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The Feel of Grosz

Posted in Biographical, Favorite Things, Influences, tagged on March 27, 2011| 1 Comment »

I woke up in the dark this morning after a fitful night of sleep filled with horrible dreams.  I don’t want to go into the details but they were awful and constant, each sweeping from desperate scene into yet another.  Dark and tinged in deep colors of black and red.  Hopeless in the scope of their finality and, though I am hesitant to use the word, there was a sense of apocalypse.  I was shaken.  I’ve had many horrifying dreams over the years but they seldom felt so vast and desperately final. 

 As I trudged down to pick up my newspaper I tried to sort out the dream and try to find an equivalence in imagery that I know that captured in some way the feel of these dreams.  As I neared the studio the dark paintings of George Grosz done in Germany in the years before World War I came to mind.  They were forebodingly dark and angry and just the overall look of them made me think of the darkest corners of man’s mind.  The red tones and the way they filled the picture plane along with the chaotic nature of the compositions brought to mind the nightmarish feel of my dreams.

Grosz’s work changed over the years, especially after moving to the New York in the 1930’s where he lived until the late 1950’s when he returned to Berlin, dying there in 1959.  His American work is often considered the wekest of his career, less biting and more esoteric.  There were exceptions such as 1944’s  Cain, Or Hitler in Hell, shown here, which reverts back to the colors and nightmare feel of his early work.  Very powerful work that may not sooth one’s soul but rather documents the darker aspects of human existence. 

I don’t know if my own nightmares have an effect on my work.  Perhaps they come out in work that seems the antithesis of them, work that seeks to calm and assure.  I don’t really know to be honest.  I know that I want to put last night’s visions behind me.  To that end, I think I should get to work and let my nightmares dwell in the work of Grosz for now.

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David Bromberg

Posted in Biographical, Favorite Things, tagged , on March 6, 2011| 6 Comments »

When I was a kid there wasn’t much available on the radio beyond the local AM radio stations.  The one I usually listened to was WENY and at the time my favorite DJ was a guy named Paul Lee, who also hosted a late night Saturday monster movie as his alter ego, the Undertaker.  He was entertaining for a 12 or 13 year old kid and had a pretty sharp wit for a DJ in a small market.  He was always runnings call in contests and on one night Iw as lucky enough to be the 20th or whatever caller.  I won a stack of 25 albums and I thought I was in pig heaven.

Of course, they were just getting rid of all the promos that had come their way and never made it on the air.  Most were pretty bad and some were just not the taste for a teenager.  I remember there was an Ornette Coleman LP that was a very conceptual jazz thing that sounded like squawks and buzzes to my ears at the time.  Actually, it still sounded that way to me everytime I’ve pulled it out over the years. But there were a few gems in there.

One was this self-titled first album from David Bromberg.  It was produced by George Harrison who appears on the very enjoyable song, The Holdup.  Several of the songs are Bromberg’s interpretation of blues and traditional classics mixed in with some wonderful originals, including the strange and haunting Sammy’s Song.  I still listen to it on a regular basis and it has always held up through the many years.  Bromberg’s an interesting guy, a folk guitar wiz who basically quit the business for several years to learn the art of violin making.  He has returned and plays several shows a year but maintains a violin shop in Wilmington, Delaware.  He seems like a  man who lives life on his own terms.  A rare and wonderful thing.

Anyway, on this rainy Sunday morning, I’m glad I was the 20th caller and found this album.  Here’s Last Song for Shelby Jean from it:

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My Girl

Posted in Biographical, Favorite Things on March 3, 2011| 11 Comments »

This is my best girl, Jemma Jones, who passed away yesterday.   She was perhaps the sweetest creature to ever grace our lives and Cheri and I will miss her greatly.

Jemma came into our lives a little over five years ago. At that time,  I began looking for another pet to replace our poor little beagle, Mae Belle Brown, who had passed away two years prior and whose story is also a compelling one that I may tell here at another time.  I came across a photo online of this little red Corgi at a shelter about 70 miles away and it was love at first sight.

Jemma, it turns out, was rescued from a puppy mill in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania that was ran by the Amish.  The breeding of puppies to supply pet stores has become a huge cash crop for the Amish and in areas where there are concentrations of the Amish there are generally large numbers of puppy mills.  It was estimated that Jemma was about 7-9 years old at that time and had been bred many times.  She had no name that they knew of, which is not uncommon in these circumstances where the dog is treated as livestock,  so the rescuer gave her the moniker Jemma.  We added the Jones just for balance. 

 When they found her, she was wandering free in a large barn with a couple of hundred dogs in cages.  She was eating kernels of whole corn off the floor ( a practice she continued with us).  The representative of the rescue organization said that she may have been a favorite of the breeder because they had agreed to give her up because of lumps on her breasts rather than simply have her destroyed, which is often the case.  They had no intention of paying vet bills for a sick piece of livestock but were willing to at least let her have a chance else where.  For that, we are grateful. 

Over the next two years Jemma underwent surgeries to remove three of her breasts.  She endured the process with a real peaceful dignity and had great recuperative powers, often back to her happy demeanor within just a day or two after the major surgery.  She also was discovered to have a heart arrythmia and arthritis in her shoulders but despite these physical ailments, including the spectre of recurring cancer which had led the oncologists at Cornell to give her 6 months to two years to live, she lived her remaining years with great joy.  She was fast to excitement and her joy in the things that gave her pleasure was immense.  I have no greater joy in my life than the memory of her on a walk suddenly stopping and flopping on her back to wriggle in grinning ecstasy.  She loved to do this in the snow and even on the night when she went into respiratory distress she wanted to wriggle in the snow when I took her outside into the cold air so that she might breath easier.  But she couldn’t and at that point I knew she was in deep trouble.  She survived in an oxygen chamber at Cornell for five days but none of the many attempts made could relieve her symptoms and the team of doctors there was stumped in finding a cause besides the obvious conclusion that her cancer had metastasized in her lungs.

She was unhappy living in the confines of the oxygen chamber and we knew that it was time to let her go.  We spent quite a long time with her yesterday, just petting her and feeding her treats.  Despite her obvious discomfort in breathing, she was happy.  That was one of her great qualities, this ability to live in the very present, to find instant joy and not carry the past with her.  She went peacefully and quickly.  She has moved on and Cheri and I remain here with broken hearts and loving memories.

I would never insult parents by saying that Jemma was like a child to us.  There are definitely differences in the two, besides the obvious.  Children, when properly raised, become more and more independent until they go out on their own.  Pets become more and more dependent on their owners for their care and comfort as they age and grow sure of the love they receive.  The relationship is not like a parent but  more like that of a caretaker who offers love and protection and is rewarded with unconditional love.  It has been our great pleasure to see Jemma and Mae Belle flourish in the last years of their lives.  Both were exceedingly happy in the last years of their lives despite their physical problems.  And that happiness fills ones soul.

Thanks for coming into our lives, Jemma.  You have  filled my soul.

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Potential

Posted in Biographical, Early Paintings, tagged , on January 31, 2011| 2 Comments »

I had a nice email from a gentleman who told me about a prize his 16 year old daughter had recently won for one of her paintings.  I took a look at the piece and responded to him.  It was nice painting, nicely composed and had strong lines and color.  It was far ahead of anything I was doing at that age, especially by the virtue that it was complete.  I could see this young person doing more with their talents in the future.  I wrote him back and told him this but with my standard warning, one that I have written about  here before:  Potential and how it must be actively pursued with constant efforts and a consistent pushing of one’s abilities. 

I wrote him to tell him this, to let him know about some of the young talents I have seen come and go because they felt their talent was something that was in them and could be turned on and off with the flip of a switch.  I told him to tell her to look at the work required as a musician looks at rehearsals.  Perhaps even look at their talents as being like those of a musician, talents that need constant exercise in order to stay sharp and strong.  For instance, even if you have great innate talent, you can’t expect to play the violin like Itzhak Perlman if you don’t devote your talents in the same way as he does. A great part of his life is in nurturing his abilities.

I always feel like a sourpuss when I’m giving this advice.  Nobody wants to hear that they need to work harder.  Everyone wants to think that they have this great talent born within them and it will flow like a spigot whenever they so desire.  If only that were true.

I think you will find that those who succeed at the highest levels in any field are those who understand this need to constantly push and work their talents.  I’m sure there are exceptions but none come immediately to mind.  I wrote about this in a blog post when I first started this, over two years ago.  I wrote about something author John Irving had said about competing as a writer as he competed as a wrestler, putting in the same sort of work as though he were attempting to be an Olympic wrestler. 

Hard work.   It’s not glamorous especially in this world of instant gratification but it is a proven entity .

I’m showing the piece above to highlight this.  It’s a small painting that I did before I was showing in any galleries, in 1994.  At the time, it pleased me very much and I could have very easily kept painting in that style and been pretty happy, without much effort.  But there was a little voice in me that kept saying to push ahead and work harder, to see what I could accomplish with greater effort.  It became not an end but a stepping stone to move ahead.

That is how I hope this man’s daughter see her painting– as a stepping stone.  She may think it is the best thing she has ever done but if she is willing to push ahead and put in the effort, she will look at it someday as a mere step in her journey.

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Modigliani

Posted in Biographical, Favorite Things, Influences, tagged , on January 25, 2011| 3 Comments »

You wouldn’t know it to look at the work of Amedeo Modigliani, but it was quite an influence on my painting.  Modigliani’s work through his short, self-destructive life consisted primarily of stylized portraits and  nudes.  The heads of his subjects were long and oval, often set at an angle aperch an overly long neck.  The eyes are almond shaped and the nose pinched.   Hardly words to describe great beauty yet they maintain a graceful allure that is immediately recognizable as the work of Modigliani.

  His instant recognizability of his style and subjects from across large galleries was striking and was the great message I took from seeing Modigliani in museums over the years.  You couldn’t mistake it for the work of anyone else and as a painter early in my career, still seeking the direction of my work, this was an invaluable observation.  With each Modigliani I came across, the idea that my work should be somehow unique and have a quality of instant recognition was reinforced in my mind. 

Also, his limited subject matter made an imprint.  The idiosyncratic nature of his portraits and nudes made the repetition of his forms seem like a moot point, making the viewer easily enter the picture plane and focus on the unique qualities of the piece in the colors and forms.  It wasn’t the subject that mattered but the way in which it was painted.  Another valuable lesson.

Fortunately, I didn’t learn the lessons of the other parts of Modigliani’s life.  His drug and alcohol addictions, combined with tuberculosis, led to an early death at the age of 35.  Even more tragic is the story of Jeanne Hebuterne, the model for the paintings shown here and the common-law wife of the artist.  She was the subject of at least 25 of Modigliani paintings.  The day after the artist succumbed to death in Paris in January of 1920, a distraught and pregnant  Jeanne threw herself out the window, killing herself and her unborn child.  She was 21 years old. 

 Coincidentally, her death came on this date, January 25.  I didn’t realize that until I just looked it up.  Hmmm…

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Frigid Air

Posted in Biographical, tagged on January 24, 2011| 2 Comments »

It’s hard not to mention the cold today.  When I walked out the door this morning , it was -15 degrees. 

I’ve mentioned here that I like the winter weather, enjoy the feel of an icy breeze on my face.   As I get older I keep moving my eyes ever northward on the map for a place that is cooler year round.  But even I have my limits.  Single digit temperatures down to zero are no problem but below that zero presents new challenges.  It seems like the cold grows geometrically more intense with each degree it falls below  zero and clothing that felt comfortable in slightly milder sub-freezing temperatures now seems slightly inadequate.  The cold dryness of the frigid air burns just a little bit with deep breathes and exposed skin protests with redness.

But it is beautiful with ice crystals laying like tiny diamonds spread across the white sheet of snow that covers the landscape.  Everything is brisk and clean, the grays and deep browns of the winter forest now only providing a contrast to the clean whiteness.

And the quiet.  Ah, the quiet.  Walking out in the early morning is nothing but stillness.  The animals of the forest are hunkered down and the cold has reduced all other outdoor human activity and noise to a bare minimum.  The quiet is wonderful and worth the price of a layer or two of added clothing.

But still, -15 is pretty damn cold. Last summer,  I talked to an old neighbor and friend from my childhood who is an avid hunter who told me of a trip he took last spring to hunt musk ox above the Arctic Circle.  He spent 13 days on the frozen tundra of northern Canada with every day being no warmer than -50.  He hired a group of Mi’kmaq native guides that were a constant source of amazement to him.  They wore thin skin jackets that they made  and the tents they erected every night were, as he said, ” thin and looked like the ticking from an old quilt.”  But they were very comfortable with the cold and the tent was more than adequate.  He asked if they ever went further south and they said they periodically went to the small village that they call home in the summer but that it was too warm there for them.  It was in the 40’s there most days.  so they would head back north.

I like the cold but I’m not up to that level of tolerance.  Yet.

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Hephzibah!

Posted in Biographical, Favorite Things, Neat Stuff, Personal Mythology, tagged , on January 16, 2011| 5 Comments »

I’ve always been a fan of graveyards, a fact that I’ve proclaimed here in the past.  The monuments and tombstones are an unceasing source of fascination, both in the data provided and the design of the stones. 

 So you can imagine how happy I was to stumble across a relative who also has a great tombstone.  Such is the case with this particular stone, one that marks the grave of my tenth great grandmother on Martha’s Vineyard.  Died in 1726 at the age of 83.  Her name was Hephzibah Doggett who was married to John Eddey.

Hephzibah Doggett.  Got to love that name.

   Before I started venturing into genealogy a few years back I had no idea of any family before the last two or three generations, and even then the history was sketchy at best.  On my mother’s side, it was almost non-existent.  So, to turn previously unturned pages in the family history is exciting and gives a new perspective on how we arrived at this place.  It also provides an opportunity to imagine how the thoughts and mind of a person like Hephzipah relate to your own, to wonder if their eyes saw things in a way that I could understand.

Of course, I will never know the answers to such questions but at least I know that she existed and has left a wonderful monument as her marker on time.

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Patchwork

Posted in Biographical, Recent Paintings on January 5, 2011| 2 Comments »

It’s the week after New Year’s and I’m still trying to get back into some kind of rhythm in the studio.  This week is filled with several distractions that keep me from fully investing mentally in the work and, as a result, I find myself working on smaller tasks that need to be done around the studio easily.  I keep putting off the full jump back into painting, avoiding the total immersion for a few more days.  This is not unusual for me at this time of the year and has become a behavior that I cultivate now for the effects it produces in the aftermath.

Normally, this extending of the time before I jump back in  is a very fertile time, with ideas and glimpses of where I want to take the work simmering at first , finally coming to a full boil when I ultimately make the move back to painting.  This stewing period often sets the tone for the next several months and I’ve learned that it’s better to just go with the flow during this time instead of worrying about not being at the easel.

Another result of this time is that I find myself mentally chaotic and unfocused until the time I am painting.  It’s probably evident in this blog.  But I wait patiently now for that moment when I’m back in full rhythm, a moment that bursts upon me without notice of any sort.  One moment I am feeling as I do now, unfocused and a bit anxious in my waiting, and the next I am back in full painting mode, mentally attached to the surface before me and clear in my thought process.

That is the patchwork of my days now.  By the way, the piece shown here is another little canvas, a 3″ by 5″, titled Patchwork Days.  It sort of represents for me the path ahead that I am trying to follow and the distractions that keep pulling at my attention, represented by the smaller field segments of differing colors.  This small piece has a very nice rhythm and feel.

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Dreaming

Posted in Biographical, Quote, tagged , on December 27, 2010| Leave a Comment »

“Without leaps of imagination or dreaming, we lose the excitement of possibilities. Dreaming, after all is a form of planning.”
— Gloria Steinem

***********************

I love the last sentence of this quote.  Without dreaming we would remain static, tethered to the present moment and state of affairs.  Would we have soared like birds without the dreams of the Wright Brothers and other aviation pioneers?  Would we have reached out  to the universe without the dreams of early aerospace engineers?  Would any of the great structures of the world been built without dreams?

If we can dream it, we can do it.  We will find a way.  But we have to dream first.

I remember talking to an older waitress  that I worked with many years back.  Her life was always filled with drama and she always seemed discontented with her lot in life.  I asked her what she wanted from her life and she said she didn’t know.  Maybe a good job where she made enough money to be comfortable.  Asking further, it seemed that she had no dreams for herself, no specific desires.  She saw herself as nothing more than she was at that moment.   It became clear that she had no way to formulate a future without a dream to plan from, a map to read as  she started her journey forward.  She was simply in the car with no knowledge of where she wanted to go. 

That’s  a sad little episode.  I knew I couldn’t make her dream and I saw so many other people at that time in the same  car, without maps and with no real goals or dreams to work towards.  I tried my best to tell them, to show how I was working toward my dreams as an artist, taking small steps.  But it didn’t always resonate and no lightbulbs suddenly turned on over the heads of those people. 

Maybe it just wasn’t the time for an epiphany for them.

But I still have hope that someday they will realize that having a dream is a small step toward a better life.  I’m not talking about a better life with more things and money.  I’m talking about a better life lived with purpose and intent.  That provides the satisfaction that comes with following our dreams.

So, as this year is ending, think about your life and dare to dream.  Take that first baby step forward.  A new year is coming.

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Santa? Is That You?

Posted in Biographical, tagged , on December 21, 2010| 2 Comments »

Here’s another photo from Square America.  Santa’s a little scary here.  Reminds me of a segment from a movie from the early 70’s, the  original Tales From the Crypt, where a homocidal maniac escapes from a prison for the criminally insane. It is, of course, Christma Eve.  He ends up, now somehow dressed up as Santa (and looking very much like this guy shown here, if my memory serves me well) at the home of a character (played by Joan Collins) who has just murdered her own wealthy husband.  Hijinks ensue.

Santa can be a scary or at least strange guy for a lot of people.  My strangest memory with Santa came many years ago when Cheri and I were very young and took a trip to the Adirondacks.  There is a famous little tourist spot  that I don’t want to name but let’s just say it features Santa in his work environment as he prepares for Christmas.  There are reindeer and elves.  Your normal stuff.

Anyway, it was between seasons there in the fall.  The summer campers and hikers were gone and the winter skiers and snowmobilers weren’t due for a month or so.  So when we pulled into this park there were very few people there.  In fact, none.  We were it. 

We wandered around for while.  Fed the reindeer.  Can’t remember what else there was there actually.  I wish I had the condition I mentioned in yesterday’s post so I could tell you.  But as we strolled we caught of a glimpse of a man in a red suit and a white beard.  It was him.  The man.  Santa.

We approached and realized he was leaning against a building.  Smoking a cigarette. 

Looking back, I knew he viewed us as adults well past believing in Santa, which was true.  But we were still young and relatively unjaded, wanting to at least maintain the facade of the myth. At least wanted this guy to play his part.   And here was Santa sucking on a Marlboro.  I think he flicked the butt on the ground and crushed it with his black Santa boots.

We talked for a while and he was kind of matter of fact about everything.  Even a little crusty.  No ho-ho-hos here.  He told us they were thinking about relocating this North Pole workshop down the mountain further where the main road passed.  As he explained, “That’s where the money is.” 

However disappointed we were, we laughed all the way down the mountain road and to this day we both chuckle whenever we hear the term that’s where the money is and think of our smoky Santa.

Maybe it was this guy.  I can’t be sure.

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