Labor Day weekend and I thought I’d share a song from many years back that asks for a little help for working folks from the nation’s chief executive, who normally (an odd word these days) advocates for working class.
History never repeats itself exactly, every time and setting changing the pattern ever so slightly. But there are some parallels in this song from Randy Newman back in 1974. He didn’t name a president in the song but it is implied he was referring to Hoover in the time of the Depression as well as President Nixon , pleading with them to do something about the expanding rate of poverty and wage stagnation for the working classes, something that hasn’t changed in the forty-some years since the song came out.
Some of the lyrics seem eerily prophetic for these times, as well:
Maybe you’re cheatin’ Maybe you’re lyin’ Maybe you have lost your mind Maybe you only think about yourself
Too late to run, too late to cry now The time has come for us to say good-bye now Mr. President, have pity on the working man Mr. President, have pity on the working man
So, have yourself a good holiday. Here’s Randy Newman and Mr. President (Have Pity on the Working Man)from 1974.
Labor Day weekend and I wasn’t planning on posting anything today, figuring that I was due a break because at heart I always considered myself more under the label of worker than artist. Even in my terminology paintings are more often referred to as works or pieces. And when I was starting out I felt my ability to labor, focused and on task, wold provide a big boost in pursuing this path. And it did.
So Labor Day remains a favorite holiday for me in theme. I like the idea of work and the meaning and purpose behind it. I like the history of the holiday, how the growth of Labor and Unions being celebrated coincided with the growth of this nation and the middle class, how these movements gave us the protections and guarantees that we all too often take for granted these days. We forget that these things were not given to the workers– they were demanded and fought for.
Bled and died for.
So have a great weekend. Picnic. Parade. To my friends in Texas, you don’t have to be reminded about work– you have much ahead of you. But take a minute and think about the work you do, the life you live and those earlier people who worked and fought hard so that you might have a better life than their own.
Here’s a great piece of classic jazz from Cannonball Adderley. It is titled Work Song. Jazz might not be your thing but you have to admit that these guys are working it. Oh, and the little piece of work at the top is a new small painting, Sound & Silence, that is now at the West End Gallery.
It’s the first of September and I let out a sigh of relief that August is behind me. I have confessed my dislike of August here in the past. For me, it’s usually a month of heat and anxiety, a month in which every bad thing seems to find me.
But this August was kinder and gentler and I am truly thankful. I know that this has not been the case for others across the country. Most notably, a storm of biblical proportions named Harvey that swept across the Gulf Coast of Texas and Louisiana. You know the story too well.
If you can, reach into your pocketbooks and send what you can to help them out in some way. It’s the right thing to do.
September always gets me a little melancholy but in a good way. More wistful and nostalgic than sad. It’s a feeling that seems more pronounced as I find myself actually in what could be the September of my life. When this time comes I feel like looking at black and white photos and listening to September Song, which, if you think about it, is a very black and white song.
I acme across this photo of my old studio which stands up the hill from my home and current studio. It is slowly being reclaimed by the forest around it and will someday no longer exist. I like that idea of impermanence for this studio. It was almost meant to be that way as an indicator of how small we are in the face of nature, as Harvey is currently showing us.
I have included an early blog entry from 2008 that describes it along with this year’s version of September Song, which is from Johnny Hartman, jazz vocalist that is probably unknown to most of you. I know that he was off my radar. But his voice is beautifully strong and smooth and this is a lovely, faithful version of the iconic song.
********************
This is a photo from a book, In Their Studios: Artists & Their Environment from the photographer, Barbara Hall Blumer. It was a project that she carried out in 2007 documenting the studios of visual artists in the general area of the southern Finger Lakes, centering on Corning, NY, which has a vibrant artistic community. The result was a beautiful book that gives insight into the work spaces and habits of many artists. For me it was interesting to be able to peek into a bit of other artists’ lives. I highly recommend the book for anyone interested in the process of art.
This is my first studio, one that I built in 1997 and worked in until January of this year [2008], when I moved into a much larger and slightly better appointed studio. This first studio was located in the woods that above my home and gave me what I called the best commute around, a short walk each morning up the hill through dense and fairly young forest of mixed hardwoods and white pines. Sometimes I would stop and wonder at my good fortune to have the luxury and pleasure of this walk each day.
It was a very rustic space without running water (and the facilities associated with running water!) or a lot of heat for that matter but it served me well for ten years and its setting had a presence in much of my work. It was very tranquil and from its windows I had great views of the woods and wildlife– deer, gray and red fox, coyotes, raccoons (who at one point made their way into my roof) and even a weasel chasing after a rabbit. In the winter it would be spectacular as the snow would cling to the white pine branches almost to the ground.
I would guess that I’ve said that phrase a couple of hundred thousand times in my life. Or maybe even a million times. But then again, I don’t know.
As years pass, I am constantly fascinated by how little I know despite consciously trying to obtain more knowledge. It turns out the only thing I really know is that there are an awful lot of things out there that I will never know.
That doesn’t make me happy but I have learned to live with it and take some comfort in knowing that I am not alone. I don’t think any of us really knows as much as we let on. Oh, some speak with absolute certainty and and an air of confidence but that’s just bravado or a simple failure to recognize their lack of knowledge. I do know that.
From personal experience, unfortunately.
So I cringe a bit now when I spot that arrogant certainty in the declarations coming from myself or others. Then I cast a doubtful eye towards these claims, my own included.
What does this have to do with the price of a gallon of milk in Kokomo? I don’t know. I’m just blabbing in order to set up this week’s Sunday morning music. It’s from the Irish singer Lisa Hannigan and is titled, fittingly, I Don’t Know. I particularly like this version shot in a Dingle pub. Lovely.
Have a good day and be wary of those who seem a bit too certain. Or not.
I was going through my files, looking at some work from several years ago. It’s something I do on a pretty regular basis as a way to charge my batteries. I see things in these older pieces that reignite ideas that have been swept away to the folds of my brain. Sometimes an idea, like a new composition, comes in a flash that seems exciting, something that tells me that I need to followup on it. Then hours later it is gone or has turned hazy, replaced by the work at hand.
Oh, sometimes I write them down, rough sketches on loose bits of paper but more often than not they go into that heap that resides somewhere deep inside me. Sometimes they come back on their own, happily for me. Other times, they need a little coaxing, a prod of my memory that sometimes takes place when I revisit older work. Seeing this earlier work in sequence, grouped together, kicks off memories and these older ideas sometimes jump forward. Old friends.
I had that feeling just this morning. I wasn’t going to write anything, was just going to get to work on some things that needed finishing and maybe start a new piece with the hope that the work would create its own inspiration. That is often the case. But I came across a piece from a group of work that I did back in 2011, sepia toned interiors with landscape seen distantly through windows. It excited me on many levels to see the whole group together and I had flashes of other ideas that had either been hiding or were newly forming. It energized me greatly.
Here’s one of those pieces from back in 2011 and what I wrote at the time:
This is a painting I recently finished, a small piece, only 4″ square on paper. It’s a mix of landscape and very uncomplicated still life with stark but distinct elements throughout. There’s a simplicity that runs through this scene that covers a depth of feeling, a pang from the heart.
I sat this aside for a day or two after finishing it and found myself coming back to it. There was a familiar tone to it that reminded me of something that I couldn’t quite identify until this morning when I walked into the studio. I looked at it as I sat down and instantly said to myself, “Far From Me.”
It was the old John Prine song from his first album which came out forty years back, in 1971. There was something in this piece that filled me the feeling of Prine’s lyrics of gradual loss:
And the sky is black and still now
On the hill where the angels sing
Ain’t it funny how an old broken bottle
Looks just like a diamond ring
But it’s far, far from me
This piece will probably always be that song now for me, a personal avatar for a song buried deep inside and often forgotten. Funny how things work…
Well, Eclipse Day is finally here in the USA after about a 99 year hiatus since one last crossed the entire nation. There is a possibility of some cloud coverage in my home area which will only experience about 75% coverage of the sun by the moon. But I am holding out hope that the weather holds out for everyone who has traveled distances to be in the range of totality. If you’re in that range, enjoy that bit of history but be careful. I’m sure your mother warned you about staring at the sun and it turns out she was right, you can do some serious damage. So grab your eclipse glasses ( don’t confuse them with your 3-D glasses) or your pinhole projector and take a look.
I’m playing a fun song from Bruce Springsteen, his wordy Blinded By the Light. I thought it was appropriate for the day, given it’s lines: Mama always told me not to look into the sights of the sun/Oh, but Mama, that’s where the fun is. This is a version from a European tour from back in 2012. Before many of his shows, particularly his European dates, he would often perform a loose solo acoustic set of songs for those in the audience who arrived 3 or 4 hours early. This performance is from such an impromptu set in Helsinki.
Enjoy the day and remember: the darkness that will be covering the country is only temporary.
It was heartening to see the huge turnouts yesterday in protests against the recent upsurge in white supremacists, neo-nazis and other hate groups. In Boston, a crowd estimated in the range of 40,000 hit the streets in response to a Free Speech Rally organized by an alt-right group whose own crowd ended up being counted in the dozens, not thousands, with estimates ranging from 20 to 100.
The organizers of the event claimed that they were against white supremacy, bigotry and neo-naziism and that they were there to simply exercise their First Amendment rights. The problem is that they have consistently aligned their cause and their political power with the groups that espouse these very things. You can’t build your coalition with these people then simply say they aren’t part of what you are as a group. You willingly let them in the tent knowing who they were– they are part of your circus.
The other part of the free speech argument is that everybody forgets that free speech is susceptible to reaction. You are free to say whatever you want but you must know that it doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Your expression has cause and effect.
That was shown this past week with the public unmasking of the white supremacists from the events in Charlottesville. Many lost their jobs and faced public ostracization and shaming when they returned home. I am sure there are some out there who see this as being unfair but that is part of the bargain– their freedom to express their views doesn’t not take away the right of anyone else from reacting to it. Reaction is expression and is, so long as it remains non-violent, a First Amendment right.
I go through this on daily basis as an artist which means I am also a small business owner. I have the right and freedom to say or paint whatever I want. But I understand that by doing so I risk alienating potential collectors. It’s not a problem for the most part but I am sure there have been instances when I have expressed political opinions here that have rankled those who lean more to the right. And maybe they won’t buy my work or even like it anymore. That is their right and I accept that risk because I think being fully honest as to who and what I am is a big part of my work.
So, for this Sunday morning music I chose a song that really fits the subject. It’s Stand! from Sly and the Family Stone. You can’t go wrong with Sly. I urge everyone to stand and express themselves fully. Just leave the guns and clubs at home. If you need them to express yourself, you should ask yourself what you’re really standing for as a human being.
Have a good and peaceful Sunday.
“Stand!”
Stand In the end you’ll still be you One that’s done all the things you set out to do Stand There’s a cross for you to bear Things to go through if you’re going anywhere Stand For the things you know are right It’s the truth that the truth makes them so uptight Stand All the things you want are real You have you to complete and there is no deal Stand. stand, stand Stand. stand, stand Stand You’ve been sitting much too long
There’s a permanent crease in your right and wrong Stand There’s a midget standing tall And the giant beside him about to fall Stand. stand, stand Stand. stand, stand Stand They will try to make you crawl And they know what you’re saying makes sense and all Stand Don’t you know that you are free Well at least in your mind if you want to be
Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.
– Thomas Edison
**************
I was going through old blog posts recently and I noticed that I had used the painting above a number of times in my earliest posts. It’s part of my Exiles series from back in 1995 and is titled Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, borrowed from the title of a group of Depression-era photos of sharecroppers in the American dust bowl shot by photographer Walker Evans.
I never really wrote about this painting except in what I saw as it’s similarity to what I saw in those photos of Depression era workers. I always felt a connection to this piece but thought it was an outer connection, one that simply had to do with my reaction to form and color and not with anything I might see of it in myself.
Maybe that was my hope.
But it is a painting that I find has more meaning for me than I might want to let on. It’s a piece to which I always return, again and again, to study closely. While I sometimes see it as apart from me, more and more as I live with it, part of me feels like I am that man, standing alone in his landscape.
A sometimes self portrait.
It’s not a flattering self portrait. I used to see this figure as sad or regretful, world weary. But that has changed over time. There is some sadness, some regret but more than anything, I now see him as resigned, neither happy or sad. He is in his place with work behind him and much more work to do. It still has a weariness in it, but not from a physical standpoint. It is more a sense of tiredness from working to stay ahead of the world’s constant encroachment, the world’s constant erosion. But while it appears tired there is also a sense of implied strength and determination to stay on task.
The hand here is important to me, a symbol of the bond of a working mind and working hands. Ideas set in motion and realized.
It’s a painting that means more and more to me as times passes and the world works its erosive qualities on my self and my world, my landscape. Maybe I am that dirt farmer, looking back with pride in his work along with an apprehension that it will someday be carried away like dry soil in the wind.
I am not going to be around Sunday so here’s a little music for the morning, a day early. It fits pretty well in tone and substance to the painting above. It’s the immortal Otis Redding with I’ve Got Dreams to Remember.
I may be an admitted liar but I swear this is the truth: I had a good time at yesterday’s Gallery Talk at the West End. Plus, I think most everybody there did as well. At least, nobody threw anything or cursed at me or stormed out of the gallery. But even beyond those low standards, most everyone seemed pleased with what I will label as an enjoyable hour or so spent talking about art and other things.
It was a great turnout and it was good to see so many old friends along with many new faces. I want to extend a very heartfelt thank you to all in attendance. I know that there are a lot of other things that you could have been doing on a nice summer weekend day and the fact that you chose to spend it listening to me blather on is something I do not take for granted.
Thank you for your great warmth,openness and acceptance. And your great questions and observations. These are things that make standing up there in front of you much easier even in those moments when I am struggling to say something.
I hope you found it worth your time and hope that you will come back again next year.
I will work on new material. A little hint: it may involve tap-dancing.
Or not.
Thank you.
Okay, let’s have this week’s Sunday Morning Music. I have chosen an old Kinks song from back in 1968 that I think fits today’s entry. It’s their classic Days.
Have a great day of your own.
I am busy getting ready for this Saturday’s Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery. You wouldn’t think it would take much preparation, would you? I show up and talk for a while. End of prep. And from a few of the many talks I’ve given over the years, that would appear to be the extent of my preparation.
But I really do try to have an idea of some ideas I want to get across in these talks. Sometimes, it focuses on an anecdote or two or a thought that has been floating around with me for some time. So, I try to collect these ideas and commit them to memory so that I can go to them when the time arises.
But the main preparation comes in continually telling myself to allow myself to be absolutely transparent and honest when I am up there in front of the group. That can mean admitting to my shortcomings and flaws to people that I’ve sometimes never seen before. I know that sounds awful when taken at face value, something no one really wants to face. Who wants to confess anything to strangers?
But, as an artist, there is great value in those moments. There is catharsis in the act of confession, revelation in the exposing of one’s vulnerabilities. It’s like wiping off layers of dust from a mirror — what may have been obscured is now evident. And for me, that is a vital part of my creative process. Without it, I may as well be a chimp with fingerpaints.
So, my prep consists of readying my willingness to reveal vulnerability. Believe me when I say that it takes some doing.
Another part is choosing a painting to give away at the end of the talk. I spend a lot of time, going back and forth on what to give away. As I have said in the past, I want it to be a meaningful piece, something that actually hurts me a little bit to give away. I am really struggling to choose a piece for this talk. I have a couple in mind but keep changing my mind because part of me doesn’t want to give them away. And that little pang of regret makes me think I am close to choosing.
I will let you know in the next day or so.
So, to sum up: Gallery Talk this Saturday, August 5, at the West End Gallery in Corning. There will be refreshments, a drawing for one of my paintings, maybe a few other assorted giveaways and, if my preparations work out as planned, a darn good conversation.
There is also a small group of new paintings that are coming with me including the little piece shown above. It’s petite in size only. I call it Drift Away. Here’s the song from Dobie Gray from many years back. If you are of a certain age, you have no doubt heard this song a thousand times and have the chorus permanently etched in your brain tissue. But it’s still a good listen.
Labor Day weekend and I thought I’d share a song from many years back that asks for a little help for working folks from the nation’s chief executive, who normally (an odd word these days) advocates for working class.
Redtree Times 