Redtree Times

The Steadying Light– At the West End Gallery

We work in the dark — we do what we can — we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.

–Henry James, as quoted in The Middle Years (1893)

I’ve had sixty-some solo exhibits over the past quarter century and, without exception, the weeks following the shows’ openings are among the most difficult to endure in this artist’s working year.

These weeks are inevitably filled with anxiety and self-doubt. I find myself wondering if the work was as good as I had thought or if I had done enough or given enough of myself. Had I curated the show well enough, choosing work that fit the show? Will the show well enough to satisfy the galleries and pay the bills?

It is one the few weeks in the artist’s working year where the focus is not on the creation of the work but on results, on how it is received and sold. The rest of the year is seemingly done under a shroud, away from intense scrutiny and the pressure to perform in the sales column.

It is much as author Henry James spoke of above during one of the low points in his career, when he had ceased being the favored flavor of the moment. You do what you do and give all that you have in relative darkness, all the time fighting to reveal some sort of truth that lay beyond all doubts, inner and outer.

What becomes of it is out of our hands and is left to, as James puts it, the madness of art. That madness — recognition, sales, critical acclaim, etc.– is something far beyond our control, try as we might. You do the work and let fate do the rest.

Time has taught me that lesson. But even that lesson etched in my mind does little to alleviate the doubt and anxiety that arise in these post-opening weeks.

I sometimes make the analogy in my mind that during most of the year I am an ant working in the darkness beneath a big flat stone. Out of sight and unharried. But a couple of times year some little kid lifts that big flat stone and exposes me suddenly to the harsh light. I, as an ant, am suddenly in panic mode, racing madly around, all the time trying to get back to the shaded security of my flat stone.

If you ever lifted a big flat stone as a kid, you know what I am talking about.

It’s a hard thing to describe, this weird aftereffect that takes place in what should be a time of celebration. I can’t say that all artists experience this. I expect this is not unusual among artists, with maybe the exception of those with greater self-confidence than my own. But, in reality, I just don’t know.

Like I said, most of my time is spent in the darkness under my big flat rock.

A Private Word— Now at the West End Gallery

There is no privacy that cannot be penetrated. No secret can be kept in the civilized world. Society is a masked ball where everyone hides his real character, then reveals it by hiding.

–Ralph Waldo Emerson, Worship

I am going to just hide out today. Maybe you want to do the same thing. Long as you’re not hassling me, not my business what you do or don’t do.

And vice-versa. Just as it should be.

Here’s a song from Taj Mahal. It’s a live version of Ain’t Nobody’s Business from 1971. There are a couple of songs with kind of the same title perfformed by a host of artist with many variations that I believe are all derived from a tune from the early 1920’s.

I could be wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time.

That’s enough. Take a hint. Or to quote W.C. Fields: Get away from me, kid, you bother me.

Eye in the Sky— Title Painting from the West End Gallery show

People parted, years passed, they met again- and the meeting proved no reunion, offered no warm memories, only the acid knowledge that time had passed and things weren’t as bright or attractive as they had been.

–Jacqueline Susann, Valley of the Dolls

I was looking for a short passage or quote to kick off this post about the upcoming Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery two weeks from today. I’ve been looking forward to this Talk for a long time since the last in-person was four years ago, in pre-pandemic 2019. If memory doesn’t fail me, it was a very good and fun talk. Lots of folks and lots of laughs with some art talk thrown in for good measure. I believe the term “a good time was had by all” could apply to that talk.

Why wouldn’t I look forward to doing that again?

Then I came across the short paragraph above from Valley of the Dolls this morning.

My enthusiasm has turned to terror.

It is four years later and, as Jackie points, things aren’t as bright or attractive as they had been. I certainly am not. Some days, I think I am the next Wild Man of Borneo.

And those turbulent four years have not been easy for any of us. The world is different in so many ways and we, in turn, are different as well. I have the desire to rekindle that feeling of fun and unity from four years back. But will it remain just a warm memory?

That passage made me imagine scenes with me standing up there and having my less bright and less attractive mind go absolutely blank. Or just start yammering nonsense, speaking in art tongues. I can’t tell which is worse.

I was feeling just fine about it until these words from that crappy book freaked me out. Now, who knows what’s going to come out of my mouth when finally faced with a group of folks? I don’t know on the best of days.

Maybe I will freak out? Who knows?

Let’s use that as just another reason to come back for the Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery on Saturday, August 19. In addition to the potential for a public freakout, there will definitely be prizes and a drawing for an original painting.

One of mine. They don’t like it when I give away other artists’ paintings.

Please take note that the Gallery Talk will start at 11 AM and finish up sometime around Noon.

Seating may be limited so if you plan on attending, please contact the West End Gallery via their Contact link to reserve your seats.

Freakout talk aside, I am looking forward to seeing you all in two weeks. Might not be as bright or attractive but the effort will be there. Guaranteed.

Hope you’ll come back again.

And right on cue, here’s a song called Come Back Again. I first heard a great version of this song from Long John Baldry who I have played here a number of times. But it turns out the original is from 1971 from an Australian band called Daddy Cool. I am partial to the Baldry version but the original is fun.

Here are both.

Garden of Delight– At the West End Gallery

The man of wisdom delights in water; the man of humanity delights in mountains. The man of wisdom is active; the man of humanity is tranquil. The man of wisdom enjoys happiness; the man of humanity enjoys long life.

–Confucius, Analects, Book 6

At first blush, I thought that Confucius was somehow putting wisdom versus humanity in a competition to prove that one was somehow better than the other. But after thinking on it, I believe he is saying that the two act as complements to one another, that human fulfillment is attained by combining the strength of each.

I have attached this passage to the painting shown at the right, Garden of Delights. It is a 36″ by 18″ canvas that is included in my Eye in the Sky exhibit now showing at the West End Gallery.

I think the Red Tree here represents all the facets that Confucius laid out. Delighting in all nature– mountains and water, trees and flowers. Active in the world yet tranquil within. Filled with the joy of happiness and of being alive.

It appears to me as a painting of fulfillment attained.

And there is delight in that for me, both as a human and as the painter of this piece.

All I can ask of it.

Here’s a song that isn’t really about reaching any level of personal fulfillment but does mention a Garden of Delight. Actually, a nightclub/bordello named the Garden of Earthly Delights.

There are a lot of paths you can take on the way to fulfillment, right? Doesn’t matter where you start. It’s where you end up that counts.

Here’s Entella Hotel from Peter Case.

Island Getaway— Now at the West End Gallery

Real life is, to most men, a long second-best, a perpetual compromise between the ideal and the possible; but the world of pure reason knows no compromise, no practical limitations, no barrier to the creative activity embodying in splendid edifices the passionate aspiration after the perfect from which all great work springs. Remote from human passions, remote even from the pitiful facts of nature, the generations have gradually created an ordered cosmos, where pure thought can dwell as in its natural home, and where one, at least, of our nobler impulses can escape from the dreary exile of the actual world.

—Bertrand Russell, The Study of Mathematics (1902)

The painting above is a late addition to my current West End Gallery show. I call this 8″ by 24″ canvas Island Getaway.

Islands have been prominent in many of my paintings over the years. There’s probably a psychological basis for this, something about it representing a withdrawal from the outer world, about finding a space for personal autonomy. Or maybe it symbolizes, as Russell puts it above, an escape from the dreary exile of the actual world.

The Exile as a symbol has always been close at hand in my work. I can see the figure in this painting as some sort of exile. Perhaps a self-imposed exile, driven by the desire to be free of the bonds of society.

Or maybe the figure needs a break from wearing their public mask and retreats to a solitary place where they can just be.

Maybe.

I don’t know exactly what they mean. I do know that they feel like core work when I am painting them. By core work, I mean that it feels like they come from and represent some central location within myself. They feel absolutely natural and organic in the way they emerge.

Little thought, all reaction. That’s often the recipe for what I consider good work.

Here is a song from Laura Marling that came on just as I was writing this. Felt like a good fit for the painting. It’s called Goodbye England (Covered in Snow).

Now leave my island, please. Thank you.

Say Hallelujah– At the West End Gallery

The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint.

—Silence, Marianne Moore (1887-1972)

I am taking my cues this morning from the line above from poet Marianne Moore and her poem Silence. There’s a lot I would like to say this morning about the events of the last day or so but I feel restraint is best right now. Perhaps the painting at the top from my current West End Gallery show best expresses my feelings.

It’s titled Say Hallelujah.

Oddly enough, it’s not a painting that feels quiet even though it presents a bucolic scene, most likely one devoid of all boisterous sound, if any at all. But it presents a silence that is jubilant.

I am going to stop right there because I could easily go off on a long spiel.

Restraint is the word for the day.

Two things below. One is the whole poem Silence from the late Modernist poet Marianne Moore. The other is the version of the song Silence Is Golden from the Tremeloes in 1967. It was originally a Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons song, serving as the B-side to their hit single Rag Doll. The Tremeloes actually had a bigger hit with the song. I thought I would play their rendition because they also performed another fave of mine, Here Comes My Baby, written by Cat Stevens.

So, on to silence. Good advice for all concerned. Some folks would be wise to heed the words they will be hearing again tomorrow afternoon: “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

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Silence

My father used to say,
“Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow’s grave
or the glass flowers at Harvard.
Self-reliant like the cat—
that takes its prey to privacy,
the mouse’s limp tail hanging like a shoelace from its mouth—
they sometimes enjoy solitude,
and can be robbed of speech
by speech which has delighted them.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint.”
Nor was he insincere in saying, “Make my house your inn.”
Inns are not residences.

— Marianne Moore

The Centered Self— Now at the West End Gallery

Flow with whatever may happen and let your mind be free. Stay centered by accepting whatever you are doing. This is the ultimate.

–Chuang Tzu, ca. 4th century BC

Centered. The middle way. Neither too high nor too low. Equilibrium.

As someone who has bounced high and low for all my life, I have found there is no one way of centering myself, of finding that middle ground on which to stand. Time has taught me to accept where I am at any given moment and just let it be, high or low. But it is always with the knowledge that wherever I find myself at that moment, it is only temporary.

Everything soon moves in an opposite direction, always back toward the center.

Knowing that both the lows and the highs are forever fleeting is a great comfort. Puts things in the perspective that things are never so bad or good as they seem.

The words above from the 4th century Chinese philosopher Chuang Tzu ring true for me. To accept whatever you are doing in any given moment is the key to staying on that center ground. I found this to be true in the last job I held before becoming a full-time painter.

After years of other unsatisfying jobs, I found myself waiting tables at a local Perkins Restaurant. Great pancakes, by the way. While working there, I had the accident that led to me taking up the paintbrush. Just a little over a year later, I was showing my work at the West End Gallery. Then not long after that, on to other venues around the country.

For a few years I worked both as an artist and a server at Perkins. I never thought of myself as an artist when I was waiting tables. While at the restaurant, I was a server only. When I was painting, I was an artist only. I found that to try to be both in one moment was too distracting and didn’t help me either as an artist or as a waiter.

By focusing on what I was doing in the moment, I was satisfied in both.

That’s a pretty rudimentary example but you probably get the idea.

This sense of balance in being what you are at any given moment is what I see as the central message in the painting at the top. Says so right in its title, The Centered Self.

I can attach all sorts of symbolism to this piece’s elements and composition, but I am going to just let it be this morning. You’re pretty smart. You can deduce from what’s above where this going and can judge whether you see it for yourself. That’s why I like you folks. I don’t have to say everything though I often say too much.

It is, of course, currently at the West End Gallery as part of my annual exhibit there. This year’s show, Eye in the Sky, is on display until August 24. I will be doing an in-person Gallery Talk beginging at 11 AM on Saturday, August 19, with all the usual fanfare and goodies of the Talks that took place prior to the pandemic. Seating is limited so please contact the West End Gallery to reserve a seat.

Here’s a piece of music that I think blends well with today’s subject. It’s from classical guitarist Xufei Yang and is a composition titled Eterna Saudade from late Brazilian guitarist/composer Dilermando Reis. Saudade is from the Portuguese and it is said there is no literal translation for it. The one meaning I found that I thought appled to this morning’s post was: A bittersweet feeling sustained by absolute pain and pleasure at the same time.

Right in the center of the two.

Peace Passage— At the West End Gallery

The proof of apatheia [peacefulness of soul] is had when the spirit begins to see its own light, when it remains in a state of tranquility in the presence of the images it has during sleep and when it maintains its calm as it beholds the affairs of life.

–Evagrius Ponticus, The Praktikos

Evagrius Ponticus, also called Evagrius the Solitary, was a monk and ascetic. of the 4th century. He was considered one of the most influential thinkers and writers of that time, authoring many treatises including The Praktikos which was a guide to the ascetic life.

Though the word apathy is derived from apatheia, they have different meanings. Apathy is defined as being indifferent and impassive. Maybe even ignorant of whatever one is apathetic towards. Apatheia, on the other hand, is derived from the Greek, meaning without suffering or without passion. Or as Evagrius put it, peacefulness of soul.

It is the middle road where one doesn’t ignore the ups and downs of life but bears them stoically, getting neither too high nor too low in the face of such things. It is calm response rather than a passionate one.

I would like to think that’s what this new painting from my current show at the West End Gallery represents. That’s what I see in it– a calm middle passage, neither too high nor low.

The line separating the yin from the yang.

Just something to consider on a lovely Sunday morning with a cool respite from the heat in the air.

Here’s the selection for this week’s Sunday Morning Music. It’s from Dan Reeder who I have featured here before. He was the first artist signed by John Prine when he formed his Oh Boy Records label more than 40 years ago and has been making his uniquely idiosyncratic and often humorous music for that label ever since. This is his cover of the Moody Blues hit A Whiter Shade of Pale.

Growing up in the 60’s and 70’s, this song was a staple of FM radio and high school proms everywhere. Reeeder maintains the feel of the song but in a more stark and simple way. It feels good to hear this morning. Hey, I was going to play his Work Song, which has a decidedly different feel with its stark and simple but explicit lyrics. Great song for some mornings, to be sure. But the song below fits the painting and the morning much better.

The Haze of Passage— At the West End Gallery

A Cabin in the Clearing

MIST
I don’t believe the sleepers in this house
Know where they are.

SMOKE
They’ve been here long enough
To push the woods back from around the house
And part them in the middle with a path.

MIST
And still I doubt if they know where they are.
And I begin to fear they never will.
All they maintain the path for is the comfort
Of visiting with the equally bewildered.
Nearer in plight their neighbors are than distance.

SMOKE
I am the guardian wraith of starlit smoke
That leans out this and that way from their chimney.
I will not have their happiness despaired of.

MIST
No one – not I – would give them up for lost
Simply because they don’t know where they are.
I am the damper counterpart of smoke
That gives off from a garden ground at night
But lifts no higher than a garden grows.
I cotton to their landscape. That’s who I am.
I am no further from their fate than you are.

SMOKE
They must by now have learned the native tongue.
Why don’t they ask the Red Man where they are?

MIST
They often do, and none the wiser for it.
So do they also ask philosophers
Who come to look in on them from the pulpit.
They will ask anyone there is to ask –
In the fond faith accumulated fact
Will of itself take fire and light the world up.
Learning has been a part of their religion.

SMOKE
If the day ever comes when they know who
They are, they may know better where they are.
But who they are is too much to believe –
Either for them or the onlooking world..
They are too sudden to be credible.

MIST
Listen, they murmur talking in the dark
On what should be their daylong theme continued.
Putting the lamp out has not put their thought out.
Let us pretend the dewdrops from the eaves
Are you and I eavesdropping on their unrest –
A mist and smoke eavesdropping on a haze –
And see if we can tell the bass from the soprano.

Than smoke and mist who better could appraise
The kindred spirit of an inner haze.

— Robert Frost, 1962

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Don’t have a lot to say today. Just wanted to show the piece at the top, The Haze of Passage, which is part of my current show at the West End Gallery. As this this 20″ by 20″ canvas started to morph into being, it instantly filled me with the feeling of heat and haze. The kind that slows down movement and thought.

We’ve had some hot and hazy days here recently though nothing to compare with other areas of the country. These days always feel draining for me and leave me feeling as though a bit of that haze has settled in my brain.

It all conspires to remind me of the poem above from Robert Frost, A Cabin in the Clearing. I can imagine the haze here comprised of mist and smoke– perhaps from Canadian wildfires?– gathering around the Red Roofed houses to discuss our fate, to wonder if we knew where we were or where we were going. Perhaps, as its final line alludes, they can see the haziness of our minds in such times?

Hmm. Let me think on that while I share a new song, Yet to Be, from a favorite of mine, Rhiannon Giddens, accompanied by Jason Isbell. It seems to fit the theme here.

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Learning to Fly— Now at the West End Gallery

Well the good ol’ days
May not return
And the rocks might melt
And the sea may burn

I’m learning to fly
But I ain’t got wings
Coming down
Is the hardest thing

–Tom Petty, Learning to Fly

Is he flying?

That was the question that immediately came to mind when this gangly flyer made its appearance in this new painting, Learning to Fly, which is an after-opening addition to the West End Gallery show.

In my mind, he (though I am not certain it is he or she) is attempting to fly but isn’t certain of his having this ability and doesn’t quite know how to go about it. He’s never seen anyone on his little island world fly before so there’s no one to ask. Besides, the idea of taking flight seems so farfetched that asking someone might be embarrassing and bring ridicule.

But he can plainly see that, in the form of the island that holds the Red Tree, that there is more to life than the little world he knows. Perhaps if he could get there somehow, things would change, maybe bring him a better life in every way.

Perhaps he can become the person he wants to be and do the things he feels compelled to do which cannot happen if he stays put. He must leave that place and the others that remain behind.

You might ask at this point why he doesn’t get in the water and swim across to that island. The answer is that, though you cannot see them here, the seemingly calm channel is filled with a rogue band of white sharks, stinging jellyfish, electric eels, and worst of all, man-eating seahorses. It’s a madhouse down there!

So, he is left with flying away as his only means to move beyond his known world. It might not work, of course. He might belly flop and find himself among those merciless and bloodthirsty channel-dwellers.

But if he can somehow take to the air and fly, the Red Tree Island is but a beginning. All the world becomes his to explore and soar above– the land, the sea, the sky. Everything everywhere.

So, can he fly or is this just an ill-advised belly flop into oblivion?

In my mind, he flies.

Oh, he dips and he dives. His feet brush the water just out of the reach of the hungry critters below. He struggles to find a comfortable position in the air. He’s not sure if he should try to take the standard Superman position with arms extended and legs straight out behind him. He did adopt the cape, after all.

He finds that gravity still plays a part, making his legs dangle and his belly sag. Maybe he should have tried this with a comfortable chair or in the standing position? For all he knows, either might work as well and be much more comfortable.

Not sure he lands this first time. Hopefully, it works out for him and he finds what he seeks.

Of course, it is a metaphor for anyone who aspires to be something other than what those around them expect them to be. About doing something that nobody you know has done before. It’s about longing and growth and risk and exceeding expectations.

The realization of imagination.

I say he makes it. I know it can be done.

What about you? And I mean that beyond the question of whether this guy can fly. Have you truly tried to fly?

Here’s the natural musical link and the song that gave this piece its title. I had other titles in mind but this seemed so natural and right that I couldn’t resist using it. This is the late great Tom Petty and his Learning to Fly.