Redtree Times

The Understanding– At the Principle Gallery

Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.

–Marie Curie

This is a new painting that is headed to the Principle Gallery in Alexandria this coming week for their annual Small Works exhibit which opens Friday, December 4. It’s on the upper end of small, coming in at 10″ by 20″ on canvas mounted on aluminum panel.

I call this piece The Understanding. The thought behind this title is very much in line with the words at the top from Marie Curie, the legendary scientist and first woman to win a Nobel Prize.

And her words certainly apply any periods of great unrest and trouble throughout history.

Fear is our greatest enemy.

It lacks knowledge and, most importantly, it lacks the understanding of how things operate and occur. This in turn prevents one from addressing the problems at hand, from diagnosing what has happened, how to repair the damage done and how to move forward without the problem arising once more.

Sounds like the work of a mechanic, doesn’t it? And maybe in simple terms it is a good analogy.

A mechanic, after all, has understanding of how things are put together, how things operate. The mechanic can look at a problem and know immediately what may have caused the problem and affirm that with a few tests or by examining the potential problematic element. He can then figure out what went wrong and what needs to be done to fix the situation.

Everything is done with clarity and calmness because the mechanic has an understanding of his field.

None of the fear and worries and hand-wringing that someone without this understanding goes through when faced with the problem at hand.

When we experience fear, it is generally because we lack the understanding of what has brought about the situation, how it must be dealt with, and how to prevent it from re-occurring at some later time.

In may cases, we have become so used to others– other mechanics, if you will– taking care of our problems without us needing to understand anything, without us lifting a hand to help things along. But sometimes, the problems are large and require time and patience. These are things that we often fail to grant without at least a basic understanding of how things work.

Without it, we become anxious and fearful. Reactionary and impulsive. We begin to question the knowledge and honesty of the mechanic, demanding fixes that don’t fit the situation.

Okay, it’s still before 7 AM so maybe I am torturing this analogy a bit. It feels like it’s one that could be played out into infinity. Let’s put this one to rest, okay?

But it seems to me that so many of our problems result from so many folks are stirred to fear because they have little or no understanding of how things operate. Nor do they have the willingness to try to obtain true understanding. They want things to go as they desire without their input or assistance.

The idea, or at least the feeling, behind this painting is that when one has patience and a bit of understanding, the way the world operates and is put together becomes more apparent. As a result, one becomes less fearful and more open to gaining even more understanding.

Understanding shows us the answers, gives us ways to move forward.

Fear is a hammer that breaks everything apart. Understanding is the glue that holds this whole crazy contraption together.

Understanding is fearless…

Thank you for your patience and understanding this morning!

A Perfect Love — Soon at the Principle Gallery

How very lovable her face was to him. Yet there was nothing ethereal about it; all was real vitality, real warmth, real incarnation. And it was in her mouth that this culminated. Eyes almost as deep and speaking he had seen before, and cheeks perhaps as fair; brows as arched, a chin and throat almost as shapely; her mouth he had seen nothing to equal on the face of the earth. To a young man with the least fire in him that little upward lift in the middle of her red top lip was distracting, infatuating, maddening. He had never before seen a woman’s lips and teeth which forced upon his mind with such persistent iteration the old Elizabethan simile of roses filled with snow. Perfect, he, as a lover, might have called them off-hand. But no — they were not perfect. And it was the touch of the imperfect upon the would-be perfect that gave the sweetness, because it was that which gave the humanity.

― Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D’Urbervilles

I love this paragraph from Hardy and, in particular, that last sentence:

And it was the touch of the imperfect upon the would-be perfect that gave the sweetness, because it was that which gave the humanity.

It might well be the mission statement I might give for my own work, if asked.

Viewing it as a sign of our humanity and vulnerability, I almost strive for imperfection, though I never do so consciously. I just know that if I try to do my very best, to try to reach my own pinnacle of accomplishment, that somehow my own imperfections will find their way into that work and show through.

And in doing so, I find that when I notice these imperfections that they seldom seem to detract from the work. No, like the words from Hardy, they enhance the work for me.

They add the sweetness of humanity.

That brings us to the painting at the top, a new piece headed to the Principle Gallery for its annual Small Works show which opens next Friday, December 4. The painting is from my Baucis & Philemon series, based on the Greek myth that had an poor, older couple who had pleased Zeus with their open-heartedness and generosity, granted an eternity together by him as trees bound as one.

I call this piece A Perfect Love.

The title refers to the wish of Baucis & Philemon, of course. But it is actually a bit tongue in cheek because of the imperfections that clearly show in this piece.

A Perfect Love detail

There are bits of broken bristle from a worn brush embedded in the dried liquid of the inks I use. A tiny hair here and there, probably from an eyebrow as I hover over the piece. The rough edges of the paint layers. A constellation of pinholes in the underlying gesso.

All these things I seldom see while I am at work. My attention is on the whole of it and capturing some from of energy that will bring it to life. It’s only after it is done– unless it’s such a large flaw that it detracts from the whole– that I notice these things.

And, as in this piece, they bring me joy. They are striking evidence of my humanness, my flawed existence on this planet. I would like to think that sometime in the future someone might look on these imperfections and think about how they arrived there, imagining an artist standing over this surface with brush in hand at the moment that the energy of the painting emerged.

They’ll be able to see the hand ( and maybe the hair and sometimes a bit of spit or blood) of the artist in the work. And I like that, disgusting as it may sound to some.

It’s human. Imperfect.

And that is, in its own way, perfect.

The unthankful heart discovers no mercies; but the thankful heart will find, in every hour, some heavenly blessings.

― Henry Ward Beecher

Thanksgiving 2021.

Even in a crazy, upside down world, I find there are many things for which to be thankful. Most are small and simple things. My wants and needs are not big nor extravagant.

But mainly my list is comprised of people. Friends and family and some folks who are strangers to me, people who have shown me kindness for only the sake of being kind.

I am thankful for those of you out there who read this blog or come to simply look at the paintings. Either way, it means the world to me and I can’t thank you enough.

Oh, and a special thank you, as always, to Snoopy. He was the first thing I learned to capably draw as a kid, from another kid on my school bus. Without Snoopy and that kid on that bus, my life would no doubt be much different.

Certainly not as good.

So, on this day of thanks, I hope your hearts are filled with gratitude today and that you recognize the blessings that surround you.

And be kind to others.

Have yourself a Happy Thanksgiving.

They who give have all things; they who withhold have nothing.

–Hindu Proverb

Today’s virtue is generosity. I am running sections of a post from back in 2014 that dealt with giving of yourself. In this case, generosity was represented in the paintings I have given away over the years at gallery talks and the paintings I have donated to raise money for a variety of causes.

I have described this as an act of gratitude towards the folks who have supported me so well through the years, buying my work and following its growth in the galleries and here online. This is true, it is an act of gratitude. But it also has more meaning than that for me.

It is a small act of giving that is part of a larger battle against the selfishness and meanness of spirit so evident in the world. I am not talking about only others here. I am not exempt from selfishness. I have certainly been a selfish person in my life.

More so than I like to admit or let on. And I will probably be selfish in the future even though it is something I actively try to avoid.

But I find that with each small act of giving, of parting with something that I could easily hold onto covetously, something that feels like a part of me, there is a lightening of my burden and my spirit.

Generosity forces down many of the meaner parts of myself and creates space within for those better parts to expand and show themselves. It is an exhilarating feeling, a feeling of liberation from my baser self.

Even more so when I am giving something I consider a part of myself, something derived from my heart.

So much so that these events where I give away paintings have become the highlight of my working life.

I think that is why I take so much time and effort in choosing the painting to be given away. I have to find that piece that has a very personal meaning and attachment for me, one that I could easily hang onto for myself. It has to make me twinge a bit, make me a little uncomfortable to give it away. But once that decision has been made, the lightening begins and I am eager to see where the painting will find a new home.

Of course, this is only one form of generosity. There are many others, including a generosity of spirit, of reaching out and giving time to people in friendship and love.

The point is to give to others of yourself.

And hopefully, they will pass it on in their own acts of generosity to others. And then maybe the world will begin to be the better place we all know it could be.

That has to start somewhere, right?

Night’s Desire— At the Principle Gallery, December 4

The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire.

― Willa Cather, The Song of the Lark

I guess this is a little departure from a Thanksgiving week of virtues. Desire, to some, might even qualify as a sin along the lines of envy or avarice. And I guess in many instances that might be true.

But here, for the purpose of this new smaller painting, Night’s Desire, that is not the case. At least, not as I see it.

The desire I see here is not carnal nor is it one of greed or selfishness. It is that desire that will not let one settle for things as they are, to be content when they can plainly see there is more at hand to be uncovered.

That there are answers and truths to be found out there beyond the horizons of one’s own little world and life. 

This is not about not feeling gratitude for that which we have. That should always be the case. For me, it’s more about questioning why we can’t make this world a place where everyone can rightfully be content with their lot in life.

A world where everyone has something to be thankful every day.

There is surely no easy answer but the desire to find one remains. 

Maybe desire can be a virtue, after all.

This new piece, Night’s Desire, is a 9″ by 12 canvas painting that will be headed to the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA for its annual Small Paintings show, opening December 4th.

The Universal Symbol for Empathy

Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant of the weak and the wrong. Sometime in life you will have been all of these.

― George Washington Carver

Let’s continue this Thanksgiving week’s stream of virtues with a biggie: empathy. The ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes or see through their eyes. To feel their emotions, to try to perceive the circumstances of their life.

As Walt Whitman put it in the immortal Song of Myself, describing his time as a hospital aide during the Civil War when he nursed severely wounded Union soldiers:

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.

It seems like a simple thing, a natural reaction for most decent people. But it is, unfortunately, becoming a more and more scarce entity. It sometimes feels like there is a total absence of empathy in this world with some folks. Or maybe it’s that they have managed to lop their empathy into smaller bits, reserving it only for people who look and speak and think like themselves.

Empathy is sometimes even mocked these days, derided as a symptom of weakness or softness, something to be exploited. My persona view on this is that empathy is actually a strength, something that allows you to feel compassion with those in need while at the same time giving you the ability to understand and perhaps predict how your adversaries might act.

In this case, a lack of empathy is actually a hinderance to those with less than honorable intentions.This thought takes me back to the words of Gustav Gilbert who was the psychologist at Spandau Prison where the Nazi war crimes defendants were held in 1945:

I told you once that I was searching for the nature of evil. I think I’ve come close to defining it: a lack of empathy. It’s the one characteristic that connects all the defendants. A genuine incapacity to feel with their fellow man. Evil, I think, is the absence of empathy.

Conversely, goodness would include the presence of empathy.

Most of you out there reading this are empathetic folks. If not, you most likely wouldn’t have read this far or be following this blog. So, this is just preaching to the choir. But can you make others feel empathy or, at least, more empathetic to a wider range of others?

I would guess that this can only occur through a willingness to display your own empathy with patience and grace. Much like the words of advice at the top from George Washington Carver.

Do I know this for sure?

No. But who or what can it hurt?

It can only help in some way or another. Try it…

Last Kind Words– Headed to the Principle Gallery

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

― Aesop

I am going to focus on positive things this coming week, a small nod to the spirit of Thanksgiving. After all, it is a holiday that is based on gratitude, which Cicero called the mother of all virtues.

Smart guy, that Cicero. I have to agree with him.

Gratitude begets all good things. It certainly leads to kindness. Kind words and gestures. It’s a virtue that is often lacking in the world these days, much to my dismay and consternation. After all, our reactions are choices and it puzzles me that so many so often choose cruelty over kindness. 

I have been the recipient of many kindnesses in my life, probably more than my fair share. Many came at times when I was at the lowest points in my life. Gestures and kind words, sometimes so small that the folks doling them out probably didn’t even realize the power they possessed, changed my attitude and the direction of my life. They made me feel vulnerably human and gave me hope that the darker days would soon be over.

I am forever grateful to those people in those instances. My hope is that some small word or act of kindness of mine will serve someone else in the same way.

It doesn’t take a tremendous effort to be kind. We sometimes become hardened and our reactions become coarse and cruel. We forget that kindness is always an option.

I certainly feel better when I make that choice.

That brings us to this week’s Sunday Morning Music which is accompanied by a new small painting at the top, from the upcoming small paintings show at the Principle Gallery, that has borrowed the song’s title for its own. The song is Last Kind Words Blues from Alison Kraus and Robert Plant, off their new album, Raise the Roof. The two have great chemistry and their collaborations are always something special.

The song was written and originally recorded by Geeshie Wiley in 1930. Most likely you don’t know the name. Few do. Little is known of her. No known photos or biographical details. All that people knw for sure is that she wrote and recorded six songs for Paramount Records. But even that small sample left a powerful legacy, with some Blues historian calling her perhaps the greatest singer and musician from the rural South. 

Last Kind Words Blues is certainly a powerful song. I am putting the original from Geeshie Wiley at the bottom.

So, give a listen and don’t let your next kind words be your last.

There are a lot of things I wanted to comment on this morning but I didn’t want to make myself — or you–crazy. I thought I would try to sooth some nerves. Since we are beginning the rundown to Thanksgiving I would run a post from that day back in 2015. It seems like hundred years ago now. So much has happened in this world in that time, much of it troubling. But a constant remains– the power of gratitude. That’s the theme of this post. Plus it has a great song that has powers to sooth the troubled soul.

So, even thought it’s not Thanksgiving, give a look and listen. And be thankful for what you’ve got.

Another Thanksgiving and  it might seem that it would be hard to find much to be thankful for in this turbulent world with its endless cornucopia of anger, hatred, intolerance, injustice and inequality set out for our consumption each day. With a diet of so many negatives it would be easy to forget that one simple thing that truly feeds and sustains us– gratitude.

Recognizing and acknowledging those things that make us happy is such a simple thing yet we somehow lose sight of it. I know my life feels so much more complete when I see how I am made happy by the light that the full moon casts on our evening walk. Or in the way my studio cat, Hobie, runs to me with an audible purr when I enter in the morning. Or in watching the deer play and stroll through the studio’s yard, one or two sometimes stopping to stare in at me through the window. Or in the songs of the birds in the woods.

Or in something so simple as a stranger returning a smile and a hello as they pass by.

Just little things that we sometimes overlook in the crush of the world. But things that are important in our real connection to the world. So today set aside your fears and anger and whatever else eats at you on a regular basis and try to think of those people who make you happy, those moments that might bring a smile or a tear and anything that gives your life fullness. It’s not always easy but life ain’t too bad.

Here’s one of my favorite songs. I know it makes me happy even when I am strolling along and can’t get its chorus out of my head. It’s Be Thankful for What You Got from William DeVaughn from back in 1974. Have a great Thanksgiving.

GC Myers- Reunion on the Bounty

Was this how a mutiny was sparked? In a moment of heedlessness, so that one became a stranger to the person one had been a moment before? Or was it the other way around? That this was when one recognized the stranger that one had always been to oneself; that all one’s loyalties and beliefs had been misplaced?

― Amitav Ghosh, The Glass Palace

The painting above is called Reunion on the Bounty and is headed to the Principle Gallery for their annual Small Paintings show that opens in early December.

It’s a piece that has a little humor. Or so I think. The idea of a reunion between the mutineers from the Bounty and Captain Bligh and the other crew members who remained loyal to him seemed to have a certain degree of absurdity that appealed to me.

It might be something like the Capitol Police and the seditious Insurrectionists of January 6 having a picnic to commemorate that day.

When I thought of that comparison it brought to mind something a lot of people say when faced with the consequences of their actions, such as those insurrectionists now facing criminal charges and prison time. After doing horrible and often violent things, people often say that this was not who they really were. They often add that they are good people.

I find those interesting things to say. The passage at the top from acclaimed Indian author Amitov Ghosh sums it up well. Was the horrible action an aberration? Or was it a revealing of their true reality?

After all, everybody thinks they are good people. Who truly thinks of themselves as being awful, as being thoughtless, selfish creeps?

Nobody.

We have built-in mechanisms that rationalize and justify our own actions that sometimes, in effect, blind us to how those actions or our true natures appear to others. Unfortunately, we seldom acknowledge the faults in our actions or express any remorse.

Well. at least, until we’re in custody. Then, of course, we claim that the person who committed the atrocities wasn’t who we really are.

But maybe that was who we were all along.

I don’t really know. I’ve done and said plenty of things that I regret. But I admit that I was that person in those instances, at that time. Hopefully I learned, grew, and evolved. Maybe became a different person who was the real me as a result.

But I don’t know if I will ever know for sure which is the real me.

And I am sure that Captain Bligh or the Capitol Police wouldn’t give a damn if that was or wasn’t the real you because they had to deal with whoever it was on the day in question. If Mother Teresa or Albert Schweitzer came at them with a sabre or a can of bear spray, all their previous good works would mean little to them.

Mother Teresa with a can of bear spray? Hey, maybe that could be a future painting…

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

― Richard Lovelace, To Althea, from Prison, 1641

Doin’ my time…

I was going to write about prisons today. Actually, about how some free walking folks are as imprisoned by their behaviors and beliefs as anyone behind the stone walls of any prison.

As Lovelace pointed out nearly four hundred years ago, freedom’s a state of mind. For the most part, we make our own prisons and do our own time.

Take that any way you choose.

I am just going to use it to segue into a performance of  Doin’ My Time from Billy Strings.   It was written sometime in the 1940’s by Jimmie Skinner and  famously covered by  Flatt & Scruggs as well as  Johnny Cash. Billy Strings is a young (only 29) and exceptionally talented performer who was raised on a musical diet of bluegrass, heavy metal and jam bands. This version shows his virtuosity and knack for  identifying the strength in a song and running with it.

Really impressive performance that holds up well against those of the legends. Just plain good stuff.

And now I have to get back to my cell. Got some more time to do.