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GC Myers- Shadowsong smWe are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.

–Buddha

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It’s an idea that we all too often forget,  that our thoughts can form who we are.  I know for myself, the thought  that I was an artist was the most crucial step I made in becoming one.  Once I had made that decision that, yes, I was an artist, every decision  after that that contributed to me being an artist came much easier.  This was the road I was going to follow and any action that occurred would take place based on that fact.

But it took a long time to reach that point where I determined that I was indeed an artist.  In fact, for quite some time i was embarrassed to say it  when someone would ask what I did.  It just sounded too presumptuous to state it aloud even though in my mind it had become fact.  So I would say I was painter.  It sounded safer.

But inevitably, the person asking the question would determine that what I meant by painter was that I was a house painter and ask what it would cost to get their living room painted.  I guess I looked more  Sherwin Williams than Salvador Dali.  So I decided that I better just say that I was an artist.  Just less confusion and besides, that is what my mind  had already patterned itself in the shape of that word.

And, like Buddha said, joy followed.  Hopefully, it will stay with me like that shadow.

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The painting at the top is titled Shadowsong.  It’s a new piece, 6″ by 8″ on paper,  that is headed to Erie for my November show, Alchemy,  at the Kada Gallery.  Usually when I have an image of a musician, I will follow on the blog with a video.  So, in keeping with habit, here is The Train From Kansas City by Neko Case, a favorite of mine.  Plus , it has lots of film of trains.  have a great day.

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Stones

StonesThere is a run-off creek that runs through our property, between our home  and my studio.  In the dryness of the summer and early fall,  it stops flowing or does so at a trickle which is how it it is at this time.  But  during rainy periods it flows steadily, pulling soil and stones down the hillside as it gouges the creek bed deeper and deeper.  This erosion constantly reveals new stones that are pulled from their ages old home beneath the ground and  deposited at the bottom of the hill where the terrain levels.

I like to walk up the creek bed and look at these new gifts, taking in the small bits of color that emerge from the overwhelming drabness of the gray of most of the stones.  A bit of red here, a little blue there and pinks and pale yellows thrown in.  Occasionally I will stop over a nondescript stone that just has a quality that makes me want to pick it up, feeling its weight in my hand.  These stones often have a wonderful balance that has been achieved from ages of rolling along creeks as they made their way here.  Sometimes there is the worn imprint of a fossil, evidence of some prehistoric life form.  Some have a very smooth and cool surface and some are rough and sandy.

There is a meditative quality in looking down at these stones, wondering at the eons old journeys that have taken place in order to bring these to this place and time.  Wondering what great force brought this strange mix of stones together.  In this area it was most likely the glaciers that formed our landscape, depositing scree as it moved along.

It makes me  wonder where their journey will end but it also makes me ponder the shortness of our own time here.  These stones are of the ages, having witnessed all manner of life on this planet.  To stroll over them is to see through time, something that cuts through our hubris, our sense of self-importance in our small moment in the continuum of time.  We may be ephemera here but these stones might be eternity.

It’s just one of those things that go through the mind as I wander over the creek bed.  So much to see if I only choose to look.

 

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GC Myers--Fausts Guitar Popular music has played a huge part in storytelling in films and television in recent years.  For example, this past weekend saw the end of the television series Breaking Bad with the final scene of the series having the song Baby Blue from Badfinger playing as it panned up from Walt’s body.  It was an effective use of the song, neatly tying up the series’ theme of the obsession that overwhelmed Walt’s life.  Some have felt that it was even too spot on but I’m not here to debate that.   It just reminded me of some other songs that have been used  to great effect in this  ( Crystal Blue Persuasion will  be  forever linked in my mind to a montage of meth production from  this show) and  other series.

In the Sopranos, which almost always was brilliant in its choice of accompanying music, one of my favorite endings came when Tony Soprano was particularly cruel to his sister, leaving her home and walking down the street as I’m Not Like Everybody Else from the Kinks played.  It just perfectly summed up the scene and Tony’s self-justification for his often horrible behavior.  Just a great scene.

But I think my favorite came in Mad Men, when ad man Don Draper could not understand why his clients, in 1967, so wanted the music of the Beatles for their ads.  It was all just music to him and he felt that any musician could easily put together something similar to the Beatles sound.  The episode ended with Don settling in at home with a drink after putting on the Beatles’ Revolver album on his hi-fi.  The song Tomorrow Never Knows comes up and the  eras suddenly converge for Don, a revelation that the world he knew is changing, moving beyond his control.  It is a beautiful summation of generational change.

Here’s the song with a film that Neil Aspinall put together in developing a third Beatles movie in 1967, which never came about.  The film would have made a wonderful juxtaposition to Don in the show.  The painting at the top is an older piece of mine, Faust’s Guitar.  I did a few versions of this image years ago and it remains a favorite of mine.

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Exiles--QuartetWe all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes, and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and in others.

Albert Camus

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I have written about and showed a number of the pieces from my early Exiles series here on this blog.  It was a very important group of work for me in that it was the first real break towards forming my own voice, creating and displaying work that was emotional for myself.  It was also the work that spawned my first solo show in early 1997.

The inspiration for this work was mainly drawn from the experience of watching my mother suffer and die from lung cancer over a short five or six month period in 1995.  Her short and awful struggle was hard to witness, leaving me with a deep sense of helplessness as I could only wish that there was a way in which I could somehow alleviate her pain.  Most of the work deals with figures who are in some form of retrospection or prayer, wishing for an end to their own suffering.

But another part of this work was drawn from my own feelings of emotional exile, a feeling of estrangement in almost every situation.  I had spent the better part of my life to that point  as though I didn’t belong anywhere,  always on the outside viewing the world around me as a stranger in a strange land,  to borrow the words of that most famous biblical exile, Moses.  These figures were manifestations of that sense of inner exile that I carried with me.

Little did I know that these very figures would help me find a way out of this exile.  With their creation came a sense of confidence and trust in the power of my self-revelation.  I could now see that the path from the hinterlands of my exile was not in drawing my emotions more and more inward, allowing no one to see.  No, the path to a reunion with the world was through pouring this emotion onto the surface of paper or canvas for all to see.

This is hard to write and I am struggling with it as I sit here this morning.  I started writing this because I had been reconsidering revisiting this series, creating a new generation of Exiles.  But in pondering this idea I realized that the biggest obstacle was in the fact that I no longer felt so much a stranger in a strange land.  I no longer felt like the Exile, no longer lived every moment with these figures.  It turned out that they were guides for me, leading me back to the world to which I now feel somewhat connected, thanks to my work.

If there is to be a new series, they will most likely not be Exiles.

The piece shown here, Quartet,  is one of my favorites, a grouping of four figures.  You may not see it in these figures but the visual influence for this work were the carvings found on Mayan ruins of Mexico and Central America.  I myself see this mainly in the figure at the bottom right.

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The Adventures of Prince Achmed aired again recently on TCM and it made me look up a post that I had written on it and its creator, Lotte Reiniger back in early 2010.  I am so enthralled by her mastery of her medium, which is silhouette animation and think her work should be better known than it is that I thought I would run this post again today along with an added biographical video.  Hopefully, if  you enjoy her wonderful work you will be inspired to look further into her art.

The Adventures of Prince Achmed (1926)I first saw a film, The Adventures of Prince Achmed, from Lotte Reiniger several years ago in a series about early silent films. It was made in 1926 Germany and was one of the first animated films made. It’s a form of animation that Reiniger pioneered and mastered, based on Eastern shadow theatre. Using silhouette figures, each is painstakingly cut and hinged then filmed in small movements with time lapse photography to produce motion in the film. This film took three years to complete. 

lotte-reiniger-11In this telling of the Arabian Nights stories, I was immediately struck by the beauty and movement of the colors in the film. Each cell was tinted by hand to produce intense bursts of color that gave the film a gorgeous surreal quality. The movements of the figures in the film are smooth and natural, very subtle. I found myself so taken with watching the movements and changes that I found myself not following the story. But I didn’t care. It was beautiful to see and sparked the imagination. 

Lotte Reiniger (1899-1981), born in Germany and living most of her post-WW II life in Britain, left quite a body of work from a career that spanned over 50 years, including one of the first film versions of Hugh Lofting’s Doctor Dolittle. She’s pretty much unknown in popular culture which is a great shame. Her work is marvelous and deserves to be seen. 

Here’s a small clip of Prince Achmed along with a biographical film:

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GC Myers- "Greener Pastures: 42"It’s kind of a sad Sunday.  For one thing, our favorite ice cream place, Mindy Moo’s,  is closing for the season.  Actually, that’s probably a good thing as we have been indulging way too often but I still hate to see it close.

Secondly, tonight is the finale to what may be the finest show to ever come across a television screen, Breaking Bad.  I have been addicted since it first  exposed us to the moral gymnastics of high school chemistry teacher Walter White as he found his way into the world of meth, hoping to make enough cash to support his family after his imminent death from the cancer that had recently emerged.   His moral dilemma and the subsequent downward spiral has been a wild ride, supported by incredible writing, storylines and performances, often leaving me gasping at the end of an episode.  I will sorely miss it and have a feeling that almost everything else on TV will pale in comparison for some time to come.

Mariano Rivera Entering the FieldAnd finally, today is the end of era in baseball as Mariano Rivera rides off into the sunset, retiring from the New York Yankees as unquestionably the greatest closer ever and perhaps the most respected and beloved player to come around in a long, long time. Even Red Sox fans give Mariano, he of the hated Yanks, a standing ovation.  He has been nothing but class since day one, never pounding his chest or belittling his opponents and always showing the utmost respect for the game that has given a poor, skinny boy from Panama so much over the years .  His stoic demeanor on the mound is almost Zen in its nature and has long comforted Yankee fans when games are in a tight spot, even on those rare occasions when he has failed.

The painting at the top of the post,  a 12″ by 12″ canvas,  is titled Greener Pastures: 42.  The number 42 on the outfield wall is meant to honor both Mariano and the man who wore it most famously before him,  the barrier breaking Jackie Robinson.  Mariano is the last player to wear this hallowed number after it was retired by Major League Baseball to honor Robinson and has done so with  a fitting grace and character.  On the day honoring Mariano at Yankee Stadium last Sunday, one of my favorite moments was when  Rachel Robinson, Jackie’s widow now aged 91, was on the field and she cupped Mariano’s face in both hands, staring hard into his face with such a wonderful look on her face.  I don’t know what she was thinking or conveying but it looked like she was letting Mo know that Jackie would have approved of the way Mariano has honored his number and his memory.

Hard to believe that after today, there is no more ice cream (well, for a while) or Breaking Bad or Mariano.  Like I said, it’s a sad Sunday with a few glorious endings…

 

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Fred

FredThis is Fred.  He is currently occupying a guest room in my studio, taking up more of my time than I ever imagined when our paths crossed a few weeks back.  But it’s okay because he’s my boy, for now.

We were taking a long walk three weeks ago on a country road near our home.  It was a sunny but brisk day with cool temperatures and a breeze that promised a cold evening.  As we headed down the hill, heading back to our car, we heard a sound , a strained meow of what had to be a tiny cat.  It was faint but it was as though it was yelling out to us.  Looking down we saw this little guy.  Our gazes met and he immediately had second thoughts about summoning  us and tried to scamper away, crawling up a small bank and heading into the bushes lining the road.  Cheri followed him up the bank and picked him up when he collapsed from the fatigue of the effort of his escape.

He was tiny, about 12 ounces in weight and only a few weeks old.  He was obviously undernourished and his eyes were matted and most likely infected.  He could barely lift up his head in Cheri’s hands.  We looked around and saw no signs of any other cats or possible homes for him and determined that we should get him to our vet.  It was a good thing because, according to our vet, he would not have survived the cold temperatures of that night.  His body temperature was perilously low when he arrived at the vet and he was dehydrated.

Fast forward, it is  three weeks later and Fred is prospering.  He is my guest for now until he is strong enough to become the companion for my brother-in-law Jon’s cat, Lucky, who has been my guest here at the studio on a regular basis.  Lucky is named for the good fortune she had in being thrown from a passing car into Jon’s lawn just as he came outside.  I’ve always thought that Lucky needed a companion and now she will have one.  That is, if I can give up my boy Fred.

Fred is a joy.  He was neat from day one, learning to use his box without any effort on our part.  He has grown strong from our hours of play each day and is bright, learning new things every day.  I am teaching him how to play Scrabble today.

I am not a cat person, as a rule.  I like them but my heart doesn’t melt as it does when I see dogs, especially certain types of dogs like Corgis or Beagles.  But Fred is winning me over with his loud loving purr  when he first sees me and theabsolute joy he takes in our play.  It’s going to be hard to see him go but I know he will be exceedingly happy and well cared for in his new home.  Plus, he will be back periodically with Lucky to stay with me.

Besides Fred, we have three cats now who have all found their way back to our home in the woods , all somehow either discarded or lost.  That doesn’t count all the others who have come and went in the years we have been here.  People, be responsible– take care of your animals!

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For the story of two feral cats, Partner and Black & White, who came our way, read this post from a few years back.

 

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GC Myers-  Soft Dream of Night smIf one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with success unexpected in common hours.

–Henry David Thoreau

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This has long been one of my favorite pieces in the studio, a  14″ by 24″ painting on paper from 2002 called Soft Dream of Night.  It was part of the work that I completed in early 2002 in the aftermath of  9/11 .  It is considered part of what has been  referred to as my Dark Work.  It was work that I feel was very reflective of the feeling of that time and, as a result, was not as deeply embraced as my  typical work that has a more optimistic and forward-looking tone.  As a result, I was able to hold on to several pieces from that group which pleased me because they just felt so emotionally wrought to me that I liked the idea that they stayed in place.

This piece has evolved in feeling over the years for me, from a feeling of regretful, mournful retrospection to one that offers  the promise of a road forward, one that climbs through rich fields with the brightness  of  the moon to light the way.  Though it has a darkness beneath its surface, it no longer feels dark in tone.  It has a confidence and positive feel that would not have come to mind eleven years ago.

Time often changes our perceptions on many things.  I like that this piece has evolved for me and was not forever mired in the memory and tragedy of that time.  Perhaps the darkness underneath this painting is that memory, always present.  But above, life moves forward and dreams are still lived out.

As it should be…

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Alexander Hogue- The Crucified Land  1939

Alexander Hogue- The Crucified Land 1939

Several years ago, I wrote a post about the work of Alexander Hogue, an American Regionalist painter whose work I felt was at the same level as that of Grant Wood and Thomas Hart Benton, though he never achieved the wider fame of these two.  I know I knew nothing of his work before stumbling across his name on the site of a gallery that I was associated with at the time in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where Hogue had spent the last half of his long life, dying in 1994 at the age of 96.

Alexander Hogue- Mother Earth Laid Bare

Alexander Hogue- Mother Earth Laid Bare

His work was a stunning find for me.   The imagery is bold and powerful.  His color palette was strong and unique, with deep saturated colors often alongside ethereal, wispy colors .  His depictions of the southwestern landscape possess a profound sense of place and spirit, filling what might seem like an otherwise desolate scene with a quality of humanity.  His dust bowl scenes from the 30’s are spectacular visions.

Alexander Hogue --Eroded Lava Badlands Alpine 1982

Alexander Hogue –Eroded Lava Badlands Alpine 1982

So, I was thrilled when I read that the exhibit, Alexander Hogue: An American Visionary was opening this week at the Rockwell Museum of Western Art in nearby Corning.  The Rockwell is an unexpected gem for the visitor to this region, a treasure trove of the largest collection of Western art east of the Mississippi where Hogue’s wonderful work will feel at home, although I feel his work is powerful enough to stand among any painter from the last century.  This exhibit displays work from across the many years of his long career, with works from the 1920’s up to near the end of his life.  Hogue worked until his death, which I find reassuring.

Here’s a video from  the show’s curator, Susan Kalil. I love how she describes the attachment of the owners of Hogue’s paintings to the work. I really urge you, if you are in the Corning area this fall, to stop into the Rockwell to see this show.

 

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Arcimboldo- Rudolf II of the Hapsburgs as VertumnusYou don’t often think of work of art from an Italian Renaissance painter as being whimsical. Generally, they seem to focus on themes of religion and myth or on portraiture of wealthy patrons of the time, most beautifully painted.  Then there is the work of Guiseppe Arcimboldo, who was born in Milan in 1527 and died there in 1593, although much of life was spent in the service of  the Hapsburg courts of Vienna and Prague.

Arcimboldo was trained as stained glass designer and painter and initially worked in these fields in a traditional manner.  Much of the work from this time has faded into oblivion, although there are examples of his windows and a fresco or two.  However, it was his other work that gained him fame in his time and which has came through the ages as a constant source of fascination.

Arcimboldo-Winter 1573The other work was creating portraits, sometimes of his patrons such as the portrait at the top of Rudolf II ,  that are composed using all sorts of objects to create the figure and features of the subject.  He used fruits, vegetables, birds, books, fish and many other objects in creating these unusual figures.  The final result was always striking, colorful and whimsically imaginative.  And sometimes grotesque, even a bit spooky– I’m thinking here of a series of pieces that Arcimboldo created portraying the Winter season as a person., such as this example on the right, painted in 1573.

Arcimboldo’s work always brings a smile to my face while also stirring my interest in how he must have worked at the time and how he was perceived in that era.  I am sure he was both admired and disliked for his unique work.  Whatever the case, the work remains a fascination.  I am showing several example here but you can go  a site– Guiseppe Arcimboldo: The Complete Works— that features a broader view of his work.  Very interesting.

Arcimboldo-TierraArcimboldo-The Waiter Arcimboldo-Air Arcimboldo- The Librarian Arcimboldo- The Admiral arcimboldo-winter_1563

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