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GC Myers- MoondancerI am slowly trying to get back into some sort of rhythm in the studio after getting back from what for me was an extended absence  while traveling out to California for my show there.  It was only a week or so but it was enough to disrupt that fragile balance and set me a bit off kilter.  I can sense it in getting back into my painting rhythm as well as writing this blog.  Just a bit more of a struggle at the moment. I don’t fret over this as I once might have because I’ve been through this more than a few times.  If I put my head down and forge forward, it returns after a bit.

Sometimes it also helps to look at some of my recent work, trying to find the string of continuity that might run forward from it and latch on to that.  In doing so, I looked this morning at a piece from the show at the Just Looking Gallery  in San Luis Obispo, a 12″ by 36″ painting called Moondancer.  It’s a piece that’s built on bold color, one that instantly catches my attention.  The central figure of the red tree here definitely has the feel of a performer,  either as an entertainer doing an expressionistic dance before the moon or as some sort of shaman doing a ritual dance asking the moon for whatever gifts or powers  it might bestow.  The moon definitely is in audience to the performance.

It;s that sense of performance that I will probably take from this painting today in the studio, both as the central figure acting as a performer as well as seeing myself as a performer before the easel.  I often think of myself as a performing artist, each painting a new performance.  Each day is both rehearsal and performance.  I think that’s why breaks in my routine disrupt my rhythm so.  It’s like a musician not practicing for an extended period.  The ability is still there, just a little work away from returning.

Here’s a video of a classic song, Moondance,  from Van Morrison,  that might be the namesake for this painting.  I choose this song today because if you were to watch many of the available videos of it online, you would be hard pressed to find performances that were not unique.  Morrison does the song in different tempos and cadences, each time taking the same song and bringing something new to it.  Again, that’s echoes what I try to do in painting, trying to bring something new in common forms and images that populate my scenes.

Anyway,  it’s a great song from many years back.  This version is from a concert in Montreux in 1980.  Enjoy!

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Landscape painting is the obvious resource of misanthropy.

— William Hazlitt, in The Edinburgh Review, 1824

I consider myself primarily a landscape painter.  Oh, I periodically have done some figurative work, some still lifes and even some purely abstract work but I always gravitate back to the landscape.  I think the attraction comes from the universality of the landscape as a genre and a visual language.  It crosses all barriers and seldom needs context or explanation for anyone to fully understand it.  A Maori tribesman might as easily appreciate a landscape such as the painting above as you or me.  We  all have an intimate relationship, our own dialogue, with the landscape around us.  It defines our world.

I tend to think of landscape painting in these terms rather than as William Hazlitt, the British art and literary critic of the 19th century, portrays it in the quote above although maybe there is a certain misanthropy involved on some days.  I know that I prefer the company of the landscape over that of most people on many days.   I also know that there are collectors who were disappointed when the paths that lead into my paintings began to first appear, feeling that any sign of man in the landscape only diminished the piece.   But the paths stayed because I still relate to the landscapes in my paintings as thought they are representative of the human race’s emotional relationship with the land rather than mere  pretty pictures of places of a world devoid of humans, as appetizing as that may sound.   It comes down to the fact that we are part of the land.  We  shape it  and are shaped by it. We rise from it, live off it and ultimately return to it.  We are the landscape.

The painting at the top is Where the Road Ends, a 20″ by 60″ canvas that is part of my show at the Kada Gallery which opens October 20th.

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This new painting, which is part of my upcoming show, Inward Bound, at the Kada Gallery is a 16″ by 20″ canvas that I call Full Regalia.  It’s one of those pieces that I see as portraits with the Red Tree acting as the head and the mound below as the body.  The fields in this piece have a lively, decorated feel as though this personage might be sitting there proudly wearing the colors and emblems, the full regalia,  that denote its accomplishments.  Like a highly decorated soldier or a scholar in their gowns and sashes.  Or a tribal king wearing a multicolored patterned dashiki or other ceremonial robe.

There’s a sense of pride and strength in this depiction as well as an optimism I can’t quite put my finger on.  Maybe it’s the blue of the skies and the white of the clouds. Or maybe the way this figure is imposed on the background.  As I said, I can’t quite determine why I feel this optimism but I do like this mix of cheerfulness and pride here,  a feeling of satisfaction at having reached some plateau through hard work and determination.

As I said, this piece is headed to the Kada Gallery in Erie, PA for the show which opens October 20.  Hope to see you there!

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Name This Painting! Contest Ends Wednesday

Don’t forget to get your titles in for the Name This Painting! Contest which ends at Midnight on Wednesday, October 3.  You can get details from the post of September 25.  Good luck!

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I recently came across this piece of writing from Eugene V. Debs that struck a chord with me, reminding me of this particular painting from a few years back, The Heart’s Standard Bearer.  I think it captures what I would like much of my work to represent– the flag of high hope and high resolve, as he puts it.  I know that in these politically divided times invoking the name of Debs is probably a risky proposition.

He was, after all, a prominent Socialist, a term which raises the hackles of many, most who have no true idea of what it truly means or has represented in the not-so-distant past.  Debs, who lived from 1855 until 1926, was absolutely committed to the fight for fairness and rights for the poor and the working class, spending several stints in prisons over the course of his life for the stands he took.  He ran for president from his cell in 1920, the last of the five campaigns he led for the high office as the candidate of the Socialist Party.  You may cringe at the current populist interpretation of socialism, but you should realize that we have all benefited from the efforts of Debs and others like him who fought for living wages and decent working conditions for all citizens and against exploitation of all sorts.

I am often asked why I use the color red in many of paintings.  Red trees.  Red chairs. Red roofs.  Red fields. I always struggle to describe what meaning it has for me.  But reading this made me feel that the red in many of my paintings might somehow be, as described in Debs’ words, the pure red that symbolizes the common blood of the human family, the equality of mankind, the brotherhood of the race.

Debs’ The Crimson Standard was published in 1905 in Appeal to Reason, a weekly progressive/socialist publication of the era that featured the writings of Upton Sinclair, Jack London and Helen Keller.  It was an extremely popular magazine, with the fourth highest circulation of any weekly at the time.  As I said, socialism was not the anathema then as now.

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A vast amount of ignorant prejudice prevails against the red flag. It is easily accounted for. The ruling class the wide world over hates it, and its sycophants, therefore, must decry it.

Strange that the red flag should produce the same effect upon a tyrant that it does upon a bull.

The bull is enraged at the very sight of the red flag, his huge frame quivers, his eyes become balls of fire, and he paws the dirt and snorts with fury.

The reason for this peculiar effect of a bit of red coloring upon the bovine species we are not particularly interested in at this moment, but why does it happen to excite the same rage in the czar, the emperor and the king; the autocrat, the aristocrat and the plutocrat?

Ah, that is simple enough.

The red flag, since time immemorial, has symbolized the discontent of the downtrodden, the revolt of the rabble.

That is its sinister significance to the tyrant and the reason of his mingled fear and frenzy when the “red rag,” as he characterizes it, insults his vision.

It is not that he is opposed to red as a color, or even as an emblem, for he has it in his own flags and banners, and it never inflames his passion when it is blended with other colors; but red alone, unmixed and unadulterated, the pure red that symbolizes the common blood of the human family, the equality of mankind, the brotherhood of the race, is repulsive and abhorrent to him because it is at once an impeachment of his title, a denial of his superiority and a menace to his power.

Precisely for the reason that the plutocrat raves at the red flag the proletaire should revere it.

To the plutocrat it is a peril; to the proletariat a promise.

The red flag is an omen of ill, a sign of terror to every tyrant, every robber and every vampire that sucks the life of labor and mocks at its misery.

It is an emblem of hope, a bow of promise to all the oppressed and downtrodden of the earth.

The red flag is the only race flag; it is the flag of revolt against robbery; the flag of the working class, the flag of hope and high resolve – the flag of Universal Freedom.

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“When I am in my painting, I’m not aware of what I’m doing. It is only after a sort of “get acquainted” period that I see what I have been about. I have no fears about making changes, destroying the image, etc., because the painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through. It is only when I lose contact with the painting that the result is a mess. Otherwise there is pure harmony, an easy give and take, and the painting comes out well.”

–Jackson Pollock

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Well put words from Pollock, words that very much fit with how I feel about my own work and process, even though our works seem to have little in common in appearance.  I think it’s the harmony that he speaks of that is our common ground.  At least, I hope.

Note:  The show, Internal Landscapes: The Paintings of GC Myers, has opened two days early at the Fenimore Art Museum in Cooperstown.

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Well, the exhibition of my paintings, Internal Landscapes: The Paintings of GC Myers, has been delivered and is being installed at the Fenimore Art Museum in Cooperstown for its opening on Saturday, August 18.   I’m experiencing levels of excitement and satisfaction, along with my normal anxiety, at the prospect of this show.  Who wouldn’t be excited at the prospect of showing their work in a beautiful world-class facility where your work will hang in close proximity to the great artists of the past?  It’s the goal of most artists to be allowed to show their work in such a setting, to feel the validation and atmosphere that the institution  offers.

I am no different.

It is also a marked point on the timeline of any artist, where they can pause for a moment from the constant creative push forward to reflect on the years leading up to it,  to once again examine all the steps (and missteps) that brought them to this point.

To look back on  the many  thousands of hours spent alone in the studio and feel as though they were well spent.

To think again about all the kind words of encouragement over the years from those who found something for themselves in the work, words that have served as creative nourishment.

To again see all the moments of serendipity that have occurred on the road to this point in time,  all the opportunities that  came unexpectedly, often at times when they were most needed.

To reflect on the many times that self-doubt threatened the personal voice that was forming and now shows in the work.  And how this doubt was overcome through a firm belief that the vision being followed was as real and as valid as any other artist’s.

I could go on but I won’t.  It is obviously a retrospective moment.  I can only hope that those who see the show will get a true sense of my work.  That will make this a successful show.  We shall see.

The show opens August 18 and hangs until December 31.  I will be giving a talk at the museum on November 7, from 12:30- 2:30  as part of their Food For Thought lecture series.

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   Yesterday, I  delivered the group of paintings for my show, which opens next week,  to the Fenimore Art Museum in Cooperstown.  It felt pretty good to finally have the work out of the studio and in place for this show which I have been anticipating for so long.  Relief set in on the drive home  and soon turned to fatigue.  I had a chance to think and began to consider all of the things that one has to do in order to pursue a career such as mine, all of the seldom thought of aspects that are necessities but have little to do with the actual act of painting.  Things like dealing with galleries, framing and matting, packaging, delivery, pricing and the endless promotion of the work.  The gritty unromantic details that take a toll on one’s energy.   Basically, the same things any small business owner has to face.

It’s like someone who has a gift for cooking, making glorious food in their kitchen with great ease.  They dream of opening a restaurant where they can share their gift with the world and make a living doing what they love most.  But once they open the doors they find that the act of cooking, their great pleasure, is only one aspect of being a restaurateur.  They find themselves buried in heap of things far from their love of cooking.  They must deal with staff, advertising and promotion, dealing with suppliers and a thousand other details.  They find themselves fatigued like they never felt before from their cooking.

That’s kind of how I felt yesterday.  I was fatigued from all of the detail work– the driving, packing and shipping, framing paintings, the talking about and  promotion of my work and events.  Even writing this blog.  They were all things that, while necessary, were far from  the creation of the work itself.  Actually, I never felt real fatigue from the act of painting.  In fact, quite the opposite.  For me, painting is invigorating, energizing.  So much so that it makes these other tiring details tolerable, especially if it  means that I can do what I love as my livelihood.

I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m complaining.  I am definitely not.  Every job, every career, is tough in it’s own way and I have done enough other things in my life to know that  this is, by far, the sweetest gig I have encountered.  The many positives of my job far outweigh the negatives.  It’s just that occasionally when I am away from painting for too long, I get a little tired and stressed, feeling that need for the rejuvenation that painting offers for me.

Probably like that onetime cook-turned-restaurateur who, standing in the midst of a busy dining room,  longs to be in front of  a stove, simply cooking and happy.

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I was recently looking at this painting, Twin Lakes, that is part of  my current show at the West End Gallery when my perception of it quickly changed and came into sharper focus.

It was painted as a simple organic growth of  lines and forms, little thought given to what it might have to say.  It was allowed to form almost completely of its own volition.  But looking at it this morning I was struck by the polarity in it.  The  Red Tree  here was composed of two separate trees, two equal halves, and the image itself seemed to me to suddenly resemble a yin-yang symbol .  The road dividing the pieces roughly in halves acts as the border between the light and dark parts of the symbol.   The title twin lakes are representative of the two smaller inner circles within the symbol that symbolize the interaction of the energies of the two sides.  The darkness in the light and vice-versa.  The feminine in the masculine and so on.

Or, in a different reading, the twin lakes here represent the two sides a set of scales.  Either way, as part of a yin-yang symbol or as scales, they represent balance between our opposing sides.  We are complex creatures, comprised of multiple conflicting  passions that can easily throw us off kilter if we stray too far off balance.  Maintaining a sense of equilibrium is imperative in our quest for a peaceful and satisfying existence.

Funny how a seemingly simple landscape suddenly becomes an existential  metaphor.

Or not.  Depends on how you see it…

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GC Myers- Collected Memories

Tonight marks the opening of my annual show at the West End Gallery, this year titled In Rhythm.  There is an opening  reception tonight running from 5-7:30 which is a pretty casual affair, open to everyone.  So if you’re in the Corning area, please stop in and see this year’s show which hangs until August 31.

I’ve written here many times about the feelings that arise around the times of show openings.  The anxiety and fears of failure.  But, as I’ve also pointed out, this is my 33rd or 34th solo show and the anxiety has evolved over the years.  It used to be a pure sense of failure, of not creating work that was both compelling and sellable.   But experience has taught me that if the work satisfies and excites me personally, it will in most cases do the same for others.  The anxiety now comes from the weeks before the show when I am still forming the body of the show and am not quite sure how it will come together as a whole.  Not sure if it will indeed satisfy and excite me, the threat of failure still hangs in the air.

But once I have a grip on the show, can see that I’ve done everything in my power to make each piece special and alive in some way, the anxiety eases.  At that point, I know that I’ve done all that I can as far as those aspects that  I can control.   I am content and the work is now ready to go out into the world on its own.

And that’s where I am with this show.  I am very happy with this group of work and feel that there’s a real sense of  strength and completeness in it, each piece seeming to relate in some way to the others while still standing out individually.  One of my goals for my work.

So, anxiety is  alleviated,  the show is hung and my only job now is to answer any questions that are asked at tonight’s reception.   If you happen to be in Corning tonight, stop in, sip a little wine while you’re looking things over and say hello.

 

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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

–William Shakespeare

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Interesting line from the Bard.  Awareness of what we are is a good thing but we should not be satisfied.  We can always be better, be more than we are now.

 More tolerant and understanding of the plight of others.  More patient. More generous.  More kind.  More peaceful.  More willing to listen, to learn.  More loving.

Just better.

That’s what I see in this piece, Knowingness, an 18″ by 26″ painting that is part of my show opening tomorrow at the West End Gallery.  It’s about knowing what you are and, while being at peace with this knowledge, realizes there is always the possibility of being more.

 It may be the beginning of real wisdom.

I can’t say for sure.  I don’t think I’m at that point yet but, with this painting serving as a reminder,  remain hopeful.

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