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Archive for the ‘Quote’ Category

Treasure Island

People travel to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering.

–St. Augustine

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GC Myers- Treasure Island  This is a new painting, a 12″ by 36″ canvas that is titled Treasure Island.  For me, this has nothing  to do with the Robert Louis Stevenson book of the same title  with Long John Silver and his pirate crew.  Oh, there’s an element of treasure in this piece, from the golden tones of the crown of the central figure of the island tree to the rich and regal  color of the sky.

But what I see in this piece is really more about introspection and the discovery of  an inner wealth.  It’s a theme I often see in my work, this idea of finding what we are and are not , celebrating those qualities we possess rather than lamenting our deficiencies.  This evaluation of self creates a sovereign realm within us, one that is a safe haven from the intrusion of the outer world, one that lets our strengths flower and grow in an unfettered way.

That sounds like a lot of mumbo-jumbo and maybe it is. But I do see this as a painting that speaks about inner strength and celebrating what we are on our own terms.  About controlling those things we value in ourselves and not letting others define us.  We are all small islands containing all different sorts of wealth, if only we would take the time to look.  Look inward then let your own wealth shine outward, whatever it might be.

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GC Myers Feb 2013 W-I-PThis is a new piece that I started over the weekend.  It’s a fairly large canvas, 24″ by 48″,  gessoed and blackened before I began to lay out the composition in the red oxide that I favor for the underpainting.   I went into this painting  with only one idea, that it have a mass of houses on  a small hilltop.  That is where I began making marks, building a small group of blocky structures in a soft pyramid.   A little hilltop village.  From there, it went off on its own, moving down the hill until a river emerged from the black.   An hour or two later and the river is the end of a chain of lakes with a bridge crossing it.  We’ll see where and what it is when  it finally settles.

I like this part of the process, this laying out of the composition.  It’s all about potential and problem-solving, keeping everything, all the elements that are introduced, in rhythm and in balance.  One mark on the canvas changes the possibility for the next.  Sometimes that possibility is limited by that mark, that brush of paint.  There is only one thing that can be done next.  But sometimes it opens up windows of potential that seemed hidden before that brushstroke hit the surface.  It’s like that infinitesimal moment before the bat hits the pinata and all that is inside it is only potential.  That brushstroke is the bat sometimes and when it strikes the canvas, you never know what will burst from the rich interior of the pinata, which which is the surface of the canvas here.  You hope the treats fall your way.

One of the things I thought about as I painted was the idea of keeping everything in balance.  Balancing color and rhythm and compositional weight, among many other things, so that in the end something coherent and cohesive emerges.  It’s how I view the process of my painting.  Over the years,  keeping this balance becomes easier, like any action that is practiced with such great regularity.  So much so that we totally avoid problems and when we begin to encounter one, we always tend to go with the tried and true, those ways of doing things that are safest and most predictable in their results.

It’s actually a great and safe way to live.  But as a painter who came to it as a form of seeking,  it’s the beginning of the end.  And as I painted, I realized that many of my biggest jumps as an artist came because I had allowed myself at times to be knocked off balance.  It’s when you’re off balance that the creativity of your problem-solving skills are pushed and innovation occurs.

It brings to mind a quote from Helen Frankenthaler that I used in a blogpost  called Change and Breakthrough from a few years back:   “There are no rules. That is how art is born, how breakthroughs happen. Go against the rules or ignore the rules. That is what invention is about. ”  

 You must be willing to go outside your comfort zone, be willing to crash and burn.   Without this willingness to fail, the work becomes stagnant and lifeless, all the excitement taken from the process.  And it’s that excitement  in the studio that I often speak of  that keeps me going, that keeps the work alive and vitalized.

It’s a simple thing but sometimes, after years of doing this, it slips your mind and the simple act of reminding yourself of the importance of willingly going off balance is all you need to rekindle the fire.

This is a lot to ponder at 5:30 in the morning.  We’ll see what this brings in the near future.  Stay tuned…

 

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GC Myers- Passing Clouds

Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.
-Helen Keller

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Who can speak more about optimism than Helen Keller?

I still struggle to get my mind around how she persevered to overcome blindness and deafness.  Such a remarkable thing.  It makes me question my own strength of character, makes me wonder how I would respond if similar circumstances.  I wonder how well known her life’s story is to the younger generation, outside of the tale of her early years with the woman, Anne Sullivan,  who taught her how to join the world as portrayed in the play and movie, The Miracle Worker?  That drama, while marvelous, doesn’t tell of the great influence that Helen Keller had through her life as an activist and inspirational speaker.  She is a pretty amazing case, to say the least.

That brings me to this  little piece, a new 12″ by 12″ canvas that I call Passing Clouds.  There’s a lot of joy, a lot of bright-eyed optimism in this painting, both in the process of painting it and in the final product.  It’s one of those pieces that I truly enjoyed every moment that I worked on it and never felt a twinge of doubt about the strength or validity of it.  It felt in rhythm with the first brushstroke and every subsequent move was made with complete confidence.  That’s a rare thing.  Usually there is a struggle at some point.  But occasionally things come together and a painting like this flows out with complete ease.

No, there are no clouds over this one.

I wanted to include a version of Irving Berlin‘s classic song  Blue Skies, one of my favorites.  But as I searched  I came across this different song  with the same title from Tom Waits.  I had forgotten this song that I hadn’t heard in many years but it immediately came back to me.  Just a lovely small song, perfect for a lovely small painting.

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“Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far, It is within reach,
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know,
Perhaps it is every where on water and land.”

–Walt Whitman- Part of Song of Myself from Leaves of Grass. 1855

Walt Whitman-  Thomas Eakins 1891

I’m in a bit of a hurry but really wanted to show this great photo of Walt Whitman.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a photo of him that wasn’t interesting but this one is special.  It’s taken by the great American painter Thomas Eakins in 1891, a year before Whitman’s death in 1892.  Eakins was also a pioneer in the use of photography in the art studio and an innovator in motion studies with film, among many other things.  I plan on writing more about his remarkable career in the future.  But for now, I just wanted to show this simple elegant photo of America’s voice.  At least to my ears.

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The Internal Journey

GC Myers- Abundant Life All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
And I intend to end up there.

— Rumi, thirteenth-century Persian poet

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The other day, while going over some very early posts from this blog, I came across this short poem from Rumi.  It had been passed on to me by my friend Scott Allen from the Cleveland area after my 2008 show at the Kada Gallery.  It was what he himself had felt in my work.  The poem had, I’m sorry to confess, slipped my mind over the years and coming across it again immediately rekindled my  original reaction to it. Then and now,  I felt as though this little wisp of a poem captured the secret behind what I was doing.

Like Rumi’s voice in this poem, I have spent most of my life in an existential quandary, filled with doubts about who I am and what I should be doing.  I often felt like a stranger in a strange land, ill at ease in my surroundings and feeling, like Rumi, that my soul is from elsewhere.   Initially, I felt as though my uncertainties and doubts could be allayed externally.  I was simply not in the right physical location.  But it was soon apparent that it was not an external problem.  Regardless of the location, I would not be at ease on the outside until I sought and found where I needed to be internally.

That’s where the painting came in and filled the void in my life.  If life were an ocean, painting gave me a hope, an endpoint for which to navigate. Without it, I would still be rudderless in an ocean of doubt.  With it and through it, I feel that my soul is headed in the right direction.  I don’t know exactly why I feel the need to share this intimacy with you this morning.  Perhaps that openness is part of the journey or even the destination.  But for me, seeing this poem again reconnected me to the journey at a point when it felt as though I was going slightly off course.  Sometimes in the process of seeking one forgets why they set out on the journey in the beginning.  Ant that why, that motivation, sometimes needs to be revisited during the journey.  It gives the destination definition and immediately puts you back on course.

This morning, I feel like I am sailing on smooth seas again, knowing why I am going forward.

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The new painting at the top is called Abundant Life, a 12″ square canvas that will be showing at the West End Gallery during the upcoming Little Gems show.  It is definitely  a destination piece, something to aspire to, internally and externally.

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GC Myers-- Keyhole “Keyholes are the occasions of more sin and wickedness, than all other holes in this world put together.”

–Laurence Sterne

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I had to chuckle when I came across this quote.  It had the timing as though it had been written by a modern comedy writer.  Then I noticed it was from Laurence Sterne who is best known for his comic novel Tristram Shandy from  mid-1700’s Britiain.  I wasn’t surprised at the humor then nor the truth behind it.

The idea of the keyhole being a glimpse into a world that is separated from our own, even if only by a locked door, has been the provenance of voyeurs forever and is the central idea behind this tiny new painting.  Except, I don’t see this as that same sort of voyeurism as the ogler who peeks for some sort of perverse pleasure.  No, this is different.

This 2″ by 4″ canvas, called Keyhole and done for the upcoming Little Gems show at the West End Gallery in Corning, is not about peering in, trying to see that which is secreted  away  in a room behind closed doors.  No, the viewer here is the one locked away in a room behind a closed door and the keyhole is a form of liberation. it reminds me a bit of my Outlaws series from a few years back where I had figures, often with handguns, that were standing by windows.  They appeared at first glance to be predatory but on closer examination show themselves to be the hunted, fearful ones.  They were not on the outside at all but were locked away inside, looking out the window as they cowered in their fear .

 And that’s kind of how I see this  piece although the viewer here is not looking out in fear but,  rather, in a longing glance for freedom for whatever keeps them trapped inside.  It could be as simple as a prisoner longing  to walk free in the sun.  Or it could be someone trapped in self-made prison who wishes that things could be different but can only see the possibility from within their captivity.  There are so many possibilities in such a small piece!

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GC Myers- The Decisive Moment“There is nothing in this world that does not have a decisive moment.”

–Cardinal de Retz  (1613-1679)

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This is a new painting, an 18″ square canvas that carries the title  The Decisive Moment.  Photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson , a favorite of mine, took that phrase from the quote above and used it to describe that moment in searching for a image when the photographer makes the creative decision to snap the photo.  But I see the term at play in everything we do, everything we are.  We are all the result of moments of decision.  Every day offers us new choices for moving ahead and very seldom do we ponder where these often simple and mundane decisions might ultimately lead our lives.

I think about this all the time when I consider the course my life and career has taken.  Several of the galleries in which I show came about as the result of a series of random decisions and if any of those choices leading up to the final result had differed in any way, my entire life might be completely different.  Even the beginning of my painting  career might not have occurred if I had decided that working off a ladder on that September day twenty years ago was not a great idea.  I would not have fallen and would not have found the time or inspiration to begin painting.  Maybe it would have come anyway at some other point but who knows?  And would that decision to follow painting at that later date yield the same results?

I see it in genealogy as well.  When  I look at the charts that show one’s whole ancestry laid out in an ever widening mesh of connections all I can think is how we are all built on a huge set of random choices and pure chance.  If any single one  of those thousands of connections had not been made the whole mesh that brought us here would fall away and our very existence would not have occurred.  If one ancestor had not returned from the many wars, if one ancestor had not been the lucky child that survived the many diseases that took so many children in the earlier days of our country, if one ancestor had turned left instead of right and not met that person who became their other half— it’s a  delicate dance of moments that leads us all to the here and now.

That’s kind of what I see in this painting.  I wanted it to be a simple composition that had a sense of  the drama of the moment and the realization of  all of the decisions that led to that moment.  This piece was done for a couple, Claire and Richard,  that Cheri and I met while we at Yosemite, one rainy afternoon when we happened to sit with them over tea at the Ahwahnee Lodge.  We spent a pleasant hour in conversation and learned a lot about their lives  and how they came together.  I won’t share that info here out of respect for their privacy outside of saying that Richard is a Brit and Claire a California girl who chanced across each other a number of years back and maintained a long distance romance.  They were married and celebrating their anniversary at the lodge.  Their story  made me think about how many random decisions had to be made for them to come together at all.  When you think about where we are and how things could easily be different it makes every moment, every decision, take on greater weight.

So, savor and enjoy the moment.  It may seem innocuous now but it may change your life in ways you could never see coming.

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Gratitude is a sickness suffered by dogs.
–Joseph Stalin

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I was looking at a selection of quotes with a Thanksgiving theme when I stumbled across this lovely item from that great inspirational speaker, Joseph Stalin.  It was so much in contrast with the rests of the lovely platitudes that it made me laugh. Stalin would probably not be the guy you would want as a guest on Thanksgiving, especially if you expected him to say grace.  He would no doubt our holiday as a foolish expression of sentiment, a day for sick dogs to howl in thanks to their owners.

You know, even though it comes off as cruelly insensitive, I think Stalin’s comment might actually make sense.  Thanksgiving is a day where we realize that we are no better than our pets, that we are as dependent on others as they are on us for love and support.  We should do like our dogs and show our gratitude to those we love without condition.

Well, that’s okay by me.  Call me a sick dog because I am nothing if not grateful for so many people I have encountered in my life from my family and friends to people who I don’t even know who have offered kindnesses.

Here’s a reply to Stalin from a real human being, Elie Wiesel, “When a person doesn’t have gratitude, something is missing in his or her humanity.”

So, whatever you might call today, be it Thanksgiving or Sick Dog Day, be thankful for those you know and love.  Be a dog today.  It’s the human thing to do.

PS-  The painting at the top is a new 24″ by 24″ canvas, titled Placid Pondering, part of the show at the Just Looking Gallery.

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Imperfection clings to a person, and if they wait till they are brushed off entirely, they would spin for ever on their axis, advancing nowhere.

–Thomas Carlyle

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I was thinking early this morning about a comment made yesterday by Linda Leinen about how we go through life, starting fresh and clean, and progress as we absorb all that life deals out to us, leaving us somewhat scarred. It reminded me of  the title of  both a painting and a show that I did many years ago called Seeking Imperfection.  It remains one of my favorite titles, probably because it best describes my own relationship with perfection.

I’ve always been somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of perfection or the search for it.  Perfection is the antithesis of our humanity, at least in how I view it, and to seek it is to deny our imperfect natures.  We are flawed and scarred characters in a world that is definitely not perfect except in those rare moments when all of these flaws coalesce into instances of harmony and beauty.

That’s kind of what I hope for and sometimes see in  my paintings– harmony and beauty despite the inherent imperfections.  I can find flaws in any of my paintings but I don’t cringe at the sight of them.  Instead, they make me glad because in seeing them I recognize my connection to them, can see the struggle in trying to create these moments of harmony.  A pit here, a dot of stray paint  or a rough edge there, a bristle from a brush trapped in the paint– it all speaks to me, saying that it can be whole and harmonious-  beautiful- despite the flaws.  Perhaps not a bad way to view one’s life.

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The painting at the top, In the Rhythm of the Moment, is a 16″ by 18″ piece on paper which is also part of my upcoming show at the Just Looking Gallery in San Luis Obispo, CA, opening December 1.

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Painting is a blind man’s profession.  He paints not what he sees, but what he feels, what he tells himself about what he has seen.

–Pablo Picasso

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I love this quote.  I think that is what all art really is– an expression of  feeling.  Emotion.  I know my best work, or at least the work that I feel is most directly connected to who I truly am as a human being, is always focused on expressing emotion rather than depicting any one place or person or thing.  At its best, the  piece as a whole becomes a vehicle for expression and the subject is merely a focal point in this expression.  The subject matter becomes irrelevant beyond that.  It could be a the most innocuous object,  a chair or a tree in my case.  It doesn’t  really matter because the painting’s emotion is carried by the painting as a whole-  the colors, the texture, the linework, the brushstrokes, etc.

In other words, it’s not what you see but what you feel.

I think many of  Vincent Van Gogh‘s works are amazing example of this.  They are so filled with emotion that you often don’t even realize how mundane the subject matter really is until you step back to analyze it for a moment.  I’ve described here before what an incredible feeling it was to see one of his paintings  for the first time, how it seemed to vibrate with feeling, seeming almost alive on the wall.  It was a vase of irises.  A few flowers in a pot.  How many hundreds of thousands of such paintings have been created just like that?  But Van Gogh resonates not because of the subject matter, not because of precise depiction of the flowers or the vase.  No, it was a deep expression of his emotion, his wonder at the world he inhabited, inside and out.

I also see this in a lot of music.  It’s not the subject but the way the song is expressed.  How many times have we heard overwrought , schmaltzy ballads that try to create overt emotion and never seem to pull it off?  Then you hear someone interpret a simple song with deep and direct emotion  and the song soars powerfully.  I often use Johnny Cash‘s last recordings, in the last years  and months before his death, as evidence of this.  Many were his  interpretations of well known songs and his voice had, by that time, lost much of the power of his earlier days.  But the emotion, the wonder, in his delivery was palpable.  Moving.

Likewise, here’s Chet Baker from just a few months before his death.  He, too, had lost the power and grace of youth due to a life scarred by the hardship of drug abuse and violence.  But the expression is raw and real.  It makes this interpretation of  Little Girl Blue stand out for me.

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