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Constantin Brancusi- The Kiss

One day in Switzerland, in front of a beautiful mountain there was the most beautiful of cows, and she was contemplating me in ecstasy. I said to myself,” I must be someone if even this cow admires me.” I came closer; she wasn’t looking at me, and she was relieving herself. That tells you what you need to know about fame.

–Constantin Brancusi

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This was a favorite anecdote of famed sculptor Constantin Brancusi(1876-1957) concerning an incident as he took the long trek on foot from Bucharest to Paris as a poor young man seeking fame and fortune. He found both but the influence of his peasant roots in Romania remained with him.

His story of the unimpressed Swiss cow is a pretty good reflection on the nature of fame, even the type acquired through great deeds. Fame is something created by other people, not something that is displayed on oneself.

When all is said and done, we’re all pretty much the same– famous or not– in the eyes of that peeing cow.

It reminds me of when I first began showing my work in a gallery while I was still working as a waiter in a pancake house. I had neither fame nor fortune but I would go to openings and people would praise my work, telling me how great I was. It felt like fame, in its own small way. I could barely get in my car to drive home because my head was so big by the end of the evening.

But at 6 the next morning, there I was, pouring coffee for truckers and families who were less than impressed by the praise lavished on me the night before.

Shut up and pour the coffee.

It served as a big pin prick that brought my head quickly back to its normal size.

Those folks at the restaurant were my peeing cows.

It’s a lesson that I try to remember when things are going too well and I find myself beginning to believe that I am something more than I really am– a simple schlub watching a cow pee.

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This post first ran here in 2015. It never fails to make me smile and realize that I remain that simple schlub. I ran it again a few years later in 2018 with the following intro:

I was watching a deer this morning in the lawn outside my front studio window as it stood staring intently at me. I wondered what it made of me as our eyes locked. Then I noticed that it was simply taking it’s morning dump. It made me chuckle, reminding me of a quote from the sculptor Brancusi that I shared here a few years ago. I thought this would be a good morning to replay it.

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In the Light of Stillness— At Principle Gallery

Being is not a steady state but an occulting one: we are all of us a succession of stillness blurring into motion on the wheel of action, and it is in those spaces of black between the pictures that we find the heart of mystery in which we are never allowed to rest.

—Russell Hoban, Fremder (1996)

The new painting above is included in the 30th Anniversary exhibit at the Principle Gallery that opens on Friday, March 22.

It is titled In the Light of Stillness and is 18″ by 24″ on canvas. As in this piece, I have myself employing snow in several new pieces recently. I often associate snow with stillness. There is something wonderful in the muffled quiet it produces.

Walking down our long driveway on a snowy night has such a sense of stillness. No traffic sounds from the road and when a vehicle does pass its sound is muted and soft. A whisper. Sometimes the quiet is so absolute you can hear the snowflakes rubbing against each other as they fall or as they land on your hat.

It is a comforting feeling for me, like the universe, and I along with it, is taking a moment to catch its breath. That might why I try to create a sense of warmth in these snow scenes.

I understand that snow might not have that same effect for many people. Traveling in it or not being able to travel in it, shoveling it, plowing it, slogging through its melting slush, its cold sting when the winds blow it, etc.– there are a lot of negative associations attached to it.

There have been many times in the past when I have stood trembling with wet and cold hands and feet and an aching body from dealing with the snow for hours. My perception of it then is much different than what I see in this painting. But a short stroll in a quiet snowfall erases all those negative connotations and, absorbing the stillness, I feel as one with the universe.

For me, there is nothing better.

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Faraway Near– At Principle Gallery 30th Anniversary Exhibit

A fugitive does not hide himself in a maze. He does not build himself a labyrinth on a bluff overlooking the sea, a crimson labyrinth that can be sighted from afar by any ship’s crew. He has no need to erect a labyrinth when the whole world already is one.

–Jorge Luis Borges, Ibn Hakkan Al-Bokhari – Dead in His Labyrinth, 1949

I have been intrigued with the idea of labyrinths for some time. The idea of an intricate maze with only one way out that is nearly impossible to find which holds at its center something either very valuable or very horrible is useful in a variety of metaphors. We often erect labyrinths of sorts in our lives for many reasons– to keep people at a distance, to feel secure, to maintain our privacy and hide our secrets, etc.

But the maze meant to keep people away sometimes traps us within it.

Finding one’s way out of their own self-built labyrinths can offer more peril than that from which we sought refuge when initially erecting that maze. One twists and winds in frustration and despair while trying to find a way out and occasionally there is a glimpse that seems to offer the sought reward.

It appears near at hand, just past the next bend. But then the labyrinth twists in a direction that suddenly has the seeker feeling altogether lost once more.

I am writing this off the cuff this morning so how this ties into the painting at the top might seem a bridge too far for some. The painting is titled Faraway Near which I get from that feeling in the maze of being about to find the solution then having it suddenly disappear. Or of thinking you are close to knowing something or someone then discovering in a flash that they are far removed from what you initially thought.

Many of us set ourselves in the center of a maze– or on a visible but distant island, hiding in plain sight– that is difficult to reach. I am not saying this is right or wrong. It’s just seems to be the way it is.

I live, in a way, on my own little island. It is visible for all to see but a hard place on which to land. A place in which I can hide in plain sight.

Faraway near.

This painting is 18″ by 18″ on canvas and is included in the 30th Anniversary exhibit which opens Friday at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA.

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Icons: Mary T.

Let us be lovers, we’ll marry our fortunes together
I’ve got some real estate here in my bag”
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies
And walked off to look for America

—America, Simon and Garfunkel

It might seem an odd choice to pick the Simon & Garfunkel song, America, to share for this St. Patrick’s Day edition of Sunday Morning Music. But St. Patrick’s Day in America is a celebration of the immigrant experience, of people who all came to look for their idea of America. That immigrant experience has been a big part of most of our ancestral pasts and remains much the same today for many who still come to seek their own idea of America.

I am heartened that people still feel that way, that they still feel the promise of this country and are willing to risk all to come here. You don’t see people fighting to make their way into the countries of this world ruled by dictators. In fact, people struggle to get out.

A few years ago, I painted a small series of paintings of ancestors that I called Icons. One was of my great-great grandmother, Mary Tobin, whose husband came here from Tipperary in 1852 with his parents and siblings. Both parents died within months of arriving here. I am including a post about her which is somewhat tragic in an Irish immigrant way, from a few years ago along with the song America. This version is starkly performed by David Bowie from the 2001 Concert for New York City in the aftermath of 9/11. I thought it was a powerful moment back then and feel it still has that same power today.

Have an enjoyable St. Patrick’s Day. Or just a nice Wednesday, if that appeals more to you.

From 2016:

One of the things I am trying to emphasize with this current Icon series is the fact that we are all flawed in some way, that we all have deficiencies and stumbles along the way. Yet, uncovering these faults in my research, I find myself holding affection for many of these ancestors that dot my family tree. Perhaps it is the simple fact that without them I would not be here or perhaps I see some of my own flaws in them.

I’m still working on that bit of psychology.

The 12″ by 12″ canvas shown here is titled Icon: Mary T. She is my great-great grandmother. Born Mary Anne Ryan of Irish immigrant parents in the Utica area she married Michael Tobin, an Irishman from Tipperary who came to the States around 1850, right in the midst of the Great Irish Immigration.

Michael worked on the railroads being built throughout central New York in the late 1800’s. Following the progress of the railroads, the couple and their growing family worked their way down through the state towards Binghamton, NY where they eventually settled. Mary Anne eventually ended up as a housekeeper in a prominent home in the area. Michael died around 1890 although records are sketchy on this and Mary died at my great-grandmother’s home on Church Street in Elmira in 1914.

All told, they had seven daughters and three sons. Most worked in the then booming tobacco industry of that time and place. Most of her daughters worked as tobacco strippers and some worked as cigar rollers, as did her sons.

That’s the simple telling of the story. Looking into the back stories provide a little more depth which can sometimes change all perceptions.

None of her sons ever married and all were had desperate problems with demon alcohol. One son was listed in a newspaper report from some years later as having been arrested for public drunkenness around 40 times over the years, seven times in one year. He was also arrested for running a still more than once during the prohibition years. Two of her sons died in institutions where they had been placed for their alcoholism.

A Silk Spencer

I came across a story in the local Binghamton newspapers about Mary and two of her daughters, who were also working as domestics with here in the prominent Binghamton home owned by a local attorney and nephew of the founder of Binghamton. In 1874, the story reports that a number of items came up missing from her employer, including a “forty dollar silk spencer,” which is a sort of short garment like the one shown here at the right. Her neighbors informed the owner of the spencer that Mary had a number of the stolen items in her possession and a search warrant was sworn out.

Detectives came to the Tobin home and made a thorough search but initially turned up nothing. They then tore up the carpets which revealed a trap door that led to a small basement. There they found many of the stolen items but no spencer. But they did find a silk collar that had been attached to it.

Mary and her two daughters were arrested.

Mary did finally claim to be the sole thief and her daughters were released. I have yet to find how this particular story ends and how Mary was punished but based on the futures of some of her children I can’t see it being a happy ending.

Doing this painting, I was tempted to make my Mary a bit harsher, a bit more worn. But as I said, there’s some sort of strange ancestral affection at play even though I know she was obviously a flawed human. She’s smaller and more delicate looking in the painting than I imagine she was in reality. In the only photo we have of her daughter, my great grandmother, was a sturdy looking lady. But maybe making her a bit less harsh is a little gift to my great-great grandmother for the information her story reveals about the future of my family.

This is a simple painting because, as I pointed out, this is a simple story at its surface. It’s the story of many, many families.

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In sorrow a beautiful song
Lives in the heart and sings for all
Your forgiveness
Inside the digital mind
A homeless soul ponders the code
Of forgiveness

–Paul Simon, Your Forgiveness

I woke up last night and caught Paul Simon‘s appearance on the Stephen Colbert show. He was promoting an upcoming documentary, In Restless Dreams, about his long and illustrious career and  had a lot of things to say that I found interesting, both as a fan and as an artist.

For example, he talked about how sometimes a song comes quickly, seemingly without effort. The song he mentioned was Slip Slidin’ Away, which he said was written in less than half an hour. Colbert asked if any doubt about the quality of the song appears when a song is created so quickly and easily. Simon responded that it was, in fact, the opposite, that it was good because it flowed out so easily. It was ready to say what it had to say.

I have had that same experience as a painter. Sometimes a piece just flies off the brush without a struggle or any indecision. These paintings usually hold up well after time has passed.

They have that innate sense of rightness that I often write about here.

That is something that Simon also spoke about, how he is not looking for perfection in writing a song. He’s looking for it to just feel right in his ear.

He mentioned that after writing something, that the ear begins to go to the irritant. He begins to only hear the things in that song that don’t please his ear and he goes about trying to rid the song of those irritants.

I never thought of my painting in those terms but my eye certainly seeks the irritant when I am working. I think anyone who has ever created anything can attest that their eye almost always goes first to the mistakes left in their creation. A big part of my work is spotting and getting rid of those things– stray brush marks, flat spots, wonky lines, etc– that irk my eye.

It is basically about pruning out the points of wrongness until you get to a sense of rightness that pleases your eye.

Does that make it a good painting or a good song?

Probably not. But getting to a certain point of rightness needs to be done in order to create a good painting or song.

I am including the full extended interview with Paul Simon below. It is much more detailed and in-depth, having everything that is edited from the on-air interview. There is also a song that he performed from his most recent album, Seven Psalms. The song is Your Forgiveness and it is a beautiful piece, the product of a mature artist with a lifetime of experience behind them. Worth a few minutes of your time.

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Pondering Blue- At Principle Gallery

Pooh gave a little cough and began.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” said Kanga, not waiting to hear what happened on Friday.

–A.A. Milne, Winnie-The-Pooh, 1926

The piece at the top is a 10″ by 20″ canvas titled Pondering Blue. It is at the Principle Gallery for its 30th Anniversary show which opens next Friday, March 22.

Now in my 28th year with the Principle, I have been in position to watch the gallery evolve and grow. Michele and her wonderful staff steadfastly maintain the principles of quality and integrity on which the gallery was founded and over the years have displayed the work of a continuing and always breathtaking array of some of the most talented artists from this country and abroad.

I consider myself fortunate to be with the Principle Gallery. Believe me, the bar is continually going up there. As an artist, this presents a great challenge. It requires you to keep pushing to be the best version of yourself and your work. There have been plenty of times over the years when I felt like I was close to not clearing that bar. This pushed me to want to continue to my own evolution and growth, if only to keep up with that of the gallery.

It continues to this morning as I prep for my 25th solo show at the Principle Gallery in June. The clearance for that high bar is in my mind every day as I work. It creates a tension that bounces between fear and exhilaration which, for me, is the engine of creativity.

I am better for our paths having crossed back around the end of 1996. Thanks, Michele, for both the push and the support. Congratulations on 30 years of maintaining your principles.

Okay, since it is Wednesday and the sky will be blue– it’s going to be a crazy 70° March day here — I guess I should wonder if it’s true that who is what and what is who.

Must be since Pooh said it. Good enough for me.

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Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

–William Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis

It’s the busiest and most stressful time of my painting year. I am in the midst of preparing work for my two annual solo shows and time always feels as though time comes with a premium. I learned a long time back that in order to do what needs to be done, I would have to make sacrifices with things that consumed my time. To do that, I needed to learn to say no to many things. 

It wasn’t easy for me. I like to please people and saying no seemed to fly in the face of that. But I soon learned that it might be one of the most valuable tools in my artist’s toolbox.

Time is space and space is needed in order to create.

When I speak to young people who want to be artists, the two things I advise them is to learn to say no and to learn to be comfortable without people around. Maybe it’s me, but I have been surprised how many kids’ faces have sagged noticeably on hearing this advice.

I have ran the following post from 2013 several times in the past about The Power of No. It has a link to a great article that I still use to remind myself of the power in saying no. It’s worth a look.

There’s an interesting article on the website Medium by tech pioneer Kevin Ashton (best known for coining the phrase “the internet of things“) called Creative People Say No.  In it he talks about how productive creatives —productive is the key word here– understand the limitations of their time here and as a result weigh every request for their time against what they might produce in that time.  It immediately struck a chord with me as I have known for many years that my time as both a living human and artist are limited and that for me to ever have a chance of capturing that elusive intangible answer that goads me forward, always just a step ahead of me and just out of sight, than I have to mete out my time judiciously.  We have X numbers of hours and doing something other than that which I recognize as my purpose represents a real choice.

Ashton echoes my own feelings when he writes:  

Time is the raw material of creation. Wipe away the magic and myth of creating and all that remains is work: the work of becoming expert through study and practice, the work of finding solutions to problems and problems with those solutions, the work of trial and error, the work of thinking and perfecting, the work of creating. Creating consumes. It is all day, every day. It knows neither weekends nor vacations. It is not when we feel like it. It is habit, compulsion, obsession, vocation.

So, over the last 15 years, I have wrestled over every choice that takes time away from the studio, in most cases declining invitations to all sorts of functions and putting off travelling and vacations. Even a morning cup of coffee with friend or family requires serious debate. For a while I thought I was agoraphobic but I suspect that’s not the case. I just view my time here on Earth as extremely limited and shrinking at a constant rate with each passing day.

It reminds me of a conversation I had with a painter friend a number of years ago. He had brought up the name of a well-known painter/illustrator whose work he admired who was incredibly productive. My friend bemoaned the fact that he himself wasn’t as productive and wondered how this person could do so much. In the conversation he told me about all the activities that his life held– travelling, classes, music sessions with friends, league sports, and time with his kids. I couldn’t bring myself to point out that he would have to start sacrificing something in order to be as productive as this other artist. It was obvious that his X number of hours were spent differently than the other artist, who I should point out also had a studio staff with a manager and dozens of assistants to boost his productivity.

I can’t say that my friend should have said ‘no’ to any of the things he did. He made the choices that he felt were right for him and who could argue that his kids didn’t deserve even more of his time? 

I think of this conversation quite often when I am faced with a choice other than spending time in the studio. Even writing this blog entry is gnawing at me because it has exceeded the amount of time I want to spend on it this morning. That being said, I am going to stop right here and get back to that thing that I feel that I have to do.

Read the article.  It’s a good essay.

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Winterglide— At West End Gallery

True art and true science possess two unmistakable marks: the first, an inward mark, which is this, that the servitor of art and science will fulfil his vocation, not for profit but with self- sacrifice; and the second, an external sign, his productions will be intelligible to all the people whose welfare he has in view.

–Leo Tolstoy, What to Do?: Thoughts Evoked by the Census of Moscow, 1887

Quite a few years ago, I was at an informal gathering of artists that included a critique of a new work from each of us. One young artist had a darkly shaded painting that had an even darker amorphous shape in it. Someone asked what it was or what it might mean. He responded that he was trying to trick people into thinking it was something that it was not, that he didn’t want them to know what it was.

I remember being pissed off. There was a smugness to his answer that still irks me. I don’t remember what I said in response. Looking back now, the passage at the top from Tolstoy very much sums up some of what I hoped I said.

True art– no matter what it is or how it is created–fulfills a meaningful purpose and the artist sacrifices some hidden, inner part of themself in order to create such art.

I believed, as I do now, that this purpose of art is to reveal the world, not to obscure it. To clarify, not confuse. To inspire, not belittle.

To be in on the joke, not the butt of it.

And, as Tolstoy points out, true art needs no translation. It speaks all languages to all people.

I thought of this last night while watching the Oscars and seeing the Osage Tribal Singers performing Best Original Song nominee Wahzhazhe (A Song for My People) from Killers of the Flower Moon. You didn’t have to be of the Osage tribe or understand the language to feel the power and meaning of the song. Powerful stuff– purposeful and intelligible. You can see it below.

Note: I am using one of my own paintings to illustrate this post. I am not inferring that it is true art. That is not for me to say nor has it been tested by time and exposure to say such a thing. I just need something to fill the space.

Who among us, looking back down the path of no return, can say they followed it in the right way? — Fernando Pessoa

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If a little day-dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.

–Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past

I don’t mind Daylight Savings Time as a rule. In the fall, when we move the clocks back an hour, it almost feel like a gift. But in the spring, when we jump ahead by an hour, it feels like a gut punch. It’s not so much for the loss of an hour of sleep but more so for the loss of an hour of my morning time in the studio. It’s what I consider my most productive time of the day.

The productive part is not necessarily about time spent painting. The productive part comes more in the time spent reading, researching things, writing this blog, listening to music, catching up on correspondence (well, sometimes I do that) and planning my day of painting.

And while it does include some painting in these early morning hours, it’s really what I would call my in-the-head time. My mind is as clear and sharp as it gets at any point during the day making it the prime time to think.

And day-dream.

This might not sound all that productive to those concerned only with the amount of work produced. I would like to say that studies have proved that this in-the-head time is a big part of the creative process. It seems like I have read this but I don’t feel like looking it up right now.

Hey, I’m running an hour behind here, people! So, let’s pretend it’s correct about the studies, okay?

For my part, I couldn’t do what I do without this time. Actually, I probably could but I wouldn’t enjoy it as much and that would be reflected in my work. People would then stop collecting my work and I would be forced to get a job, most likely as a greeter in a blue vest at Walmart.

You can see how important this time is for me, both for my work and my well-being. That being said, let’s end this now so I can recoup at least a smidgen of that lost time this morning. Here’s this week’s Sunday Morning Music, the classic A Hazy Shade of Winter, from Simon and Garfunkel. Sounds right at the moment. Actually, it’s such a great tune that it works for most times.

“Time, time, time
See what’s become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities”

Time for you to leave. Get out– I still have some to day-dream.

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The Elevating Eye— At West End Gallery

Joy is everywhere; it is in the earth’s green covering of grass: in the blue serenity of the sky: in the reckless exuberance of spring: in the severe abstinence of grey winter: in the living flesh that animates our bodily frame: in the perfect poise of the human figure, noble and upright: in living, in the exercise of all our powers: in the acquisition of knowledge… Joy is there everywhere.

—Rabindranath Tagore

I am very immersed in new work but still wanted to share something from a few years back this morning. It originally featured a different painting but the sentiment remains much the same: our need to elevate joy above the tensions of these times. From 2019:

I don’t know that we are living in a time of joy at this point in history. At least, not in a way where one day we as a people will look back and remember it as a golden age filled with good will and great cheer for everybody. There’s certainly an abundance of anxiety, ignorance, anger and about any other negative attribute you can come up with.

I believe that in times like these, we have to actively seek and identify the joy and exuberance that exists in this world. We take so many good, small things for granted as we bounce along the bumpy road we’re on at the moment. We find ourselves often blinded by our outrage or so inwardly turned in a defensive pose that we lose track of our surroundings.

We forget to see simple things. A ray of sunlight. The beauty in a tiny, paused moment of silence. The clear coolness of fresh air. Tasting the pleasant bitterness of coffee on the tongue.

I could do a long laundry list of my own small pleasures, things that give me a sense of the joys in this world. But they are mine alone. You must find your own. Your list of joys must be your own sanctuary in these times. You’ll know them at once from the feeling of peaceful satisfaction they instill in you.

Maybe finding the exuberance of your own life will influence others to seek their own.

That would be a good thing.

And that’s kind of what I see in this painting– finding one’s joy and affecting the world with it. That is certainly something we could use in these times.

Thought I’d add an appropriate tune to fill out this encore post. This is The Sound of Sunshine from Michael Franti & Spearhead:

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