I have a room all to myself; it is nature. It is a place beyond the jurisdiction of human governments. There is a prairie beyond your laws. Nature is a prairie for outlaws.
–Henry David Thoreau, Journal January 3, 1853
[From 2015]
At last weekend’s Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery I was asked if there was work that I do for myself alone and I replied that there is, that I sometimes do small pieces in moments of frustration or anger that I won’t share with the outside world. I feel that even a person living the most transparent of lives should not share every waking thought.
And I probably share more than I should as it is.
This question led to a short description of the work from my earlier Exiles and Outlaws series, both of which I have written here a number of times in the past. The Outlaws series probably was closer as an answer to the question posed to me that day, consisting of images that examined the darker aspects that make up the prism of our personality. The central characters in these pieces were often armed with handguns and were definitely haunted by their past actions, existing in a state of fear.
At least, that is how I saw them. Some others saw them as predatory stalkers who might be lurking outside their own windows. It was an interpretation that I wasn’t initially expecting when I painted this work. But it might make sense, given the fear and sometimes paranoia that infects many people, one that probably feeds our obsession with guns.
The piece above, Outlaw’s Vigil, is from that 2006 series and hangs in my studio now. It is a prime example of the differing perceptions of the work. Many have seen him as a potential danger, a symbol of imminent evil, while I see him as a person filled with absolute fear, always looking over his shoulder to see what is coming upon him from behind, from his past. He is forever frozen in this instance of terror.
There is no looking ahead, no future.
Just the present being crowded out by the past.
Odd as it might seem, this small painting is inspirational to me. It serves as an object lesson, an example of how I do not want to exist in this world. I do not want to live in fear of the past or so fearful of others that I cling to a gun in my own home, peeking out my windows.
This piece lets me know that I want to live a fearless life. That’s most likely a fool’s mission but this odd little painting reminds me to not give in to my fears like that haunted figure peeking out their window.
The Confession (2006)
Back to the present. I’ve been looking at a lot of older work in recent days, and this piece held my gaze for some time. The work like this from the 2006 Outlaws series generally does that for me. I remember when I introduced these figures at my opening at the Principle Gallery in 2006 that a number of people were alarmed by them, fearing that this was the direction in which my work was heading, that the Red Tree landscapes had been run out of town by these gun-toting miscreants.
There was a lot of explaining about how this work was just another facet in my own personal prism, something we all possess. And usually suppress and hide. In my case, that facet most often shows itself in the black underpainting on which much of my work begins, giving even the most colorful landscapes a dark undertone that sometimes goes unnoticed at first.
I feel that dark undertone is just part of our nature. And as Thoreau wrote at the top: Nature is a prairie for outlaws.
Okay, maybe that’s stretch. Actually, this whole thing is a pretense for me simply wanting to share a song, Ten Cent Pistol, from the Black Keys. I can be deep in my work, oblivious to seemingly everything, but when this song comes on my attention immediately goes to it. Felt like it fit with my Outlaws work.
Maybe not.
I’m an outlaw this morning so who cares?
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