tomorrow, what then becomes of these works? What assurance do I have that their voices, small as they may be, are heard in the future beyond me?
Will these be the ashes found in my safe?
I don’t know. Maybe.
The thought of that irks me. After all, the reason I began painting was to communicate, to give expression and air to some inner voice that I felt needed to be heard. To live and speak in the open air is the ultimate purpose for every piece I have ever painted. They were not meant to dwell in the stale air of boxes, folders, or shelves in the small back bedrooms of my studio.
And they are not meant for me since they are already of me and will always be so. They are meant to be sent out into the world, like little space probes sent into distant galaxies with the hope of making contact and letting the voice of my planet be heard and not forgotten.
They are not meant to be ashes.
So, as I prepare for my show, I look at each piece with a different eye than in the past. And the thought from Annie Dillard echoing in my mind that what I do is not for me to hoard but should be given freely and abundantly so that it might live and speak long after I have ceased to be.
That being said, I’ve decided to include the small painting at the top, The Sky Is Always the Sky from 1995, in the Principle Gallery show. A few years back, I wrote about this painting, saying: I stumbled across it the other day and it thrilled me, much as it did when I first painted almost 28 years ago. I see things in it that I would struggle in recreating. The colors, the sedimentation of the pigments, and even the organic feel of the linework would be much different.
I went on to mention that I had no reason to give for why it had never been shown. And I have no reason now that it shouldn’t be seen and heard.
It is not meant to be ashes.
Okay, here’s a song about ashes that has absolutely no bearing to what I have written. But it does have ashes in it. This is an impromptu acoustic cover from Glen Hansard in what appears to be a hotel room of Ashes to Ashes, the David Bowie song from way back in 1980.
Wow, time flies. Speaking of time, my 27th annual solo show, Flow, opens in less than four weeks, on Friday, June 12, at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. That might seem like a long time, but I have much still to do while working with reduced energy levels.
So, get the hell out of here and let me get to work, okay?