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Archive for the ‘Recent Paintings’ Category

I’ve been working on a group of new work that will be going to a gallery in the Indianapolis area that is new to me.  I’ve been working on pieces that I feel are very representative of my voice, knowing that  it will be a first view of my work for most of the people who may see it there.  I’ve focused on imagery, forms and colors that feel almost ingrained in my body of work wanting to give the viewer  a quick insight into what I try to do with it.

As I’ve been working away, I keep coming back to the idea of these as internal landscapes, meaning that they are attempts at creating an inner harmony.  Harmony is the key word here, the concept of separate parts working  together to create a unified whole.  I think we often feel fragmented and unsteady in our external lives, never fully feeling in harmony with the world around us.  Perhaps I make a mistake in using the term we here when I mean I, not really knowing what the rest of you feel in your own relationship with the world.  But I do know that I have often felt this way, out of sorts with the world in many ways and that it really is an unsteady feeling and that I turn inward to try to find an inner rhythm, a harmony within that can steady me.  Something to allow me to function outwardly.

Like many things, this a difficult thing to explain.  Perhaps I should just point out this new painting, a smaller canvas, 12″ by 16″, that I call Rooted In Harmony, and let it speak for me.  This piece probably says more about what I am trying to describe in a single glance than I can with all the struggling words and sentences I could possibly write.  I find great pacification in this painting, a feeling of relaxed ease forming inside.  It tempers my confusion, calms my angers and slows the turning wheels of my inner self.  My outer self is better for it.  And maybe that is what I hope for with the title of this piece, that by finding an inner peace, the root here, it will spill outward in a harmonious attitude.

Okay, I have to stop the words.  For another example of harmony, a great example of musical harmony, here’s a little classic Simon and Garfunkel from a 1966 performance on Dutch television.  It’s I Am a Rock.

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“Any great art work … revives and readapts time and space, and the measure of its success is the extent to which it makes you an inhabitant of that world – the extent to which it invites you in and lets you breathe its strange, special air.”

Leonard Bernstein

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I came across this quote from Leonard Bernstein that I really thought captured what I hope occurs in my work.  I think that my work is most successful when people allow themselves to feel themselves as part of the landscape before them, to enter and breathe in that strange and special air, as Bernstein describes it.  I know that this is the case for myself.  I have written about this here before, about how these landscapes, with their blue and orange fields and bright red trees, feel as real to me as looking out my studio window.  The fact of the blue in the field is overruled by its harmony within the composition which creates that sense of rightness to which I often refer.

Maybe this sense of rightness is what makes up that strange and special air.  I don’t know.  I only know that I still seek words or explanations to describe why a painting works, by which I mean has an emotional impact on the viewer.  The new painting above is such a piece for me.  It’s a 15″ by 25″ image on paper that I am calling, thanks to Mr. Bernstein, A Strange & Special Air.

I could sit here and try to break down the painting, talking about color and contrast, texture and depth.  Line quality and composition.   All of the things that I might momentarily consider while I’m at work on such a painting.  But when all is said and done, I still have no idea why it has its own life, its own strange and special air.  Except that I feel that I am there when I look at it. 

And glad of it.

Perhaps that is enough and all that needs to be considered.  For now, I accept that and will be satisfied to dwell in this landscape with its strange and special air.

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I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear
—-Martin Luther King, Jr.

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This morning, on the day honoring Martin Luther King, Jr., has me thinking about those who dream of a perfect world.  The cynic in me says that this is a pipedream, that perfection is beyond human means.  That we are flawed and doomed creatures.  But the optimist in me says that perhaps we are never as  far from perfection as we seem.  That we have the possibility of an ideal world near at hand if we could only push aside our hatred and our pettiness long enough to take notice.   As King said, Hate is too great a burden to bear.  And all too many of us are weighed down with hatreds that sap of us our energy, our joy and our ability to see the beauity and possibility of the world around us.

 I have chose the piece above to illustrate this thought because it is to me a representation of a world where the burden of hatred is cast aside.  Called In a Perfect World, this piece is about the ideal setting where the individual can exist without bias, without envy or anger– freed from all the draining negativity of such hatred.  Of course, this is a place that can only exist inside each of us.  It must first become our internal landscape because real change must take effect internally before it can become a greater reality. 

So for now, this perfect world may only exist on this canvas or in my mind.  But maybe one day, it could become a real landscape.  What do we have to lose?

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I’ve been pretty busy in the studio lately.  That’s not unusual at this point of the year because it is when I’m gearing up for upcoming exhibitions but  in past years  this is when I have often  felt a bit blocked and far removed from the point where I wanted my work to be .   But thus far this year, things have been flowing easily and I feel as though I am near that sometimes elusive groove where the act of painting becomes more  instinctual than cerebral.  When I feel myself in this groove, I start to trust these instincts, this pushing back of conscious decision making.  As a result, there’s no dwelling over decisions at the table or the easel.  I just make the mark and move on from there.

And each piece brings an inspiration and desire for the next painting with ideas gushing forward.  I often find myself making quick little sketches on scraps of paper, little rough stick drawings really.  Just enough of the thought to be able to rekindle the idea later.  Often, I don’t make the sketch and the idea floats away and is sometimes fortuitously recalled at a much later date or is gone forever.  I sometimes think my best thoughts have taken this fleeting route.

The piece shown here is from this recent burst, a smallish canvas, only 6″ by 18″ that I call Tangled Up In Blue.  The title is, of course, taken from the old Bob Dylan song.  This is a simple composition, very typical of much of my work, but it’s carried strongly forward by it’s colors and contrasts.  It has a dramatic edge to it.  I think the red of the mound really highlights this feeling of high emotion.  I try to envision it in other, more natural colors and the result is less potent, more understated.  This feels to me like the tangled trees are two lovers springing from the same red bleeding heart.  The intensity of the red mound and the trees is a sharp contrast to the cooler blues of the water and sky, even though they still have their own intensity.

But the piece is probably brought to completion by the break of pale yellow in the sky, the light that comes through creating chasms in the blue night wall.  This break sets off all the other color and creates a sense of moment in this small, simple piece.  The result is that the result is greater than the sum of its parts.

Or at least I think so.

Here’s a little music.  I bet you thought it would be Tangled Up In Blue.  It was going to be but I came across this version of  a different Dylan song, Love Sick.  I really like this film and performance of a song that has been a favorite since it first came out in 1997 and decided to share it instead.  Enjoy.

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In the past year or so,  I have done a series of paintings where I took out much of the color in my work, leaving behind sometimes monochromatic renderings of my compositions.  But recently I have swung back to the deeper, richer colors that has long marked my work.  I think this new painting is a good example of this return to color.

I call this piece Discovery’s Door and it’s a 15″ by 25″ painting on paper.  The Red Tree here is again the central figure and holds a position that feels like it is in a spotlight as its image emerges into sight from behind the darker trees that frame it.  It’s this emergence that gives me the discovery in the title as well as the bright light that seems to be illuminating the tree.  A light of epiphany, self-discovery.

The colors here are very strong but there is a harmony between them that makes their impact seem softer and natural.  I don’t think this will come through in this image on a computer screen but the blues and greens of the sky and the water have an opalescence that brings to mind a favorite color of mine from the windows of Louis Comfort Tiffany.  It gives this piece  a bit of the feel of a stained glass panel, something I often hear from people who see my work for the first time.  I definitely see that here.

I also think the intensity of the color here enhances the sense of self-discovery implied in the title.  As though the realization of one’s true self suddenly makes everything near seem more vivid and alive, forcing their way into the memory of the moment, creating a sensory marker. I know that I often remember major moments of my own life either  in deep colors or in strong scents.  That is what I see here in this image of a moment of self-realization– the vividness of the moment.

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Only Now

This is a very new painting, a 24″ by 30 canvas that I call Only Now.  I fee lthat  this is a piece that very much is representative of my larger body of work.  It has my easily recognizable Red Tree, fields of deep colors in the foreground and the white of the gesso underneath breaking through the paint above to create trails and the far horizon. 

 But it also carries, at least in how I view it,  the emotional tone that I think best represents my work.  A sense of being calmly in the moment, taking in the stillness of the paused now.  That sense of being in the now is from where the title emerges.  I see the tree personified as being paused and taking the richness of all that is around it at the moment, not spending too much time worrying about what is in the future, represented here by the paler distant fields and hills at the horizon, or the past, which is somewhere back along the white trail that breaks into the lower portion of the picture plane. 

No past or future in that instance, only the now.

I think the cool clarity of the color here, particularly in the graded tones of the sky, really gives this piece a sense of the ethereal that really enhances the message of the now.   Looking at this painting as it rests on the easel now, it takes me far away to a palce of great inner calm.  It’s not a feeling that I often sense in my own life.  Probably most of us don’t feel that often enough.  But this piece seems to give me a sort of roadmap to this  place of calm.  Or at least it gives me the knowledge that it can exist, if only in the mind.

And that is all I can ask.

 

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The new year is in and with it comes a new start.  A clean slate of sorts.  I wrote a few days back about the final painting I completed in the last year so obviously there will be a first painting for this new year.  This painting shown here is it and very much holds to the theme of new starts.  Called New Day, New Start, this is a 10″ by 20″ canvas and was finished yesterday on the first day of 2012.

The hazy sun breaking through the strong colors of the sky sets the tone here. new light bringing in the opportunity of the new day.  The landscape has several layers here with the foreground field rows slightly separated from the deeper set fields by  trees on either side which act as a sort of stage curtain, a detail I often employ.  As usual, I see the field rows as  representing our daily labor, our day-to-day responsibilty.  The layers behind represent different aspects.  I see the orange as symbolizing the joy we find in life and the yellow as representing a placid state of being, of an understanding and acceptance of our place in this world.  The distant and dark hills are, for me, the inevitable future. The Red Tree is , of course, the individual here. 

As always, I point out that this is simply how I see this, how I translate it for myself.  Your interpretation could be very different and no less correct. 

Overall, I’m really pleased with this painting as a start for the new year.  While it is not a large painting, it has weight and depth, feeling  larger than its physical dimensions.  I am hoping this serves as omen of things to come, painting-wise.  But that is in the future, beyond those blue hills.  For now, I will bask in the light of this new day.

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Omega Rise

I finished this piece yesterday and it may well be the last painting I finish this year and if that’s the case, I am happy with this piece having that designation.  I always hope that paintings that end or start my years have something in them that makes them mark their time in a memorable fashion, that they will have something that will make them stand out.  That being the case, I’ve titled this 16″ by 20″ canvas Omega Rise. 

Omega is the last letter of the Greek alphabet and is often used to designate an end or a finish, which fits in with the idea of it being the last piece of 2011.  But there is also an ominous, serious quality in  the sky that portends that the omega may mean more than that.  Perhaps this last little uphill rise is the final part of a journey but not necessarily in an end of life sort of way.  Perhaps the dark blue of the rise signifies a past of some sort and the rise lifts the viewer  out of that darkness and into the brightness of some new enlightenment.  The tree seems to be near a cusp between the contrast of dark and light, close to the discovery of what is over this rise.  There is definitely some sort of epiphany beyond it.

Please remember, I’m just thinking off the top of my head at 7 AM and in a few days, or even a few hours, I may see this in a completely different way.  But I know there’s something in this piece that if it remains the omega painting for 2011, I will always remember it as that.

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Whenever I take up a newspaper, I seem to see Ghosts gliding between the lines. There must be Ghosts all the country over, as thick as the sand of the sea…. We are, one and all, so pitifully afraid of the light.

Henrik Ibsen, Ghosts

Another newer painting, this one on paper and measuring about 9″ high by 26″ wide.  I call this piece The Ghost in Memory, using the Red Chair here as an icon for memory, both personal and collective.   Although the Red Chair can have many differing  interpretations for many people, I often see it  as a symbol for memory personally, seeing in it people, places and events from my past . 

Stylisyically, this painting bridges the gap between some of my recent monochromatic work and my typical pieces filled with color.  The sepia pall that hangs over the scene gives it a feel of ghostly nostalgia that was unintended during the painting of it.  There is a waviness in the wash of color that creates vague amorphous shapes that seem to be making their way to the horizon as though being coaxed forward by the hazy light of the sun.  The blue of the trees in the foreground that create a frame for the scene contrast sharply as though marking the boundary between a world that we see and one which is hidden from us.  The Red Chair straddles both of these worlds here.

This is a very simply composed piece with a spare color palette yet it has, for me, a nice depth of feeling and meaning.  It wastes nothing and all of the elements contribute to the overall atmosphere in it.  Though the color is subdued, it still dictates the emotion of the piece.  The sepia gives it an eerie feel yet still has a warmth in it that makes it still inviting.

As to what the actual meaning is here, I leave that up to the viewer to decipher on their own.  Is it about ghosts?  I can’t say except to say that I believe that ghosts exist mainly in our own minds and memories.  That is where most of us are haunted.

 

 

 

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Color which vibrates just like music, is able to attain what is most general and yet most elusive in nature.

– Paul Gauguin

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I came across this line that Gauguin had written in a letter to the poet Andre Fontainas and it made me think about how I often compare painting to music, how I try to find that  rhythm, maybe the vibration to which Gauguin alludes, in my work that has the same effect on the viewer’s unconscious mind as does music.  That thing that would make my work, like music, communicable across all boundaries.  Something that would easily be absorbed as an emotional response without first having to dissect it intellectually, like music that you hearfor the first time and react to without thinking, often finding it still vibrating in your mind for days and weeks afterward.

It’s a grand aspiration and I am never sure if I ever reach that goal.  But I do keep hoping and trying.

I chose the painting above to illustrate this post because I like the simplicity and harmony of it.  Titled Ever, it’s a 15″ by 18 ” piece on paper that is as much an abstraction, with its spare forms and lines,  as it is a depiction of reality.  My hope is that the color and harmony of this piece creates a vibration or rhythm that overcomes the unnaturalness of it, allowing it to makean emotional  contact before the mind finds some intellectual objection.

Again, a grand aspiration.

Reading back over this, I have to say that I don’t sit before my easel or table and ponder these concerns before I start to work.  I often only think about these matters when I come across a line,  like the one above from  Gauguin, that makes me wonder about my own aspirations for my work, what they are and how they compare to the painters of the past whose work I admire.  I guess I am looking for a commonality in our views that connects us somehow, even though our work may not reflect this bond.

Another grand aspiration. 

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