Redtree Times

Offered to the Wind— At Kada Gallery

Adversity is like a strong wind…it holds us back from places we might otherwise go. It also tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that afterward we see ourselves as we really are, and not merely as we might like to be.

–Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

I guess the question is, based on the short excerpt above from Memoirs of a Geisha, is: Even after adversity has blown away all our protective facades and disguising masks, are we capable of recognizing ourselves truly as we are and not as we imagine ourselves to be?

I don’t really know the answer or if that is even a viable question. If I had to answer, I would suppose that the answer depends on the distance between our imagined self and the reality of the one exposed by the wind. The idea of someone who has carried a distorted and bloated sense of self-importance through their entire life going through adversity then suddenly accepting their now obvious deficiencies seems a bit farfetched. 

The better question might be: How well does one live with this new self suddenly exposed by the winds of adversity?

The Red Tree that is a big element in so many of my paintings is often about this revealed inner self being exposed to the outer world. It has withstood the winds and weather of adversity and now fully sees itself as it is, for better or worse. Knowing what it is, it deals with the world in a more honest and open manner.

It knows what it has to offer to and what it should expect from the world.

Hmm… Going to have to chew on that for a while. Some morning, after I have written a bit, I begin to wonder if I am making any sense at all.

This feels like one of those days. 

Anyway, here’s a song related to the wind. I have previously shared the David Bowie version of this song that was first recorded by Johnny Mathis in 1957. This is a fine performance from Esperanza Spalding of Wild Is the Wind.

The fact that we’ve been a great democracy doesn’t mean we will automatically keep being one if we keep waving the flag.

–Norman Mailer, Why Are We at War?

Mailer’s words ring true for me, especially in light of the election currently winding down. Democracy is not a static concept, not an endpoint. It is a progressive march forward, one that seeks to constantly adjust and correct the injustices and inequalities of a nation’s past so that the benefits and opportunities afforded that nation are extended to all its citizens.

It is a slow march, one comprised of sometimes small, barely perceptible incremental steps forward.

Stopping at any one point in that forward progress– or worse yet, regressing to a point in its past– is the antithesis of democracy. When one of the major parties takes the stance that it wants to halt this progress and tries to reach its goal by instilling fear and anger and unquestioning obedience in its followers, it becomes something far different at that point. Something that seeks to limit justice, equality and opportunity to the few rather than the many.

Something that is decidedly undemocratic.

No amount of nationalistic flag waving or sloganeering can change that.

I have my dad’s burial flag from the VA on a stone shelf in my studio. It certainly doesn’t make me a patriot. But it reminds me that I am no less a patriot than someone who makes a show of waving the flag while rallying behind would-be dictators who seek to divert the march of progress.

I suppose my definition of a patriot is someone who continues to seek a form of democracy that is ever more inclusive and fairer to everyone. It may never come to be, but so long there are those patriots with an unblinking eye to that future and the will to defend democracy, the march of progress will continue.

This past week has proven that. But the efforts of antidemocratic forces will go on and it will be a constant struggle. Let’s hope those patriots among us stay focused and engaged. Let us all be patriots.

That brings us to this week’s Sunday Morning Music. I am featuring a song, I Am a Patriot, that I have played a couple of times here before. Written and originally performed by Little Steven in the 1980’s. It originally had a reggae beat and sound but today’s version here is a bit different. Eddie Vedder, with Pearl Jam and solo, has performed this song countless times over the past twenty+ years and he is constantly interpreting it in different ways. I particularly like this version from back in 2003.

It seems to fit the moment.

The Durable Will – At Kada Gallery, Erie, PA

Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength.

–Francis de Sales, Bishop of Geneva, 1567-1622

I am not going to ramble on this morning. Trust me, I was planning on doing just that. But in mulling over what defines real strength, I realized that it often comes in brevity, in not having to point out everything. The strength that comes in the calm confidence of just standing as is, exposed and letting others draw whatever conclusions they might.

So, while I would like to talk about the strength and power that comes in compassion and gentleness, I am just going to leave it as is for you to ponder.

I am going to add a song. Bruce Springsteen has a new album called Only the Strong Survive which is comprised of his cover versions of great Soul and R&B classics. While I have been a Bruce fan for nearly 50 years and his music has been the soundtrack for much of my life, I am not crazy about this album. Oh, his performances and those of the backing band are excellent and the songs are, needless to say, brilliant.

It’s a fine album and I will no doubt listen to and enjoy it again and again.

But the originals of some of these songs are so ingrained in the precious fabric of memory that the covers seem almost tepid in comparison. Maybe that’s because I do know these songs so well. For those of you who might not know them well, his versions might feel fresh and eye-opening. And that’s okay, even good if with it comes some recognition of the originals. Here’s the original version of the title track from the great Jerry “The Iceman” Butler.

A Matter of Perspective— At Kada Gallery, Erie

Arguably, no artist grows up: If he sheds the perceptions of childhood, he ceases being an artist.

–Ned Rorem, Lies: A Diary, 1986-1999

Ned Rorem is an esteemed American composer who has won the Pulitzer Prize in music. Born in 1923, he’s still around at age 99. That probably says a lot about the importance for an artist of holding on to the perceptions of childhood. I believe that longevity and continued creativity depend on one maintaining a sense of the child within themselves.

This retention of the childlike is something that many artists have referenced, most notably Picasso who put it this way:

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.

I think a lot of this comes from the wonder we often felt as children at the newness that was in everything for us. We weren’t jaded or world-weary and cynical. The mind was fresh and constantly searching for new fascinations that could often be found in the most ordinary of places.

And that’s very much what art is– finding fascination in the ordinary.

I know it concerns me when I find myself overlooking those things that surround me. For example, as I sit here, I look up and see an older experimental piece I did a number of years ago that is mounted above a window in my studio. It’s a thin horizontal piece that is very much abstract forms in a landscape seen from a bird’s eye view. It has been in place there for a number of years and I realized just now that I no longer notice it, that I seldom if ever stop to take it in.

And doing so and realizing what is and that it is there now gives me a great sense of satisfaction, of fullness. I can’t fully explain it and maybe I shouldn’t have to. Because if you have long lost that sense of the childlike in yourself, you probably won’t understand that feeling.

Of course, it could be that I don’t know what the hell I am talking about here and am just rambling on. Maybe that’s part of the deal of holding on to the childish.

I don’t know. Maybe when I grow up, I will know such things.

Maybe– but I kind of doubt it.

Here’s a little taste of Ned Rorem’s music, a song called Early in the Morning which has lyrics by the Pulitzer Prize winning poet Robert Hillyer. This is a lovely performance from American mezzo-soprano Susan Graham.

The Stars Above, The Stars Below— At Kada Gallery, Erie

It’s a lifelong failing: she has never been prepared. But how can you have a sense of wonder if you’re prepared for everything? Prepared for the sunset. Prepared for the moonrise. Prepared for the ice storm. What a flat existence that would be.

–Margaret Atwood, Stone Mattress

I am just going to leave it at this on this 10th day of November: A new painting that is at the Kada Gallery show along with some words from Margaret Atwood on the sense of wonder that sometimes occurs when one encounters something for which they are unprepared and a favorite little known jazz piece from Richard Boulger.

Spices of life. Along with a cup of coffee, it sounds like a good start to the day. Let’s hope it fulfills that promise.

Forget hope, make it happen.

People try to put us d-down (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Just because we g-g-get around (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Things they do look awful c-c-cold (talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Yeah, I hope I die before I get old (talkin’ ’bout my generation)

— The Who, My Generation, 1965

I know that the title of this post refers to one song from The Who while I display the lyrics of another. But both fit the feeling I got from seeing the youth movement in yesterday’s elections. In every generation there is talk of the youth finally recognizing their collective power and showing it at the voting booth. And every generation’s youth voting has disappointed.

But there are signs that the kids– and I say kids with all due respect– are waking up to the fact that they are the ones will have to live in and bear the burden of the future being forged in this moment. It is their bodies, their decisions, their choices and opportunities that were on the ballot.

And yesterday, they seemed to finally understand that they have a major say in how that future will look. They can possibly make the world a place in which they want to live.

And I, for one, couldn’t be happier for them. And thankful for the major part they played in avoiding the dark future that may well have been in store for us without their hard work.

The kids are alright.

Here’s the ultimate kids’ anthem. May the kids from this generations do a better job than those that came before them. Last night makes me think they can, if they stick to it.

Let’s hope…

Man’s capacity for justice makes democracy possible, but man’s inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary.

–-Reinhold Niebuhr, The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness (1944)

No lectures or beseeching this morning. You wouldn’t be reading this if you were still trying to make up your mind at this point. So, I am going to let the words of other minds speak for me today.

Exercise your rights. Preserve democracy.

VOTE.

You have no idea how much it might matter.

Ignorance is an evil weed, which dictators may cultivate among their dupes, but which no democracy can afford among its citizens.

—William Beveridge,Full Employment in a Free Society (1944)

Democracy is not a state. It is an act, and each generation must do its part to help build what we called the Beloved Community, a nation and world society at peace with itself.

–John Lewis, Together, You Can Redeem the Soul of Our Nation

The test of a democracy is not the magnificence of buildings or the speed of automobiles or the efficiency of air transportation, but rather the care given to the welfare of all the people.

–Helen Keller, The Home Magazine (1935)

Sharing Heart– At Kada Gallery

Meanwhile the old couple noticed that, as soon as the mixing bowl was empty, it refilled itself, unaided, and the wine appeared of its own accord. They were fearful at this strange and astonishing sight, and timidly Baucis and Philemon murmured a prayer, their palms upwards, and begged the gods’ forgiveness for the meal, and their un-preparedness. They had a goose, the guard for their tiny cottage: as hosts they prepared to sacrifice it for their divine guests. But, quick-winged, it wore the old people out and, for a long time, escaped them, at last appearing to take refuge with the gods themselves. Then the heaven-born ones told them not to kill it. “We are gods,” they said, “and this neighbourhood will receive just punishment for its impiety, but to you we grant exemption from that evil. Just leave your house, and accompany our steps, as we climb that steep mountainside together.”

They both obeyed, and leaning on their sticks to ease their climb, they set foot on the long slope. When they were as far from the summit as a bowshot might carry, they looked back, and saw everywhere else vanished in the swamp: only their own roof was visible. And while they stood amazed at this, mourning their neighbours’ fate, their old cottage, tiny even for the two of them, turned into a temple. Wooden poles became pillars, and the reed thatch grew yellow, until a golden roof appeared, richly carved doors, and a marble pavement covering the ground. Then the son of Saturn spoke, calmly, to them: “Ask of us, virtuous old man, and you, wife, worthy of a virtuous husband, what you wish.”

When he had spoken briefly with Baucis, Philemon revealed their joint request to the gods. “We ask to be priests and watch over your temple, and, since we have lived out harmonious years together, let the same hour take the two of us, so that I never have to see my wife’s grave, nor she have to bury me.” The gods’ assurance followed the prayer. They had charge of the temple while they lived: and when they were released by old age, and by the years, as they chanced to be standing by the sacred steps, discussing the subject of their deaths, Baucis saw Philemon put out leaves, and old Philemon saw Baucis put out leaves, and as the tops of the trees grew over their two faces, they exchanged words, while they still could, saying, in the same breath: “Farewell, O dear companion”, as, in the same breath, the bark covered them, concealing their mouths.

The people of Bithynia still show the neighbouring trees there, that sprang from their two bodies. Trustworthy old men related these things to me (there was no reason why they should wish to lie). For my part, I saw garlands hanging from the branches, and placing fresh ones there said: “Let those who love the gods become gods: let those who have honoured them, be honoured.” 

–Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book VIII, 679-724

Above is the end of the Baucis & Philemon story, taking place after the aged couple have opened their impoverished home to Zeus and Hermes (Jupiter and Mercury, in the Roman version) who were disguised as mortal beggars. The two gods had approached all the homes in the village where Baucis & Philemon resided and were rudely turned away from every home. That is, except for the home of the poor couple.

I told that story a couple of times on Friday evening to folks as we stood before the two Baucis & Philemon-inspired pieces in my current Kada Gallery show, such as Sharing Heart, shown above. It’s a story I have told numerous times here so many of you will be familiar with it.

The one thing I have failed to mention in my past tellings of the tale is that I have my own Baucis & Philemon trees that I see every day. Not more than twenty feet away from the back stairs to my studio’s back entrance, which I use numerous times each day, stands two trees whose trunks have grown together.

Oddly enough, though I have told the Baucis & Philemon story for years, it wasn’t until recent years that I actually noticed that a similar situation was only a glimpse away.

I don’t know what that says about my powers of observation. I guess it’s a case of taking that which is close for granted. We search for distant vistas then often look past those things that are near and familiar, not recognizing that the amazing and the beautiful is readily available to us. Like the old Acres of Diamonds story, the one where the farmer in Africa sells his farm to go search for treasure and the new owner discovers that the farm’s land is rich with diamonds. It soon becomes one of the largest diamond mines in Africa while the former owner fails in his search for treasure.

You might say that we often can’t see the forest for the trees.

But now that I am cognizant of these two mythic lovers living so near, hardly a day goes by that I don’t take pause on the studio steps to appreciate the pair. And I feel just a small bit richer for it…

Society cares about the individual only in so far as he is profitable. The young know this. Their anxiety as they enter in upon social life matches the anguish of the old as they are excluded from it.

—Simone de Beauvoir, The Coming of Age (1970)

Last year, I was approached by a film production company for permission to use the painting at the top, The Angst, for use in a documentary on the massive anxiety that afflicts this country, focusing mainly on how it affects the youth.

It had an incredible team working on it. It was led by Academy Award winning documentary director Vanessa Roth, written and produced NY Times bestselling author Laura Morton, presented by model/designer/activist Kathy Ireland, and a whole bunch of others with multiple awards and credits.

It looked like a no-brainer. I was told that there was no guarantee that the image would make the final cut. But that didn’t really matter since the subject was right in my personal wheelhouse and The Angst is a painting that has more personal meaning and connection for me than almost any other piece. I agreed and forgot about it.

I was contacted recently that The Angst was, indeed, used in the film and that the film was complete and premiering at the Newport Beach Film Festival and being screened at a number of other film festivals.

I will be eager to see how the image is employed. It’s gratifying to see it play a small part in a quality project, even if only for a moment or two in the film, especially one whose subject is so close to my heart.

Anxiety has plagued me for most of my life. When we moved to a new school district in the 8th grade, my anxiety skyrocketed. I remember my hair coming out in clumps at the time and the alarm it raised in my mom.

I got through it at the time, but anxiety, along with the depression that often comes along for the ride, has been a constant companion all these years. I have learned to live with it with assorted coping behaviors that evolved through the years and have done what I consider a pretty good job in masking it.

Most people I have met or known over the years would be surprised to learn how anxious I am at any given time. I don’t know if that’s good or bad or if I am even correct in assuming that I was successfully masking my struggle. Or that the strategies I employed were truly healthy or successful. I guess that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I got through to this point and have adequate tools and support to live my life.

I can’t imagine being a kid today with the kind of anxiety I had back then. Though I grew up in stressful times, the stress levels today in every aspect of life seem to be off the charts. It’s constant and pervasive, not giving kids much time or room to develop tools or strategies in order to deal with it.

I wish I had advice to give but it’s kind of like giving advice on being an artist– it’s such a personal path that there is no one way that applies to all. Or even most. Each of us has our own set of circumstances, relationships, history, emotional triggers, etc. What works for me might well be a disaster for someone else.

My hope is that this film helps brings this plague to light. It, and other associated efforts, will hopefully forge some better understanding, helping us develop strategies to cope with and possibly stave it off somewhat for future generations.

We can hope.

I will keep you apprised on when the film will be available for future viewing, or you can get alerts and other info through their site at AnxiousNation.com.

Well, I wasn’t planning on writing on this subject this morning and certainly wasn’t planning on pulling back my mask. But there it is. Let’s move on to some Sunday Morning Music. Here’s something that has nothing to do with the painting or subject. It’s the Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra playing Skaravan in a hotel room. Though I like this and think it’s great fun stuff, if I see these guys getting off the elevator on the floor of my hotel, I might well head down to change to another room, many floors away.

I needs me sleep, mateys. Carry on…

Force Natural– Coming to the Principle Gallery, June 2023

The Moon Resonates- At West End Gallery

The words “Think and Thank” are inscribed in many of the Cromwellian churches of England. These words ought to be inscribed in our hearts, too: “Think and Thank”. Think of all we have to be grateful for, and thank God for all our boons and bounties.

–Dale Carnegie, How to Enjoy Your Life and Your Job

All in all, it was a very pleasant evening at Erie’s Kada Gallery last night as my solo show, Places of Peace, opened there. It was good to see many faces that I had missed since my last Kada Gallery show in 2017 along with many new faces to take in and meet. I got to tell some stories, answer many questions, and catch up with many folks.

Plus, the show looked great in the space. Many thanks to Doug, Anne and the staff at the Kada for doing a bang-up job with the show and for making those in attendance, myself included, feel welcome. It is much appreciated.

And, of course, thank you for those of you who were able to make it out to the gallery on a warm and busy Friday evening in November. Thank you for your appreciation of my work as well as for the kind words and the insights you shared. It gives meaning to my time here in the studio and I am forever grateful.

Thank you all for the boons and bounties you have provided. My best wishes to you all.