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Guiding Light/ Upcoming

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on August 8, 2025| 4 Comments »

First Peace

Well, the night is still
And I have not yet lost my will
Oh and I will keep on moving ’till
‘Till I find my way home

When I need to get home
You’re my guiding light
You’re my guiding light

—Guiding Light, Foy Vance

I am still building up strength and energy after being sick. I feel like I am running at about 70% or so, still getting really fatigued after much exertion or just a busy day in the studio. But my work continues, and I feel like it’s building in a way that will be at full capacity for my autumn schedule, which this year features a solo show and two Gallery Talks.

Fortunately, we switched my annual solo show at West End Gallery from July to October this year. In the shape I was in at the time, there would have been no way in which I could have mounted a July show. But we did switch and I am looking forward to that show at a different time with the added time to prepare. I especially need that additional time as my strength rebuilds.

My solo show at the West End Gallery opens Friday, October 17 and runs to November 13. This year’s show is titled Guiding Light. I was recently mulling over what to call the show and a song came on the channel I often listen to early in the morning and the song struck a chord. And its title, Guiding Light, instantly felt right. That song, which is shared below, was from singer/songwriter Foy Vance, who hails from Northern Ireland-– or Norn Iron as my good friend from Portadown, Tom, would say.

I will write more about the title and theme of the show in the coming month or so.

There will also be a Gallery Talk in the weeks following the opening. A date has not been nailed down, but it will most likely be on one of the Saturdays after the opening, either October 25, November 1 or the 8th. I am leaning toward October 25 myself, but we want to make sure it’s a clear date before announcing it. I will let you know when we make that final decision.

Before that, on Saturday, September 27, I will be returning to Alexandria to give my annual Gallery Talk at the Principle Gallery. The talk begins at 1 PM. It is usually a pretty good time and I have no doubt that this year’s edition will not be as well.

And to spice things up, I will be doing the whole talk while standing on my hands.

Well, we’ll see about that. But if anyone in attendance feels like doing handstand while we have our Gallery Talk, I will not discourage it.

That is this fall’s schedule thus far. Hope to see you somewhere down the road.

Here’s that Foy Vance song, Guiding Light. This is from a live performance in 2023 from Belfast accompanied by the Ulster Orchestra. It makes for a great way to end his show, if you watch through the end.

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The Mirror of Our Nature

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on August 7, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Omnipresence— At West End Gallery

Shakespeare said that art is a mirror held up to nature. And that’s what it is. The nature is your nature, and all of these wonderful poetic images of mythology are referring to something in you. When your mind is simply trapped by the image out there so that you never make the reference to yourself, you have misread the image.

—Joseph Campbell (with Bill Moyers), The Power of Myth (1988)

I love the passage above that Joseph Campbell spoke during his conversation with Bill Moyers for the PBS series The Power of Myth. I feel that it describes beautifully the connection between the individual and mythology and art, at least in my view. I believe that we truly connect with myth and art when we see it as personal to ourselves, as being somehow symbolic of our own experience and being.  

Our emotions and reactions.

Of course, some myths and much in art may not speak to us on this personal level. There is plenty of art out there that doesn’t speak to me. That is not to say that it is not good work. Some is masterfully crafted and has an undeniable surface. It is not a judgement of quality.  just doesn’t speak to me personally and doesn’t reflect my own experience or worldview.

And I certainly don’t expect my work to speak to everyone no matter how much I may wish that it could. 

It simply cannot be a reflection for everyone.

My work, after all, is a reflection of my life’s journey. My experiences, knowledge, understanding, and being are mine, complete with flaws and limitations. Yours is completely different, as it should be. Try as we might, no two people can have an identical existence. I believe (without evidence, of course) that even conjoined twins must have differing views and feelings of their shared experiences.

But occasionally, there is a moment of overlap, when the work reflects a truth– perhaps a personal truth or one that is universal– that speaks to another and that other person recognizes something of themself and their own world in my representation of my inner world.

That is a magical and most gratifying moment for me. The fact that someone might see a reflection of their own life and experience of the world in my representation of my own that makes me feel connected to the mythic and the universal.

For that moment, I feel that there is a meaning beyond the mere surface imagery of my work. And I think that sense of meaning is something we all crave, regardless of the field in which we toil.

Here is a song I’ve shared a couple of times over the years. It may or may not have anything to do with this post. I just felt like hearing it this morning. This is Marmalade with the very 60’s sound of their Reflections of My Life.

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The Weight of Dreams…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on August 6, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Night’s Dream— At Principle Gallery

“As I thought of these things, I drew aside the curtains and looked out into the darkness, and it seemed to my troubled fancy that all those little points of light filling the sky were the furnaces of innumerable divine alchemists, who labour continually, turning lead into gold, weariness into ecstasy, bodies into souls, the darkness into God; and at their perfect labour my mortality grew heavy, and I cried out, as so many dreamers and men of letters in our age have cried, for the birth of that elaborate spiritual beauty which could alone uplift souls weighted with so many dreams.”

—W.B. Yeats, Rosa Alchemica (1896)

It seems like each new day sees us bearing witness to yet another outrage, often greater than that of the day before which was greater than the day before it. This downward and backward spiral goes on and on to a point not so long ago when those with darkest and most amoral souls were vilified and ostracized, not idolized and elevated before the public in the way we are currently experiencing.

Those days, though not so long ago, seem like ancient history now as the behavior of the worst of us grows at an alarming geometric pace. To those of us who wish to lead a simple, quiet, and peaceful life that sees us doing no harm to others and others doing no harm to us, these days feel like we are being beaten down with a bag of oranges, each blow hurting a bit more until we are in a state of numb submission.

The dreams and aspirations of so many that once seemed to be within reach now feel even further removed, distant like the stars in the sky. It is a time when dreams fall by the wayside. It begs the question that the poet Langston Hughes asked in his poem Harlem:

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

What will happen with the dreams of so many being not only deferred, but destroyed?

I don’t know. It certainly feels that is must be sagging like heavy load for many folks at this point. Or like they are furiously treading water just trying to stay afloat.

The question remains: How does one keep their dreams alive in times such as these?

Maybe that is one purpose of the spiritual element of art in all its many forms–to lift our vision and our spirit, to inspire creative thought and action that will transcend the horror that stalks the present moment. To stave off the drying up, the festering, the stinking rot, and crusting over so that dreams may be kept alive. 

Maybe.

And if it explodes? Maybe art then provides guidance and unity through the explosion as well as a reminder of who we are and the values we hold dear.  And in the aftermath of the explosion it may serve as a template to follow in our rebuilding so that the errors that brought us to this point are not repeated. 

Well, until time and a new darkness clouds our memories once more and we begin a similar downward spiral.

My dream is that we don’t forget, that we are lifted up and dreams continue to be both dreamed and realized by many folks, not just those privileged few who dream of hoarding everything for themselves.

Here’s a little-known song from Bruce Springsteen that I am pretty sure has not been shared here before. It’s called Dream Baby Dream. I saw him perform this once during a solo show in 2005 that featured only him and his guitar, his piano, and for this song, a pump organ. It is a spare, simple song and its sound mounted throughout so that it became almost mantra.

Very powerful. A mantra for our times, perhaps.

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Granuaile

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on August 5, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Soloist– At West End Gallery

We’re creators by permission, by grace as it were. No one creates alone, of and by himself. An artist is an instrument that registers something already existent, something which belongs to the whole world, and which, if he is an artist, he is compelled to give back to the world.

—Henry Miller, The Rosy Crucifixion Book I: Sexus (1949)

The words above from Henry Miller very much echo in several things I have written here in the past. An artist recreates in their own manner that which already exists, the seen and the unseen. It is created from a multitude of influences, experiences, and observations from this world.

As he says, this creation, being comprised of this world, belongs to the whole world. Art, though its message often feels targeted to us as individuals, is at its heart communal, meant to be shared.

I am not going anywhere with this statement this morning. I simply like the thought and thought it needed to be shared.

Now, here’s a song from a favorite of mine, guitarist Martin Simpson. It fits well with the painting at the top but most likely has nothing to do with Miller’s words. As it was with the Miller passage, I simply like it and wanted to share it. This is Granuaile from his 1991 album When I Was on Horseback. I believe it refers to Grace O’Malley, the head of the Irish O’Malley dynasty in the 16th century. She is often referred to as the Pirate Queen. and is known for a meeting she had late in her life with Queen Elizabeth to ask for the release of her sons who were being held captive by the English governor of Connacht.

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How To Be a Poet–a Reminder

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on August 4, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Answering Light— At Principle Gallery,

make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.

—Wendell Berry

I run the post below every five years or so. Since I’m busy this morning (trying to not disturb the silence) and it’s been five years, thought today would be as good a time as any to replay it.

Regardless of what we do, we all need a reminder now and then to heed the silence.

I came across this poem a while ago from poet/author Wendell Berry on Maria Popova‘s wonderful site, Brain Pickings. It’s a lovely rumination that could apply to any creative endeavor or to simply being a human being.

I particularly identified with the final verse that begins with the line: Accept what comes from silence and ends with the lines above. I’ve always thought there was great wisdom and power in silence, a source of self-revelation and creative energy. Perhaps that self-revelation is why so many of us shun the silence, fearing that it might reveal our true self to be something other than what we see in the mirror.

Berry’s words very much sum up how I attempt to tap into silence with my work, to find those little words that cone out of the silence, like prayers, and to find inner spaces to paint that are sacred to me and not yet desecrated by the din of the outside world.

At the bottom is a recording of Wendell Berry reading the poem which gives it even a little more depth, hearing his words in that rural Kentucky voice. It’s fairly short so please take a moment and give a listen.

HOW TO BE A POET
(to remind myself)

Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill — more of each
than you have — inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.

—Wendell Berry

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Peaceful Journeys

Posted in Uncategorized on August 3, 2025| 6 Comments »

Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.

–Samuel Smiles, Self-help, with Illustrations of Character and Conduct (1861)

I learned yesterday of the death of a friend, Stacy, this past week from cancer. I say friend but I didn’t know her well, to be honest. I didn’t know much about her life and only saw her once or twice a year at my openings or talks. When we did get to speak, it was only for few minutes at best. I am sure she probably knew me better than I her, from reading this blog and following my work over the years.

But even so, whenever I encountered her and her husband, Jeff, our eyes always met, and we would exchange a glance that said more than words. It was an acknowledgement by both of knowing one another, that we recognized and understood the common path we briefly shared.

Or maybe not so briefly. Stacy is continuing her journey now and perhaps at one time in the future– or past, however timelines for such journeys work– our paths will intersect once again, and we will then exchange that same knowing glance of recognition.

I have a constant reminder of the friendship that I shared with Stacy and Jeff here in the studio. A few years ago, they sent me the mounted photo of a red tree they had encountered, shown here on the right. They said it reminded them of me and my work. It’s a priceless treasure for me and reminds me of the friendship we share. 

I am showing the photo at the top which is from my painting demo in June at the Principle Gallery. It was the last excursion that Stacy and Jeff made in the final weeks of her illness. I was heart-broken to see Stacy’s condition but was deeply touched that despite her struggles, she wanted to be there.

That weekend was a hard one in many ways but seeing her for what I knew would be one last time made it worthwhile, giving that time a much deeper meaning.

Peaceful journeys to you, Stacy. You will be missed.

I believe that is what I will call that painting from the demo– Peaceful Journey.

For this Sunday, here is a song that I have shared a number of times here on such occasions, which takes place quite often on our journey. This is the Harry Nilsson song Don’t Forget Me as performed by Neko Case on Austin City Limits.

For Stacy and Jeff…

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Bearing Outrage

Posted in Uncategorized on August 2, 2025| 2 Comments »

GC Myers- The Angst

Actions are held to be good or bad, not on their own merits, but according to who does them, and there is almost no kind of outrage — torture, the use of hostages, forced labour, mass deportations, imprisonment without trial, forgery, assassination, the bombing of civilians — which does not change its moral colour when it is committed by ‘our’ side.

–George Orwell, Notes on Nationalism (1945)

George Orwell wrote this several years before the publication of his classic 1984 in 1949. Eighty years later, the outrages he listed are still timely. And still outrageous.

As it is with nationalism and totalitarianism, some things never change.

We can certainly add to that list. A masked secret police force with unchecked authority. A justice system stacked with rank political loyalists to protect the wealthy at all costs and punish those without the wherewithal to protect themselves. The hamstringing and intimidation of a free and independent press.

The corruption and removal of data that doesn’t fall in line with narrative of the state. And the removal of those whose task is to compile that data when they present numbers that tell a hard and uncomfortable truth and replacing them with corrupt incompetents willing to make up whatever numbers satisfy the powers that be.

And that change of moral colour applies to moral failings of all sorts as well. When it is ‘our‘ side– not mine, mind you– people now find it acceptable to turn a blind eye to the blatant lying, outright corruption, unvarnished racism and misogyny, and perhaps human trafficking and even pedophilia. All which at one time would be cause for outrage among the so-called moral majority that now worships a golden idol.

I am sorry to veer off the art track this morning, but I can’t just sit by and not at least raise my voice in protest once in a while. Surely, the outrages must seem unbearable at some point for a majority of the citizens.

As William Faulkner wrote in his 1948 novel Intruder in the Dust:

Some things you must always be unable to bear. Some things you must never stop refusing to bear. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame. No matter how young you are or how old you have got. Not for kudos and not for cash: your picture in the paper nor money in the bank either. Just refuse to bear them.

It seems that if we are willing as a nation to bear the current outrages set upon us, we deserve all the shame and ruin that they will eventually produce. 

Unfortunately, many refuse to remove their blinders and will glue themselves to their team even as it leads then over the cliff. As W.H. Auden wrote:

We would rather be ruined than changed
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die.

 These words were written by poet W.H. Auden in the aftermath of World War II in his Pulitzer Prize winning poem The Age of Anxiety, a work that later was translated into music in the form of a highly acclaimed symphony by Leonard Bernstein and ballet by Jerome Robbins. Here is one piece, Masque, from that symphony, performed by pianist David Bar-Illan.

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Bruised by Beauty

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on August 1, 2025| 3 Comments »

In the Light of Stillness— At West End Gallery

it was the kind of moon
that I would want to
send back to my ancestors
and gift to my descendants

so they know that I too,
have been bruised…by beauty.

― Sanober Khan, Tonight’s Moon

I have things to do this morning– work things for a change, not doctor appointments or tests — so I am reposting a post from about 8 years back that has been heavily reedited.

The poem above was taken from the book Turquoise Silence from contemporary Indian poet, Sanober Khan. I like the thought that beauty makes such a deep impression that it bruises us in a way. And that effect by the moon seems the perfect example as its beauty has been our most dependable companion since we first came to be here, whenever that might have been.

We often pay little attention to the moon as it rises and falls through all our nights. We fail to notice the path it traces across the sky and the light it reflects down on to our world as we remained focused on our earthly matters, always looking downward.

Yet, every so often, it refuses to be taken for granted and demands that we stop and take it in, to admire its cool and distant majesty. To make us consider that it has looked down on all that man has done in our relatively short time here, at least when compared the time that the Moon has looked down on our planet. To think that it has witnessed the building of the Great Pyramids, the conquests of Alexander the Great, the birth of Jesus, the explorations and sailors that circled the globe, and the rise and fall of empires, and so much more. It was even kind enough to welcome us as we came to visit it in the distant space it occupies.

It has witnessed us at our best and at our worst, stoically withholding judgement. It remains forever a true companion to the most and least among us. There is a raw element of beauty in the moon to those who appreciate it that almost leaves a mark behind, its memory serving as a bruise’s touch to remind you of the sensation.

It makes me wonder if that person who does not see the beauty in the moon even has the ability to see beauty in anything. It’s a thought that makes me sad because I can’t imagine what kind of person I would have to be to not feel the emotion that comes with witnessing the eternal and ageless beauty that the Moon brings us without fail.

Here’s a favorite song from Neko Case that I play here every few years. I think it’s been about four years now, so I guess it’s okay to share it again. This is I Wish I Was the Moon.

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Magical things…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 31, 2025| 3 Comments »

Betwixt and Between— At Principle Gallery

The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.

― Eden Phillpotts, A Shadow Passes (1919)

Running very late today. Overslept for a change. But I wanted to share the quote above from British author/poet/dramatist Eden Phillpotts who lived a life, 1862 to 1960, that spanned a time period marked by huge changes in society, culture, and technology.

It was an amazing time period to be alive. But, as Dickens wrote in regard to a different era, it was both the best and worst of times.  It was a time that saw huge advancements in science and medicine that brought relief to many who suffered. It was beginning of the Industrial Revolution with the huge technological shifts that advances brought such as the rise of the automobile, the airplane, radio, television along with the beginnings of space exploration and computerization. I am not always sure if the rise of the computer should go in the best or worst category. For this discussion, we will put it in the best.

But there were also two World Wars and multiple civil wars. Holocausts and ethnic cleansings. The rise of fascism and Nazism. The nuclear bomb was developed.

I am just spit-balling here off the top of my head and not even going into the cultural and societal shifts that occurred during that period. In short, it was an amazing time period.

But in that time period did our intelligence expand along with the knowledge that spawned such great change? Did our wits sharpen in any way to make us sense those magical things that surround us?

I can’t say. I doubt it. There is certainly little evidence of it taking place. Maybe that is why the bests and worsts of that era and our own run to the extremes. Maybe our wits are not yet developed enough to fully utilize the changes we have experienced as well as the magic that always surrounds us.

Hmm. That’s a lot to think about for a guy who just rolled out of bed and hasn’t even combed his hair or washed his face. Maybe I won’t even bother today. Maybe I will just focus on sharpening those wits. Mine have been dulled down lately and do need a touch up.

The painting at the top, Betwixt and Between, very much relates to the words of Phillpotts and the song below from Dave Brubeck. It is Sixth Sense from his 1964 album, Jazz Impressions of New York.

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Henry Miller/ The Eternal Here and Now

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on July 29, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Wakening Light— At Principle Gallery

Strange as it may seem today to say, the aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware. In this state of god-like awareness one sings; in this realm the world exists as poem. No why or wherefore, no direction, no goal, no striving, no evolving. Like the enigmatic Chinaman, one is rapt by the everchanging spectacle of passing phenomena. This is the sublime, the a-moral state of the artist, he who lives only in the moment, the visionary moment of utter, far-seeing lucidity. Such clear icy sanity that it seems like madness. By the force and power of the artist’s vision the static, synthetic whole which is called the world is destroyed. The artist gives back to us a vital, singing universe, alive in all is parts.

In a way the artist is always acting against the time-destiny movement. He is always a-historical. He accepts Time absolutely, as Whitman says, in the sense that any way he rolls (with tail in mouth) is direction; in the sense that any moment, every moment, may be the all; for the artist there is nothing but the present, the eternal here and now, the expanding infinite moment which is flame and song. And when he succeeds in establishing this criterion of passionate experience (which is what Lawrence meant by ‘obeying the Holy Ghost’) then, and only then, is he asserting his humanness. Then only does he live out his pattern as Man. Obedient to every urge — without distinction of morality, ethics, law, custom, etc.

— Henry Miller, The Wisdom of the Heart, 1941

I’ve had this passage from Henry Miller sitting in a draft file for a long time now. Maybe it was his use of the dated stereotype of the enigmatic Chinaman that kept me from using it. It sounds cringey, yes. Definitely not the preferred nomenclature today, as Walter from The Big Lebowski would be quick to point out.

But I understand that his reference is not a slur as he was referring to the wise and stoic sages such as Confucius and Lao Tzu. It was about artists acquiring a similar Zenlike state in their work one that transports them to the eternal here and now, as Miller put it.

The expanding infinite moment which is flame and song…

That is what struck me about this passage. It is something I understand and maybe the main reason I am a painter today. More so than any reasons based on practicality or talent.

It is that moment that comes while working on a painting when I am no longer in the studio on that particular day but instead find myself in the place and time of the painting on which I am working–the eternal here and now. 

 A different reality has taken hold then and its feeling is palpable. It is both liberating from and unifying with the world in which I live. Liberating in that the world outside my studio with its lies, hatred, corruption, and stupidity seems like a distant planet in that time and place. Unifying in that this act of creation, this other time and place, allows me to express a connection with humanity that I sometimes struggle to find on the outer world. Asserting my humanness, as Miller wrote.

Of course, this does not happen here in the studio every time I stand before my easel. No, it is a rare gem that is buried deep and has to be excavated. The world impinges further into the studio on some days and in recent weeks I have lacked the energy and mental clarity to be transported fully to that other place and time– the eternal here and now— for any extended visits.

But it’s getting better every day. Yesterday I was able to once again find that place and time for a spell and it was like a trip to a spa for me. As free and easy a day in the studio as I have had in well over a month. It didn’t last long but it felt good for the time I was there and not here.

I hope to find that place and time again today. And to stay a little longer. 

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