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Archive for the ‘Recent Paintings’ Category

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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One man’s dusk is another man’s dawn.

There’s a bit of philosophical pondering in this piece, a 12″ by 34″ painting on paper that is included in my show at the West End Gallery that opens this Friday.  Maybe it’s in the deep yellows that run through it or in the way the sun sits on the horizon or in the way the Red Tree seems to be considering that sun.  Or maybe it’s all of these things.  Whatever the case, it makes me think.

The title suggests the great circle of life, one ending becoming the start of another.  In this piece. the sun going down in one place is that same sun rising in another.  Darkness gives way to light and light to dark.  It is symbolic of a  never ending  cycle in which we all play a part.

There’s something reassuring in that rise and fall of the sun, a constant by which oversees our lives.    It’s no wonder that the sun is worshipped as a god in a number of cultures.  It provides in the way of a god, giving us warmth, light and a life source for the foods we eat.  It never leaves  for long, always reappearing.

So, light comes, light goes.  Sunrise, sunset.  We live in the rhythm of this sun, days and lives constantly turning over.  When you think about it, it’s not such a bad thing.  I can live with it.

Actually, I have no choice…

 

 

 

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Of all our possessions, wisdom alone is immortal.

–Isocrates

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This is another new painting from my upcoming show, In Rhythm, at the West End Gallery that opens this coming Friday.  Titled All We Have, this 8″ by 12 ” painting on paper has numerous meanings for me,  mainly focusing on the only things we ever  truly possess — our love, wisdom, memory and the precious time we have on this earth.  I could easily give up all of my personal possessions but to lose any of these other things would stagger me  much more greatly as they are the things that give my life meaning and worth.

I see this represented in this painting, from the obvious symbolism of the intertwined trees for love to the field rows which act here as a symbol for the passing of time .  Even the colors of the sky have meaning in this piece for me, the purplish hues having a weightiness that reminds me of thought and wisdom.  Or. at least, what I take to be wisdom.

I’m not sure I’m really qualified to identify wisdom at this point.  Maybe some day.

But I do like this piece and what I see in it.  Perhaps, like the wisdom I desire, it is an aspiration for the only possessions that are truly worth the work…

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I have completed my show, In Rhythm, for the West End Gallery and will deliver it today in advance of the opening next Friday.  While it’s a big relief to finish a show and have it in the gallery, there is always a pang of loss in seeing works that mean a lot to me personally move out into the wider world.  Some are paintings that resonated with me immediately, almost from the first lick of paint hit the surface.  Those are the instinctual, native pieces that just emerge without a struggle and seem to have their own perfectly natural rhythm.

Others are paintings that show their meaning long after they are completed  Such is this painting shown here, Ribbon and Memory, a 12″ by 16″ piece on paper.  When I was done with this and was searching for a title I wondered what it might mean.  It still seemed to be a mystery even though I liked it very much without knowing its meaning.

I knew that the Red Chair often represents memory for me so I felt that the title would have something to do with memory.  And the path that runs through the foreground seemed more like a ribbon than an actual road so I immediately tied the two words together for the title.  Done. Enough said.

But early this morning I looked again at this piece and I more fully saw a meaning in it for myself, one still rooted in the title words but with more depth.  I have a friend whose wife has early-onset Alzheimer’s and it has turned their lives upside down as they try to cope with the changes and stresses that it brings.  Their struggles are in my thoughts quite often.  So when I saw this painting this morning it suddenly seemed plainly obvious to me that this could represent their situation.  The Red Chair is the wife, the Red Tree is the husband and the Red Roofed House is early memory of home and family.  The path, the ribbon, is that remaining memory that still tenuously connects her with this past that has began to recede into the distance.

The Red Tree, the husband shown here in a heroic stance, is apart from her and everything else, alone in his struggle to stay connected with that ribbon and to oversee her welfare.  The Red Chair, the wife, is also alone, facing  a solo journey forward with little connection to her past, separated here by the water.

I have to reiterate that this is my personal meaning that I see in this piece.  You may see it in a completely different way with your own personal meaning.  As it should be.  But for me, seeing this painting this morning with this new perspective made it seem  deeper and more precious than just a day earlier.  One that gives that pang of loss that I spoke of above.

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I have painted several pieces over the past few years based on the mythic tale of Baucis and Philemon, taken from the Metamorphoses from the Roman poet Ovid.  I have described the story here several times of the visit  to a village by Zeus and Mercury, disguised as beggars.  They are roughly tuned away from every door in the village until they come to the home of the poor elderly couple, Baucis and Philemon, where they are welcomed with warmth and gracious hospitality despite the  poverty of their household.  Sparing the couple as he destroys the village in his wrath, Zeus then grants them any wish they might desire.

They choose to be allowed to stay together for eternity.  When they pass away simultaneously years later, they are resurrected as two separate trees that grow from the same trunk, united forever.  It’s a lovely fable and one of my favorites.  I have always chose to depict this story simply, with two trees, one red and one green, intertwined together.

I call  this painted version The Gift of Zeus.  It is a n 18″ by 18″ canvas that is headed to the West End Gallery for my annual solo show there which opens next Friday, July 20.  There’s a crispness in this piece that I find very appealing as well as interesting contrasts and subtleties in the sky, which may not show up well in the photo here, that give this piece a dramatic edge that catches my eye each time I pass by it in the studio.

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I call this new painting Viva!   It’s a 24″ by 24″ canvas that is part of my upcoming exhibition, In Rhythm, which opens on July 20  at the West End Gallery in Corning.  In Spanish, Viva! is Long Live! or simply Live!  Both definitions fit this piece well, especially when used in exclamation.  This is a piece that exclaims.

Not a piece for the timid.

It has a glowing presence in the studio as though it is alive, the vibrant reds and oranges seeming to have their own pulse.  There is a great intensity in the colors here, a quality that can sometimes get out of hand quickly.  But the harmony between the color intensities in this piece really holds it together and gives it a placid quality that belies the strength and heat of the colors.

The way I see this painting is that the Red Tree is reaching upward from its perch, connecting with the energy contained in that  sky, as though there is source of power, both physical and spiritual at once, swirling overhead.  It has a feeling of the joy in simply being alive in the now, as though  this single moment contains all eternity- past, present and future.  A celebration.  Fiesta.

Viva!

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This is another new painting that is headed to the West End Gallery for my annual show which opens in a couple of weeks, on July 20.  I call this piece, a 24″ by 36″ canvas, Out of the Loop, a title that seems to fit this piece quite naturally.  Fits me, as well.  I’ve always felt a bit of the outsider,  sometimes despite my own desires but most often by my own choice.  Maybe it’s like Groucho Marx explained when he resigned from the Friars Club:  “I do not care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members.”   Or maybe it’s a personal view that being in the loop sometimes feels a bit restraining, in the way a noose  restrains you from breathing.

In this painting, the houses with the Red Roofs really take on a sense of anonymity with their doorless and windowless sides giving them the feeling of faces without eyes or mouths.  They seem completely alien to the patterned  fields which rings them as well as to the Red Tree which stands just outside on the crest of the hill. Or the edge of the world, depending on how one views this.

I’m making this painting sound darker in nature than it actually seems to me.  I think it’s a very upbeat and hopeful painting, a celebration of the individual.  The sunlight breaking over the horizon is filled with the optimism of the future and the color and rhythm of the fields are like the petals of a flower with the houses of the inner loop as the centerpoint.

As you can see, I see this  piece in many different ways, which I like.  It’s always nice to have a piece give you something different with each view.  Hopefully, others will see it in this way as well.

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We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked throughout the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken away from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.

–Viktor Frankl

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I ran this quote from Viktor Frankl a couple of years back in a post about how a painting reminded me of Frankl’s work, as outlined in his classic book Man’s Search for Meaning.  In it, he wrote of his survival in  a Nazi concentration camp during World War II and how he noted that those who endured were those who found a purpose to live outside of themselves.  It could be as simple as needing to live to see their spouse once more.  It was a goal, a purpose that they could see in the future beyond the horror that engulfed them in the present.

Those who saw no purpose, no future, seldom survived.

That is as condensed a version of what I gleaned from Frankl’s work as I can give.  I know that it transformed my own view of life at a time in my own life when I seemed to exist without purpose, a time that now seems eons ago, thankfully.  Frankl’s work has continued to spring up in my thoughts over the decades, always inspiring me to look for purpose in my existence.

So when I recently  finished this 24″ by 30″ painting on canvas, I wasn’t surprised that his work again came to mind.  There is a sense of direction and purpose in this piece that fits with how I think of his work.  The Red Tree has a certain dignity and spirit, like an unquenchable fire, and the winding path goes past it into an unseen future.  The path is the purpose on which we move forward.  Yes, there are hardships and uncertainties that must be endured but there is a future if we follow this purpose.

I have titled this painting Viktor.  It both represents Frankl and his work as well as well as the work victor.  It is part of my upcoming show at the West End Gallery, In Rhythm, which opens July 20.

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If they [artists] do see fields blue they are deranged, and should go to an asylum.  If they only pretend to see them blue, they are criminals and should go to prison.

–Adolph Hitler

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I never thought I’d be quoting this  particular German art critic here but I have to admit that this quote makes me feel better about my work.  Although the asylum or the prison have sometimes fell into my realm of possibility, it has been those blue fields (and Red Trees) that have kept me from either.

Now do I see fields as blue in the real world?  No.  Do I pretend to see them as such?  No. Maybe I’m not a lunatic or a criminal after all.  But I do see the blue fields in this painting as real.  Is that so crazy?   I don’t think so and besides, seeing them as such makes me feel less criminally inclined.

Above is a good example, a new painting that is a16″ by 20″ canvas titled Just This Side of Blue.  This translates so easily in my mind, having a reality  that I don’t question at all.  For me, it as real as anything I see in the outer world.  And the colors and the harmony they create resonate with me and pacify my tensions and angers.

Perhaps Hitler should have kept a more open mind on the place of expression in art.  In denying self-expression to others, he only demonstrated his own lunacy and criminality.  The lesson:  Be wary of those who try to control how you see things in your own mind.  That is our greatest and last freedom– the right to our opinion and reaction.

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The painting shown here, Just This Side of Blue, is part of my solo show, In Rhythm, which opens at the West End Gallery on July 20, 2012.

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I think I’m in a really good groove at the moment.  I’ve talked a lot over the years about being in a sort of rhythm when painting, when everything begins to flow spontaneously and easily.  I often am emotionally engaged by the work produced during these times, excited to find something new and stimulating in the familiar landscapes of my artistic vocabulary.  It makes me glad that painting found me.  Or vice versa.  That’s how it’s been the last few weeks.  It reminded me of a post, The Need to Paint.  from a few years back that I thought I would rerun today:

I wrote a few days ago about how I am often mystified by the meanings of my paintings and how I this makes me glad that I still have the need to paint. 

I thought about that after I hit the button to publish that post. I have often heard artists say they had to paint, as though it were some sort of exotic medical quandary. 

Paint or die. 

It always kind of bothered me when I heard this, as though these guys were saying they had some sort of predestined calling. Like they were prophets or shamans that the world, without their visionary paintings, would spin out of control. It just always sounded a little pompous to me. 

So when I wrote that it made me twitch a bit. Maybe I’m the pompous ass here. It certainly is in the realm of possibility. 

But I find myself kind of standing behind what I said. I do need to paint. It’s not some call to destiny. It’s not to transmit some psychic message to the world. It’s more a case of me needing have a form of expression that best suits my mind and abilities. Painting just happens to fill that need. If I could yodel, I might be saying I need to yodel. 

But I need to paint. 

I need to paint to try to express things I certainly can’t put in words, things that awe and mystify me. I need to paint to have a means to a voice. 

I need to paint just to remind myself that I am alive and still have the ability to feel the excitement and joy from something that I have created. I need to paint to feel the surprise of exceeding what I felt was within me, to go into that realm of personal mystery within and emerge with something new. I need to paint because it has given me the closest thing I know to answers to the questions I have. 

I need to paint because it is one of the few things that I’ve done fairly well in my life. 

Would I die? 

Nah… 

I’d adapt and find something new but it would be hard to find something that would suit me as well. So I guess I do need to paint after all. Call me a pompous ass. I don’t give a damn- I’ve got work to do.

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The painting at the top is titled  Knowingness, an 18″ by 26″ painting on paper, which is part of my upcoming West End Gallery show, opening July 20.

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