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Artist Charles Felu Photo by J. MaesThis is sort a continuation of yesterday’s post where I was going back through images of my older work  in the aftermath of a show, something I often find necessary in order to find some balance and assurance that I am still connected to my true self .  I think the idea of connection is probably the important part here as sometimes I often feel a bit disconnected after a show, which I know sounds counter-intuitive. You would think the feeling of connection would be at its highest degree.

Besides scanning my old work, another thing I do to find connection is to go through other images as well, either of other artist’s work  or the artists themselves and their environments.  In their work I am  looking for a voice or expression in their work that is similar to my own, as though finding this common ground will somehow bind me to the greater continuum of  artists.  The same holds true for seeing artists in their studios or at work.  The common experience of creating provides a connection that makes me feel less out of the loop.

In doing so, I often come across interesting images that provoke thought and,occasionally, new directions.  For example, one image that caught my eye is the one above of Belgian painter Charles Felu, who was born without arms and painted with his feet, working in the last half of the 19th century.  Seeing this connects me to that need to express oneself, that driving  force  that has kept me pushing ahead for most of my life.  So many people have overcome  great obstacles to have their voices heard that it makes me grateful that my own obstacles are relatively small and easily overcome.

Artist Georges Braques in Paris studio 1948Sometimes, there is inspiration for new work in these photos.  For instance, when I saw this photo of Georges Braques, the Cubist innovator whose quote– There is only one valuable thing in art: the thing you cannot explain— was a rallying cry in my first efforts as a painter, I was taken not so much by the man or his studio but by the smaller framed piece to the left of his feet and the shield-like piece on the wall to his right.  Just a glimpse at both had my wheels instantly turning, the shapes and flow of these pieces translating into my own vocabulary. Instant inspiration.

Artist in Japan by T. Enami ca 1915-1928Another was this colorized image of a Japanese artist at work in the early part of the last century.  There is a great serenity in the space,  in his pose and even in the elegant manner in which his work tools and materials are arranged.  The beautiful cooper pot of water feels like a meditative pool here instead of merely a place to clean your brush.   It has an immediate calming effect on me, something that is often needed in the days after a show as I struggle to regain my footing.

Even as I am writing this, I am feeling the effects of these images, beginning to feel a connection once again.  I feel a bit of inspiration and calm, both greatly needed for me to create.  This is already turning into a good morning.

Got to go…

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GC Myers Early Work 1994As I’ve pointed out in the past, I almost always feel a bit out of sorts in the aftermath of  a show.  It doesn’t matter  how the show itself fared.  There is always an awkward, nervous lull that takes place in the days afterward, a feeling of uncertainty marked by a questioning of my direction and my purpose.  The certainty and confidence that builds in the weeks leading up to a show fades quickly away as the “What next?” questions jump to the forefront.   The relative emptiness of the studio which felt so liberating and filled with potential after the show was delivered now seems like a cold void and sends me scurrying, looking for something familiar that will fill this void.

If I were to make an analogy, it would be that I am driving along and have suddenly knocked the gearshift into the neutral position.  The engine races and the momentum going forward begins to decrease quickly.  Or maybe I have even knocked the shifter into reverse because at these points I often turn to going through my old files, taking in images of older work, much of it done before I was showing publicly.

A lot of it is rough but some shows the hints of possibility that I know fed my appetite at the time.   I find it very comforting to revisit this work, marveling at both how far and how I little I have come in the years since.  The things that excited me in the work then  do the same for me now.   We evolve but  basically remain the same at the core.

The piece at the top always catches my eye and makes me pause over it.  I remember the struggle at that time to find a voice and the searching that went with it.  I thought that this might be the direction of my work at the time.  It was liquid and loose and the face emerged from a puddle of pigments almost on its own.  It was one of the first times I felt as though I were divining rather than painting, letting the paint dictate the direction.  I felt like I was only along for the ride, helping facilitate the whole thing.  It’s a difficult thing to describe but it was a vivid moment, one that is right there when I look at this image now.

Maybe that is why I revisit these piece at these times, trying to recapture that sense of wonder that was always at the surface in that early work.  The excitement I feel in the studio now is as powerful but it is a different type of excitement.  Those early moments were giddy with the  possibility of entering an unknown realm whereas now I am simply excited to be tapped into a vein that I realize is there.

As I say, it’s hard to describe.  But it has become part of my process, a way of moving from stage to stage.

Okay, back to my therapy.  I can’t move on until I go back a little more…

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GC Myers- Link to the Past smThere is but one success– to be able to spend your life in your own way.

— Christopher Morley, 1922

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I was contacted a week or two back by a man who had early on given me a great opportunity as an artist, a large commission that gave me the confidence to make the leap to painting on a full-time basis.  We had not seen one another in many years but  he had seen some of the recent publicity about my work and he reached out to me, wanting to congratulate me and see how things were going in general.  For me, it was an opportunity to offer him the gratitude I felt he deserved even though it had been fifteen years since he had worked with me.  The years had clarified how large his decision to use my work meant to my career.

So we talked for a bit, me thanking him and him telling me how proud he was of my work and of his ability to have seen something in it in those early days.  It was a nice talk and , after agreeing to get together soon, he put a  final question before me that gave me pause.

Are you successful, Gary?”  he asked.

I wasn’t sure what he meant by successful and the possibilities ran through my mind.  Was he talking about being a financial success?  A critical success, one based on notoriety?  Or was he asking if I was simply happy, satisfied by my life?  It suddenly seemed that success was such a relative term, that one person’s definition of success might not even begin to satisfy the next person’s requirements for it.

But my own?  In the flash of that moment, I tried to put this all together  and determine what success was for myself.  I thought for a split-second of success being determined by money and fame but settled quickly on my own self-satisfaction as being the determinant of what I might define as success.  I knew in that moment that there would always be those who will make more money, gain more fame and influence than me.  But I also knew that even with more of these things I would be no more  satisfied with the life I was leading–  I do what I want  and I am able to do it on my own terms.  The image came to me then of those times when I am walking through the woods between my house and my studio and I stop and look around, thinking that I am more fortunate in this way than I ever dreamed of in my early years.

I knew in that flash that this  feeling of that satisfied moment in the woods was success for me.  I told him that yes, I was successful, more than I had hoped for.

I have thought about this conversation a number of times.  I still have fears and anxieties, still aspire for more in my career.  But it’s those moments of feeling truly fortunate to do what I do, feeling that warm glow of satisfaction in my life if only for a few seconds here and there each day, that define success for me.

 I think back to a few weeks ago when I spoke with a group of high school students and I hope that I gave them  some idea that this is what success is– that if they can set their own  expectations and find satisfaction in these, they will be successful.

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The painting at the top of this page is titled Link to the Past  and is 5″ by 21″ on paper.  It is part of Observers, my annual solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery that opens Friday.

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noThere’s an interesting article on the website Medium by tech pioneer Kevin Ashton (best known for coining the phrase “the internet of things“) called Creative People Say No.  In it he talks about how productive creatives — productive is the key word here–  understand the limitations of their time here and as a result weigh every request for their time against what they might produce in that time.  It immediately struck a chord with me as I have known for many years that my time as both a living human and artist are limited and that for me to ever have a chance of capturing that elusive intangible answer that goads me forward, always just a step ahead of me and just out of sight, than I have to mete out my time judiciously.  We have X numbers of hours and doing something other than that which I recognize as my purpose  represents a real choice.

Ashton echoes my own feelings when he  writes:  Time is the raw material of creation. Wipe away the magic and myth of creating and all that remains is work: the work of becoming expert through study and practice, the work of finding solutions to problems and problems with those solutions, the work of trial and error, the work of thinking and perfecting, the work of creating. Creating consumes. It is all day, every day. It knows neither weekends nor vacations. It is not when we feel like it. It is habit, compulsion, obsession, vocation.

So, over the the last 15 years, I have wrestled over every choice that takes time away from the studio, in most cases declining invitations to all sorts of functions and putting off travelling and vacations.  Even a morning cup of coffee with friend or family requires serious debate.  For a while I thought I was agoraphobic but I know that’s not the case.  I just view my time as extremely limited and shrinking at a constant  rate.

It reminds me of a conversation I had with a painter friend a number of years ago.  He had brought up the name of a well-known artist whose work he admired who was incredibly productive.  My friend bemoaned the fact that he himself wasn’t as productive and wondered how this person could do so much.  In the conversation he told me about all the activities that his life held– traveling , classes, music sessions with friends and time with his kids.    I couldn’t bring myself to point out that he would have to start sacrificing something in order to be as productive as this other artist.  It was obvious that his X amount of hours were spent differently than the other artist, who I should point out also had a studio staff with a manager and several assistants to boost  his productivity.  My friend made the choices that he felt were right for him and who could argue that his kids didn’t deserve even more of his time?  

I think of this conversation quite often when I am faced with a choice other than spending time in the studio.  Even writing this blog entry is gnawing at me because it has exceeded the amount of time I want to spend on it this morning.  That being said, i am going to stop right here and get back to that thing that I feel that I have to do.

Read the article.  It’s a good essay.

 

 

 

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oklahoma-mapA lot of us probably don’t think too much about Oklahoma and when we do, it’s probably as a result of the latest blow dealt to it by Mother Nature.  This past week’s tornado devastation in the Oklahoma City suburb of Moore is the latest such natural disaster to bring our eyes back to Oklahoma, near the very center of our country.  As we do whenever a disaster anywhere occurs, we as a nation come together and give the full benefit of our gathered strength in aid and support.  We are doing this now for the folks in Moore, Oklaoma and if you can, donate a bit to the Red Cross or one of the other relief organizations that will be helping them back on their feet.

Oklahoma has always had a special appeal in the American psyche .   It lives in our minds with Curly riding the plains in that idealized burgeoning new frontier in the musical from Rodgers and Hammerstein.  John Steinbeck set  his fictional Everyman Tom Joad, the plain-spoken hero and seeker of fairness from The Grapes of Wrath,  in the Dust Bowl of Oklahoma.  He remains oone of my heroes and I  think of Tom Joad as the epitomized conscience of America.

I have a lot of other heroes from Oklahoma.  Growing up, whenever I heard mention of that state I immediately thought of Mickey Mantle and Johnny Bench, both OK natives.   And you can’t forget that perhaps the greatest athlete of his time, Jim Thorpe, was also from OK.   Or hero astronaut Gordon Cooper.  Oklahoma also gave us the sharp stick of humor that Will Rogers wielded as the greatest observer of  our country in his time and another observer in the form of Woody Guthrie whose songs are filled with the American soul.  His This Land Is Your Land is a tribute to our unity as a nation.

Even in these divided  partisan times, Oklahoma sits near the heart of this country, both geographically and figuratively.  Like I said, give them a hand make it OK again for them.  Here is a take  from one of my favorites , the Kinks,  on the American vision of Oklahoma as seen through British eyes.

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Foundation smBack in early April I showed a painting , Geometry of the Heart, on this blog.  It was an overhead scene of a baseball diamond being crowded in by a mass of red-roofed houses, one in which I found a lot of personal meaning.  It represented the way the game embeds itself in the minds of those who love it, how it creates a connection to tradition and memories of youth.  Perhaps more than anything in my life, baseball makes me feel connected to my  country and its history.

Putting this feeling on canvas was long overdue and I was so pleased with how both the finished painting as well as the feeling I experienced as I painted that I felt that I would do a small group for the my upcoming Principle Gallery show in June.  The result was trio of three small paintings, all on paper, that show three ball fields.  The first is shown here on the left and is approximately 6″ by 12″ and  titled Foundation.  I see the diamond serving as a base or foundation for the buildings beyond the outfield fence which seem to be sprouting from it.  Maybe the thought here is that the diamond serves as a classroom for the life lessons needed to survive  in the world beyond the fence.  I’ve written before how baseball is a game that is very humbling, that the best hitters in the game fail 7 out of 10 times at bat and that the greatest pitchers ever have had many losses.  It rewards individual effort but only in a limited way in that winning is based on a total team effort, dependent on each member of the team performing their job with their best effort.

Diamond smThe next is titled simply Diamond, and is 6″ by 8″.  This is the most reminiscent of  Geometry of the Heat and has a simplicity that brings to mind the innocence of the first days of playing the game, that first foray onto a real field.  For me, it brings back memories of the Little League field in Waverly, NY and the thrill of being on that diamond.  It was a beautiful park with bleachers along both foul lines, a well manicured infield and a wooden outfield fence emblazoned with local merchants ads.  To hear your name announced on the PA was a big thrill, a rite of passage from throwing the ball safely in your own yard to performing before strangers.  Daunting, yes, but it all seemed familiar because the game was the same, the diamond the same.

Night Game smThe third piece in this group is called Night Game and is 7″ by 9″.  The thing I get fro  this piece is that feeling when the daylight is fading and kids are still playing the game, not wanting to stop even as the ball becomes more and more difficult to see, until finally they must stop.   The empty field is still ringing with possibility and potential plays.  It seems as though there are always ghosts on ballfields,  phantoms from the past throwing the ball and running the bases.  This piece brings to mind a memory from my Little League days when I was put into pitch one game.  I had lousy mechanics and was never meant to pitch but I was game.  One of the first batters I faced hit a rocket that easily cleared the left center field fence. The whoops of the other team seemed to fade into the background as I watched the ball sail in the sky.

The ump came out to give me  a new ball as the other kid victoriously rounded the bases and the cheers from the other bench became loud again in my ears.  I smiled and said, “Wow, he really crushed that one, huh?”

“He sure did.”  He gave me the ball and I went back to it for a short while until I was mercifully pulled.  You give it a try and learn what you are and what you’re not.  Lessons learned.

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Debb VanDelinder-  El Dia de los Muertos 2010I wrote this past week about speaking to some local high school art classes taught by Debb VanDelinder.   I wondered if her students recognized that while she was an educator at both the high school and college level,  she was also an extremely talented and noted artist.  Whether  they understand their good fortune in being able to spend time with such a talent, gaining the benefit of her active intelligence and knowledge, is another question.  I thought this would be a good opportunity to  show a bit of her work and say a few words about it.

Debb works in the field of Scanography which is photography performed on a flatbed scanner.  The images are basically still lifes that are arranged facing down on the bed of the scanner.  The ultra-high resolution and shallow depth of field give  the objects in her images an otherworldly quality, especially in the large formats in which they shown.  Most of her prints are 24″ by 24″ or larger and are printed on aluminum.

Debb VanDelinder-  I Will Break Free 2011I think I am drawn to her work by her use of color, texture and symbolism,  elements that figure greatly in my own work.  I Will Break Free, shown here on the right, is a great example of this.  The deep reds of the pear’s flesh juxtapose brilliantly with the cold charcoal grayness of the barbed wire that entraps it.  The hard edge of the wire contrasts against the soft flesh, scarred from prior pokes from the barbs.  It is a simple image but the use of these contrasting elements changes all perception and it is instantly symbolic of the struggles between all opposing forces.  Light and dark.  Hard and soft. Warm and cool. Good and evil. Freedom and bondage.  Sure, it’s just a pear wrapped with some old barbed wire but Debb gives it layers of meaning with her treatment that take it from mundane to monumental.

Debb VanDelinder-  Georgia's Lament 2010Her work is often concerned with the elemental– plants and bugs, stones and bones– which gives it a resonance with which  we all can instantly connect.  The use of a small animal skull, bleached white and coldly absent, set against the richness of flowers which seem so  vibrant  that they almost seem as though they are brimming with blood reminds of us our own mortality.  But it is not morbid.  It just makes us aware of our commonality, our shared experience.

Elemental.

I could go on.  Her work does that for me, sets off torrents while it appears so simple and calm at the surface.  It’s just plain good stuff.  Go to her site at www.debbvandelinder.com to see more of her work and read more about her.  Like I said, those kids just don’t know how lucky they are…

Debb VanDelinder-  The Fourth Power of Two 2012

 

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Speaking to Debb VanDelinder's class-- GC MyersI spent several hours yesterday at a local school, Southside High School in Elmira,  speaking to a couple of Drawing and Painting classes, trying to give them an idea of what it is like to be a professional artist.  I was there at the invitation of their instructor, Debb VanDelinder, who is a highly accomplished artist  in addition to her work as an arts educator.   I am not sure if the kids in her classes realize how talented she is and how fortunate they are to have her instruction and advice.   I will have a posting on her work in the near future but you can see her wonderful work at her site, debbvandelinder.com.

I’ve given a number of talks over the years, many of which I have described here.   Speaking to captive high school classes is always a little more daunting than speaking before a group of adults who have made a choice to attend.   There are always a number of kids who are not thrilled to have to sit and listen to an old guy talk at them for eighty minutes and most of the kids who are interested  are hesitant to speak or ask questions.  But both classes yesterday were pretty attentive and when questions were asked, they were insightful, based on keen observations.   I left very impressed with both classes.

My main purpose in speaking with them was to show them that someone with a background very much like their own could follow their dreams, overcome obstacles and attain a degree of success by following their passion.   I tried to really impress on them the need to practice excellence in everything that they attempt, that  by giving a committed effort at every step of their working life, even at that first menial job,  they are setting the groundwork for success at that thing that they ultimately want to accomplish.   Success is usually based on small steps forward and requires consistent effort and commitment, even when the end goal seems nowhere in sight.   Every effort is a rehearsal for  excellence.

I pointed out the many crappy jobs that I held in my own journey but I don’t know that I impressed enough on them that I have had many failures in my life and that  they are to be expected but that there is always some lesson to be learned.  If they recognize that lesson they will move past the failure and move closer to that thing that really seek.  I wish that I had spent more time on that as well as on plain and simple goal setting.

Setting a goal puts you on a  course, if only a vague one. This was personally brought home for me when  I was looking at some old journals that I had kept in high school when I was about these kids’ ages.  I thought I had went through my adult life stumbling blindly until I fell into the good fortune of my life as an artist.  It sure felt that way.  But reading in my journal I came across an entry that laid out a couple of things that I hoped for in my later  life.  At that point I wanted to be living happily with Cheri ( my high school love and longtime wife) in a cabin in the woods and to be an artist of some sort.  It seemed like a small goal to ask for when I had written that over 36 years before.  I had  long forgotten ever writing it, that’s for sure.  I didn’t realize until I came across this that I had somehow lived that dream , that I had subconsciously set a course that would somehow lead me to my goals.

Just having an idea of where you’d like to eventually end up allows your mind to set the wheels in motion.

My hope is that all of these kids set their own goals and somehow attain them.  They don’t have to be huge.  They just have to give them a sense of happiness and  accomplishment.  If only one of these kids gets anything out of the words I spoke that helps them move closer to their own private dreams, then yesterday was a good day.

Thanks, Debb, for allowing me to speak with your kids.  And to the kids, thank you for your attention and questions.  I’m rooting for you.  Work hard and be happy.

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All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.
-Abraham Lincoln

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My Mom passed away back  in 1995.  It’s hard to believe that it has been so many years now.   A day doesn’t go by that the thought of her doesn’t enter my mind in some way.  A memory of her movement, her voice, her good and bad points– they are all set off by suddenly noticing how deeply they are all ingrained in myself.  When I am walking, I see my mother walking.  When I am angry, I see her anger.  When I am sitting alone, I see her sitting at her kitchen table with a cup of tea and her everpresent  cigarette, wordless and still.

It’s always hard on Mother’s Day, as it probably is for most whose mothers have long passed.  For me , it is often a day filled with regrets for words, both said and unsaid, and actions.  Regrets for not speaking more words of love and appreciation.  Regrets for speaking words as a selfish child that may have unknowingly hurt her.  But, like most days, these regrets fade away and are replaced with only the memory of her– a simple yet complex woman for which I owe that I am or hope to be, as Uncle Abe said.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Here’s Sundown from Gordon Lightfoot.  Mom really  liked this song and Lightfoot’s voice in general.  She also loved  Eddy Arnold‘s voice but that will have to wait until another Mother’s Day..

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Rwenzori Founders, UgandaWhen a couple of my paintings headed off to Uganda with Ambassador Scott DeLisi to hang at the US Embassy in Kampala, I began to follow the news that the Ambassador would forward from that African nation.  The stories he posts portray a country that is moving forward with an optimistic attitude.  There are stories of young entrepreneurs, scholars and artists that give reason for this attitude.  A recent post spoke of  the Rwenzori Art Centre Sculpture Gallery, nestled in the foothills of the  Rwenzori Mountains, the fabled Mountains of the Moon in northern Uganda.

The rural Rwenzori Art Centre is home to Rwenzori Founders, a world -class foundry that casts bronzes,  which opened several years ago.  The whole project was supported by the UK charity, the Rwenzori Sculpture Foundation, which is the brainchild of the owner of Pangolin Editions, the largest artist foundry in Europe which was started by a Ugandan, Rungwe Kingdom.  The facility’s design has won awards for its environmental sensitivity.

As fascinating as this all is, it is the story of one of the artists there,  Peter Oloya , that really interests me.  He hails from northern Uganda, an area that has been ravaged in the past by rebel armies.  At the age of 11, Peter was abducted by the Lord’s Resistance Army and forced into action as a child soldier.  It was kill or be killed.  After a year and eight months, Peter escaped after being wounded during a battle.

Peter Oloya - HeadHe made his way to Kampala and lived on the streets, earning money by using his talent at carving curios  to pay for his school and university fees where he pursued an education in art and sculpture.  His work served him as a form of therapy to move past the horrors he had witnessed  and soon his obvious talent garnered much notice.  He has won  numerous commissions for his sculptures in recent years, such as Crane (shown at the bottom of this post) which was given to Queen Elizabeth as a gift from the Ugandan people, and his work is in great demand.  Wanting to share his good fortune, he has set up a charity to help other boy soldiers and abducted girls to heal themselves through drawing and sculpture.

It’s a great story of the redemptive and healing power of art.  It is also evidence that the urge to create will always overcome obstacles of all sorts.  Too many of us, myself included, all too often find excuses for not doing something.  I don’t have the right tools. I don’t have enough time or the time is just not right.  I am too distracted by other things.  Excuses of all sorts.  But Peter used whatever he had at hand to release what was trapped within him to make way for better things.

The next time I start whining about anything, all I have to do is think of Peter Oloya and I will shut up and be grateful for the safety and security of my own life.

Peter Oloya-Crowned Crane

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