Redtree Times

First Peek— At Principle Gallery, Alexandria

Sixty years ago I knew everything. Now I know nothing. Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance.

—Will Durant, The Age of Voltaire

I don’t know that I thought I knew everything in my youth but I certainly thought I knew more than I actually did. Not knowing our own ignorance might be the basis of the reckless bravery that often accompanies youth.

When younger, it’s kind of like getting up early in the morning and setting out in the darkness before the sun rises. You are eager to prove yourself, make your mark, so you proceed with all the energy and speed that youth provides. You move along with certainty and purpose but you’re still in the dark. You haven’t been here before, don’t know the terrain and can’t see everything around you. You might stumble off the path or make a wrong turn in the darkness. You might even walk off a cliff or be bushwacked (don’t get to use that term much!) by those who take advantage of your fumbling in the dark. You might even stumble upon a river with no way to cross it in the darkness.

You take your lumps. But gradually, if you persist long enough, the first peeks of light show through. As the sun rises in this little scenario, its light tells the tale of how little we actually knew. You now can see where you made your mistakes and how different things are than you believed them to be when you first set out. You can now see that the path has potholes and detours and the hill you thought you would race up is much steeper and treacherous than you knew. You need the light and the knowledge of how to get up it.

Don’t get me wrong here. I miss the energy and confident self-belief of those early stumbling days. They were important and transformative times. Those mistakes made in that darkness became important lessons once the light of knowledge was cast upon them. Necessary lessons that might not have been learned without having the nerve to forge forward early on.

When I come across someone younger with that know-it-all, beat-the-world confidence, I smile a little knowing that they are still operating in that predawn darkness, that sunlight hasn’t revealed their missteps and miscalculations yet. Hopefully, they will absorb the lessons that will come and adjust their course.

Some do, some don’t.

And some don’t even try. And that’s a pity because those folks never really gain the full sunlight available to them.

That’s the story for today, kids. The first light is filtering through trees and it seems to be a red sky. Must be the anticipated snowstorm is getting closer. Time for me to move on. Here’s a song to go along with this bit of stuff. It’s When I Was Young from Eric Burdon and the Animals. Good stuff…

Isle of Quiet— At West End Gallery, Corning

Joy is like restless day; but peace divine
Like quiet night;
Lead me, O Lord, — till perfect Day shall shine
Through Peace to Light.

–Adelaide Anne Procter, Per Pacem ad Lucem,  (1862)

I was looking for something to accompany the new painting above, Isle of Quiet, when I came across the verse above. Though it has a more religious tone at first glance, it felt like a match. Wherever guidance comes from, be it a god or a star in the sky or one’s own inner voice, it is often invoked in a search for some sort of peace.

I didn’t know much about the poet, Adelaide Anne Procter. She was born in London in 1825 and died there in 1864 at the age of 38. So young. But she established quite a reputation in her short time. She was the daughter of a poet who had such luminaries as Dickens, Wordsworth, Thackeray and many others as regular visitors to their home. She was born to a life of letters and she made the most of it. In her time, she became the favorite poet of Queen Victoria and was considered among the most popular of the Victorian era poets, second only to Tennyson.

She notably used her work and celebrity to advocate for the less fortunate of that society– fallen women, the poor and the homeless. At the time of her death, many of her contemporaries cited exhaustion from her charitable efforts as a contributing factor to her from tuberculosis.

Her work hasn’t received the attention of other poets of that era. I am not going to get into a discussion of the merits, or lack thereof, of her work. I am not qualified to do such a thing. I will say that she was only 38 when she died in a society where a woman’s rights and voices were limited. Who knows what heights she may have climbed in a longer life or in a different time or place.

I do like the poem, Per Pacem ad Lucem, from which the verse above comes. It is a simple and straight forward request for guidance. Here it is in full:

I DO not ask, O Lord, that life may be
A pleasant road;
I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load;

I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet;
I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.

For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead,
Lead me aright—
Though strength should falter, and though heart should bleed—
Through Peace to Light.

I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed
Full radiance here;
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread
Without a fear.

I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see;
Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand
And follow Thee.

Joy is like restless day; but peace divine
Like quiet night:
Lead me, O Lord,—till perfect Day shall shine,
Through Peace to Light.

Top O’ the Heap— At Principle Gallery, Alexandria, VA

Good people are good because they’ve come to wisdom through failure. We get very little wisdom from success, you know. Success makes a fool of you, but failure can come only from great effort. One who doesn’t try cannot fail and become wise.

–William Saroyan, New York Journal-American, Aug. 23, 1961.

What is success? 

I guess the definition varies from person to person. Some view it in terms of celebrity or wealth but there are plenty of people who carry the label of success who are failures as humans. They are, as Saroyan points out, fools who have yet to gain the wisdom this life affords us.

I know my own definition of success has changed over the years. It evolves as I learn my capabilities and understand what I am and am not. What I see as the peak of my success now might be a mere foothill in the shadow of someone else’s towering mountain. But the modest hill I inhabit presented me with challenges and obstacles that made getting to its top from where I started feel like I am standing atop the highest peak.

Maybe that’s the wisdom to which Saroyan referred. Wisdom born of failure gives one perspective. So, while it may not be the grand and sweeping view of the highest peaks, it offers a pleasing and comforting vista.

One that feels well earned. Hope you’re enjoying a similar view of your own.

Here’s song to fit the subject. The painting at the top sort of steals its title from a Frank Sinatra line in his hit New York, New York but it actually reminds me of another of his songs, That’s Life. It’s perhaps my favorite Sinatra song, especially its stirring refrain: I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king/ I’ve been up and down and over and out and I know one thing/ Each time I find myself flat on my face/ I pick myself up and get back in the race 

It feels like sacrilege to play anything other than the Sinatra version of the song but here’s a pretty darn good contemporary version from Shawn James. I hadn’t heard it before and was a little apprehensive, but it hit the mark pretty well.

A success in its own right.

Of course, I am including the original just in case some of you only want to hear Sinatra sing it. Either way, or both, it’s a good way to kick off the week.

Sentinels of Color– At the West End Gallery

The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.

–Carson McCullers, Reflections in a Golden Eye (1941)

Just this today. Here’s some Donovan for this week’s Sunday morning music. Have a good and color filled day.

Silent Watch–Now at West End Gallery

Under all speech that is good for anything there lies a silence that is better. Silence is deep as Eternity; speech is shallow as Time.

–Thomas Carlyle, Sir Walter Scott (1838)

Silence. Can we create it, or does it just exist and can we only stumble across it occasionally? Of course, when we do come across it, we inevitably spoil it with the sound of our minds racing to understand, our ears straining to hear and eyes darting to discover.

Once we happen upon it, silence immediately moves on to some new locale far removed from the noise that comes with being human.

Being creatures of speech and time, do we have the capacity for silence and eternity outside of that which comes with death?

I don’t have an answer, of course. I find the idea of silence attractive, something to crave deeply. Yet I doubt that I have the ability to find that stillness within that is necessary for silence to linger more than few seconds.

But maybe those few seconds is all the time silence offers us in this life. Maybe that is enough for us, such as we are. Maybe we only really have the silence that exists between the sound of words and notes of music. 

Hmm. That’s a fine rabbit hole to stumble down on a cold Saturday morning, isn’t it? I could go on but what’s the point of that? More sound and less silence. Just time spent while silence and eternity are kept waiting.

Move on, folks– nothing to see here. Well, maybe one more thing. Here’s a lovely video that aptly visualizes the quietude of one of y longtime favorite pieces, Gymnopedie No. 1 from Erik Satie.

It might not be silence but it feels like it brings one a bit closer.

Season of Light– Now at West End Gallery

So feast your eyes now
On mimic star and moon-cold bauble:
Worlds may wither unseen,
But the Christmas Tree is a tree of fable,
A phoenix in evergreen

–Cecil Day Lewis, The Christmas Tree (1953)

Things to do so just a reminder of the season today. The lines above are from the Cecil Day Lewis, father of actor Daniel Day Lewis and onetime British Poet Laureate. The music from A Charlie Brown Christmas music by Vince Guaraldi could be listened to year-round. It’s that good. Maybe we should try that. Couldn’t hurt anything, that’s for sure. Here’s his take on O Tannenbaum.

Shadow of a Stranger– At Principle Gallery, Alexandria

The gods, likening themselves to all kinds of strangers, go in various disguises from city to city, observing the wrongdoing and the righteousness of men.

–Homer, The Odyssey

This is a new piece that is at the Principle Gallery for their annual Small Works show. It’s called Shadow of a Stranger. Though I say it’s new it’s actually a year or more old. It’s been sitting behind me here in the studio, always looking over my shoulder, for all that time.

I always personally liked this piece but just didn’t want to show it for some reason. Maybe it was that it has a roughness, an expressionistic feel in its blacks and grays that feels somewhat counter to the color of my more typical work. Or maybe it was that idea of the stranger–the outsider, the alien, the exile– seemed too close to the bone for me. That certainly has been a recurring theme in my work and my life. 

I don’t really know. Don’t even know why I am showing it here now. Maybe it’s just an excuse to play a favorite song, Wayfaring Stranger.  It’s usually performed in a traditional folk/Americana manner. I’ve played such versions from Johnny Cash, Doc Watson and Neko Case here and all were exceptional. But here’s one from the late Eva Cassidy that is far more jazz inspired than most renditions of this song, including another traditional version of it she herself recorded. It’s a different interpretation but its soulfulness keeps its core feel and meaning intact. Good stuff…

Three Sheets– Now at the Principle Gallery

Now I’m aimin’ for heaven
But probably wind up down in hell
Where upon this altar I will hang my guilt ridden head
But it’s time I’ll take before I begin
Three sheets to the wind, three sheets to the wind
Yeah, it’s time, I’ll take before I begin
Three sheets to the wind, three sheets to the wind

…

Genuflect all you refugees who fled the land
Now on guilt you kneel
And say a prayer for those left behind
From beyond the pale to the northern sky
So you saved your shillins and your last six pence
‘Cause in god’s name they built a barbed wire fence
Be glad you sailed for a better day
But don’t forget there’ll be hell to pay

Rebels are we, though heavy our hearts shall always be
Ah, no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We’re the rebels of the sacred heart
I said no ball or chain no prison shall keep
We’re the rebels of the sacred heart

—Rebels of the Sacred Heart, Flogging Molly

I call this new small piece, an 8″ by 8″ painting on wood panel, Three Sheets. It is included in the Small Works show currently up at the Principle Gallery. 

I have pointed out before that I am not a sailor nor do I have any knowledge of sailing terms, etc. So, when I was working on this piece that had three sails, I thought I’d title it Three Sheets, wanting to play off the term three sheets to the wind which is used to describe a state of roaring drunkenness. I am more familiar with that subject than with sailing.

But I was also thinking that sails were also called sheets. Made sense to me. Three sails, three sheets, right? 

Wrong.

A sheet, I found out, is the cord that controls the tension on the sail. When the sheet is loosened, it allows the sail to fill out and catch all the available wind. The term three sheets to the winds comes when a three sailed ship with sheets released is on a stormy sea. The ship pitches and rolls and anyone on the deck would stumble about, back and forth. The term came to be used to describe staggering drunkards– on land or sea– who tottered to and fro like they were on a rolling ship. 

I probably don’t have that completely right but I am okay with that. I like this painting the more I see it, particularly the colors and forms of the waves. There’s something in this piece about keeping one’s balance while still letting it fly that I find attractive. I guess that could apply to sailing or drinking or just living your life.You might call it derring-do or reckless abandon. Sometimes you have to let the sheets go and ride it out.

Here’s a song, Rebels of the Scared Heart, from Flogging Molly, an Irish-American Celtic punk band that has been around since the 90’s. The song – there are a few applicable verses at the top- has a sort of sea shanty feel combined with a sound that feels Clash-like to me. Energetic.

Good way to kick off the day– three sheets to the wind!

Jupiter – James Webb Telescope

As soon as somebody demonstrates the art of flying, settlers from our species of man will not be lacking on the moon and Jupiter… Given ships or sails adapted to the breezes of heaven, there will be those who will not shrink from even that vast expanse.

—Johannes Kepler, Kepler’s Conversation with Galileo’s Sidereal messenger, 1610

The image above of the planet Jupiter was produced by the NASA‘s powerful James Webb Space Telescope earlier this year. I am not a space junkie and have no interest in being blasted into the vast expanses of space to attempt to settle on a planet with an environment that is totally hostile in all ways to our existence– the environment on our home planet is hostile enough, thank you!— but I could stare at this image for hours.

To me, it feels like someone took the totality of all Van Gogh’s paintings, beliefs, thoughts, and unfulfilled artistic desires and created a visual representation of those things as whole.

It is big and bold and both inner-worldly and other-worldly. Magnificent.

As an artist, it is an image that is both inspiring and humbling. It creates a far-flung goal that covers such an imposing range of new inspirations and aspirations that you know you will never reach it. 

And that’s probably how many would-be space explorers feel looking at this same image. It offers so much new to see, to examine and experience yet they know they will never reach that planet or anywhere like it in their lifetimes.

Yet that knowledge doesn’t stop either space explorer or artist from attempting the journey. 

Thinking of this image as a representation of Van Gogh and his work in totality also makes me wonder what our own planets might look like. Would it have anything approaching the beauty and power of Jupiter’s surface? Or the relative tranquility of Earth’s? Would it be comprised of rich blues and greens in spirals and clouds? Or would it be reds and purples in slashing storm fronts? 

I don’t know that I can say how my own planet might appear. Hopefully, it would be inviting, would feel like some form of home. But who knows? It is still being developed, still taking shape. 

In the meantime, Jupiter can stand in as an adequate substitute until mine is fully formed.

It was as though, so long as the deceit ran along quiet and monotonous, all of us let ourselves be deceived, abetting it unawares or maybe through cowardice, since all people are cowards and naturally prefer any kind of treachery because it has a bland outside.

—William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

Just leaving this here this morning in tribute to the new, though temporary, bottom the GOP has created with their cowardice in standing up to the former president** when he demanded this past week that the Constitution be trashed and that he be inserted as sitting president.

It was the irresponsible and unhinged crazy talk of a desperate creature. 

And as was expected, hardly a word was raised by the GOP to put a sliver of distance between this dangerous demand and themselves.

Just sheer and absolute moral cowardice. Faulkner was probably right, that it is easier and more natural for us to be cowards. But is it even cowardice when you have no examples of courage from them with which to compare? 

You know, I can accept singular acts of cowardice. I know what it’s like to be cowardly. Been there, done that all too many times in my life. Sometimes it is an act of survival and sometimes it again goes back to the words of Faulkner, that is naturally easy and expedient. 

But at some point, as you sink towards the bottom of the abyss, you have to dig in your heels, muster whatever courage you can, and say, “Enough is enough.” 

It’s at that point that you know you’ve reached the bottom and can begin to climb out.

But these guys, natural cowards all of them, may not even know they’re in freefall so I have no doubt they soon find themselves at an even lower, more unfathomable level before this whole thing is over. The bottom is still not there.

Here’s a little tune for all these would-be kings of the forest. I hesitate a bit in doing so because I like the Cowardly Lion though maybe that is because he did finally find courage. I have grave doubts whether that is in these guys’ futures.