Redtree Times

Learning to Fly— Now at the West End Gallery

He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.

–Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra

Busy morning and not enough to say to take the time. Instead, here’s a favorite version of the oft-covered classic I’ll Fly Away from Gillian Welch and David Rawlings. Good stuff.

Got to fly…

Eye in the Sky— At the West End Gallery

Ten Thousand Years’ Play

I got into the ocean and played.
I played on the land too.
I also played in the sky.
I played with the devil’s children in the clouds.
I played with shooting stars in space.
I played too long and years passed.
I played even when I became a tottering old man.
My beard was fifteen feet long.
Still I played.
Even when I was resting, my dream was playing.
Finally I played with the sun, seeing which one of us could be redder.
I had already played for ten thousand years.
Even when I was dead, I still played.
I looked at children playing, from the sky.

–Tozu Norio, There are Two Lives: Poems by Children of Japan, 1970

While Eye in the Sky, this year’s edition of my annual solo exhibit at the West End Gallery, may have ended yesterday, this morning I came across a poem that might have captured in great part the theme of that show. It’s a poem written by an 11-year-old child from Japan, Tozu Norio, published in a 1970 book called There are Two Lives: Poems by Children of Japan.

I could very well envision the ten-thousand-year-old narrator of this poem as the peering eye behind the clouds in a dream from several years ago that provided the basis for this show. The dream was described in the statement for the show that accompanied the blogpost for the title painting from the exhibit, shown here at the top.

I was just struck this morning that a child from Japan, who would now be about my age if the poem was written in the same year as the book’s publication, wrote such a poem as an 11-year-old. The idea that we might share a vision of an ancient overseer who was not a god-like character looking at us from a distant perch in the sky after playing for eons with the sun was an interesting one.

I was not able to find any more info about him and only one citation of the poem itself. Nonetheless, the poem rang bells for me. I enjoyed it very much and am glad to have stumbled across it.

Oracle’s Light– At the West End Gallery

The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy, the building of a house, the writing of a novel, the demolition of a bridge, and, eminently, the finish of a voyage.

–John Galsworthy, Over the River (1933)

Well, today marks the end of this year’s show, Eye in the Sky, at the West End Gallery. The exhibit comes off the gallery walls after today.

The remaining paintings are taken down and stacked and stored and some are rehung in other parts of the gallery. It is a disassembling of the whole and is, as Galsworthy wrote, an untidy undertaking, the finish to this particular journey.

But it has been a good voyage, one with lessons learned and one that sets up new endpoints for the next. A heartfelt Thank You to all that came to see the show and to those who made it to the Gallery Talk. Your support and encouragement have meant the world to me. Inspiring.

And that sentiment extends and multiplies to Jesse, Linda, and John at the West End Gallery.

They make the untidy undertaking look neat and easy. And that, as you know, is not a small thing.

If you can make it into the West End today, please do before the work in this exhibit begins the next stage in its journey.

It was difficult choosing but I thought this might be a good song to end this exhibit. It’s the great old Woody Guthrie song, Dusty Old Dust, also known as So Long It’s Been Good to Know Yuh. Of course, there’s a world of difference between chased from your home and on the road by the dust storms of the 1930’s and an art exhibit ending. But that final line- I’ve got to be driftin’ along– fits like a glove.

Thanks!

Moonlight Quartet–West End Gallery Show Ends Tomorrow!

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued. 

–Robert Frost, Dust of Snow (1923)

Okay, so it’s not exactly about crows. But it fits the mood.

Journey and Light– Show Ends Thursday at West End Gallery!!

Every moment was a precious thing, having in it the essence of finality.

–Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca (1938)

We’re in the last few days of the Eye in the Sky exhibit at the West End Gallery. It comes off the walls after this Thursday, August 24.

It’s always a bittersweet feeling near the end of any show. The finality of the ending begins to set in at this point as the removal of the work from the gallery walls looms. Any artist wishes their work to continue to be featured front and center all the time, so to relinquish the wall space is looked upon with a mix of sadness and begrudging acceptance.

But at the same time, there is a feeling of liberation in the shape of a shift from the present– the work that has been done for these shows– to the future and the new work that has been waiting to get past the obligations of the show so that it might emerge.

Doing two shows every year that are only separated by 5 or 6 weeks makes for a very demanding schedule in the first 8 months of the year. There is a push to produce the needed work followed by the obligatory promotional push that comes with each show. Both are taxing in their own way though I view the promotional part, of which this blog is a big part during the shows, as the more demanding of the two. The creation of the work is energizing and self-propelling. It feels natural and ingrained.

On the other hand, the required writing and posting is a very difficult task for me, often feeling unnatural and awkward. I suppose that is why I gave up the idea of being a writer long ago. Writing even short posts is usually a struggle, leaving me feeling as though I am out of my lane.

Writing simply doesn’t create the same sort of joy in me as does the painting. So, removing it as a promotional task solely about my work and making it more about things that inspire and interest me is a relief around the time this show ends.

I am freed.

But, even so, seeing the show come down is always a bit of a downer. But not in a big way. As you all know, there are much worse things in this world. I certainly do. If this is the biggest downer in my life, I am leading a most enchanted life.

Maybe I am. So don’t expect me to be sobbing any more about it.

I am going to take the advice of Chrissie Hynde and the Pretenders with their cover the old Kinks song, Stop Your Sobbing, and start moving ahead into that freed up future.

Well, moving on after telling you once more that my show ends Thursday, August 24, at the West End Gallery.

Maestro— Show Ends Thursday, August 24

To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.

—Simone Weil, The Need for Roots (1949)

My current exhibit, Eye in the Sky, is in its last days. The show comes down from the walls of the West End Gallery at the end of the day this coming Thursday, August 24.

It’s been a satisfying show on many levels, including the Gallery Talk this past Saturday. We spoke at the Talk about the difference between online interactions and those that take place face to face in the gallery. I said that being able to see the other person in front of me, to read their faces and reactions, to hear their voice speaking their feelings about the work, is an invaluable thing for me. It often can even change how I see aspects of my work.

To demonstrate this point, I related a conversation that I had during the show’s opening. I shared it here the day after that opening but felt that it was worth sharing again today as the show winds down. It speaks volumes about how important these interactions are, as well what the work means to me and how it relates to my own need for rootedness.

This is from the blogpost of July 22, titled The Root:

One of the things that I have missed during the pandemic years was the interaction with viewers of my work and the feedback they give. Their views on the work often provide new perspectives which, in turn, can sometime change how I see a piece. It’s as though they, with their own stores of experience and circumstance different from my own, can sometimes see the work clearer than I.

And that is exciting for me.

I had such a moment last night. I was approached by a lovely woman named Angelique who told me she was visiting Corning with her sister. They had spent the day going up and down Market Street, in and out of the museums and shops. She told me she had been drawn into the gallery by my work in the window during one of her trips on the street and found herself entranced by the Red Tree. She told herself she had to come back during the opening to ask more about the Red Tree, even though she came without her sister who was worn out from their busy day.

She approached and asked me what the meaning was behind the Red Tree. I explained how it had come about and the several things it had come to symbolize for myself and others who shared their views on it.

She asked if I wanted to hear her thoughts on it. I said that I would love that.

She said simply, “It’s the Root.”

It stunned me a bit because the word set off all sorts of connections in my mind, as though it was catalyst for organizing frayed bits and pieces into a coherent concept. It made sense instantly.

I told her I liked that very much then she asked if wanted to know why she thought it was the Root. I said that nothing could please me more.

She explained that the Red Tree was almost always on a mound (she’s correct in this) which to her was like a root mound where you see only the plant above ground but below the earth its roots run deep and wide, creating and feeding everything– the houses, fields, etc.– that surrounds it.

It was the Root of all our connections to this world.

As I said, I was stunned. Angelique (don’t know if the spelling is right) had never saw my work nor read my blog but in a short time had cut through everything to see what was at the core– or root– of the work. I had never thought of the Red Tree’s roots being the unifying agent in this work and it made me look at every piece a bit differently. Maybe with even a bit more appreciation, if that is possible.

Eye to the Future— Shows Ends This Thursday, Aug 24, at West End Gallery

Gratitude changes the pangs of memory into a tranquil joy.

–Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison

Many, many Thank You’s to all who came out to the Gallery Talk yesterday at the West End Gallery. Outside of an online Zoom talk during the pandemic year of 2020, this was the first in-person Talk since 2019. 

There was a full house with many familiar faces and almost as many that were new to me. They came from near and far. One family, a longtime friend and collector, came from Toronto, which was a most pleasant surprise. 

I was rusty, as was to be expected, especially at the beginning when I stumbled through the story of how I came to be a painter. I was surprised at how nervous I was in telling that story as it is one that I have told hundreds of times in the past. I figured it would be a good jumping off point for a crowd with so many new faces, but nerves got the better of me and I didn’t tell it as fully as it should have been told.

It was that kind of talk. In fact, I didn’t get around to talking about much of what I had hoped to discuss. But that was of little matter thanks to the friendly and forgiving embrace this audience provided. Once we got into some Q & A, the talk became more fluid and graceful. So many good questions that it made time fly by. We could have easily went another hour but Gallery owner Jesse, serving as the official timekeeper for the event, gave me the high sign when we were near an hour and we proceeded to the drawing for the original painting. 

I am not going to go into details of what took place or what was given away. We keep that a secret among those who were there and myself. There may or may not have been a secret ceremony but I can’t divulge any more at this time.

I may have said too much already.

I have written here before about the gratitude I have for the collectors and those folks who make their way to the openings and Gallery Talks. These Talks give me a chance to air thoughts about what I do and get feedback in real time. I do get feedback online– and that is very important– but seeing and hearing the other person in front of you is invaluable. You might be surprised how little I talk about my work with friends and family so to get to air some of these thoughts is most welcome.

It felt good to be that warm and welcoming place again. And for that, I am most grateful. Thank you to all who were in attendance yesterday and a big and loving Thank You to Jesse and Lin for giving me this and so many other opportunities over the years. I could not be more grateful.

In that spirit, here’s song of thanks from the late 60’s, though I think this performance is mid 70’s. It’s the classic Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) from the great Sly and the Family Stone. A little funk to kick off your Sunday morning.

Jubilee- West End Gallery Show Ends Thursday, August 24

Only by learning to live in harmony with your contradictions can you keep it all afloat.

–Audre Lorde, Conversations with Audre Lorde

I often describe paintings such as the painting above, Jubilee, as my Baucis & Philemon pieces, work that is based on and inspired the Greek myth of the poor, elderly couple visited in their home by a disguised Zeus.

And these paintings are primarily just that. But I also see another reading in them. I often see them as representing the two sides of our individual wholeness. You might call it the individual’s yin and yang.

Two sides of the coin.

Dark and light. Good and bad. Male and female. Wise and foolish.

We are never one thing alone. We are comprised of opposing forces. Maybe it is the tension between these forces that creates whatever it is that animates us as living creatures.

I surely don’t know the answer to that. Beyond my paygrade, as they say.

But it has me thinking this morning. Maybe that is something we will talk about at the Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery later this morning.

Maybe. I won’t know until I start talking and something falls out to get the whole thing rolling. Where it goes is anyone’s guess.

Normally I would be urging folks to come out and join in the festivities but we have a very full house. Sorry for those of you who had wanted to come but weren’t able to reserve a spot.

I am hoping this won’t be the last so maybe next year?

PS: For those of you coming today, there is a clue in here somewhere to some part of the talk. It will alll soon be revealed…

Student and Master— Now at West End Gallery

It seems to be very hard for people to live with riddles or to let them live, although one would think that life is so full of riddles as it is that a few more things we cannot answer would make no difference. But perhaps it is just this that is so unendurable, that there are irrational things in our own psyche which upset the conscious mind in its illusory certainties by confronting it with the riddle of its existence.

–Carl Jung

I was looking at an image of this painting, Student and Master, this morning. It’s in my Eye in the Sky exhibit at the West End Gallery show that is in its final week before coming down next Thursday, August 24.

This is a painting that pleases me on several levels. I am drawn to it aesthetically by its colors, forms, and composition. And I am also drawn to it on an intellectual level where I see in it a series of questions or riddles with what seems to be few, if any, answers.

It has an enigmatic feel. Very Sphinx-like in that I can look upon it, seeing and appreciating it as it is, yet walk away wondering why it is as it is.

I can only describe the feeling I get from it as one of uneasy comfort. I feel both soothed by it yet am made fully aware of the unanswerable riddles that surround us. Maybe Jung was on the mark with the thought that life often feels unendurable because of our mind’s desire for certitude in an uncertain world. A desire for rationality in an irrational world.

Or maybe we should take another view into consideration, that of Mark Twain in his 1899 fictionalized essay, Christian Science:

Let us consider that we are all partially insane. It will explain us to each other; it will unriddle many riddles; it will make clear and simple many things which are involved in haunting and harassing difficulties and obscurities now.

If we admit that we are all somewhat insane then nothing is really a riddle because then rationality and logic don’t really carry much weight. Sounds like we are about to that point, doesn’t it?

The fact that this little painting spawns so much thought makes it a memorable piece for me, the image of which I am sure I will be revisiting many times in the future.

Well, as many times as there will be in this uncertain and irrational world.

Speaking of uncertain and irrational things, I now have to get to work on the interpretative dance piece I have planned for tomorrow’s Gallery Talk, which is now at FULL CAPACITY.

Now, get outta of here.

“All right,” said the Cheshire Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.

–Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Like the Cheshire Cat’s smile, time to see the Eye in the Sky show at the West End Gallery is fading!

The show comes down at the end of the day next Thursday, August 24.