Redtree Times

Dawn’s Return— Included in Passages at Principle Gallery

I met a young man on the skeleton coast
He was out of his feet and pale as a ghost
I asked him his name – he said Lazarus, man
I’ve come to your country from a faraway land
I can’t quite remember the last time I was on shore
Coulda been twelve years – it coulda been more
But I’ve seen tribulation and it staggered my mind
And I just don’t remember what I came here to find

It’s wind on the ocean, rain on the land
Three drops of water and one grain of sand
I’ll tell you the story as quick as I can
I’ve got nothing but time, I’m Lazarus Man

— Terry Callier, Lazarus Man

I was looking for a song to accompany the new smaller painting at the top, Dawn’s Return, which is part of my current show at the Principle Gallery and came across a song and an artist with which I was not acquainted.

The song was Lazarus Man and the artist was Terry Callier.

I first heard the song as performed by Tom Jones in a recent video and he, of course, blasted it with his voice’s big sound. Good stuff, good enough to make me want to see where the song originated. That’s where I first came across Terry Callier.

Callier had an interesting career that didn’t follow the usual arc. In the short time it took to look him up this morning, I have seen him described as a jazz guitarist, a folk singer, a psychedelic jazz artist, soul singer, and a mystic. He had a small degree of recognition in the 60’s and 70’s then dropped out of sight for nearly 20 years. 

Like the Lazarus Man of his song, his career was resurrected after several musical groups discovered his early work and integrated it in their works. The spotlight found him once more and he took advantage, releasing a new album, Timepeace, in 1998. It garnered some attention and was given the United Nations’ Time For Peace award for outstanding artistic achievement contributing to world peace.

He spent the rest of life, until his death from cancer at the age of 67 in 2012, recording and touring around the globe. He was the Lazarus Man.

I have liked everything of his I have heard this morning and regret not having taken notice of him earlier. Below is a performance of Lazarus Man from Terry Callier as well as the Tom Jones version. Though sonically different, the song’s power remains the same.

Good stuff. Worth a listen.

And Peace Arrives— Now at the Principle Gallery

To compose our character is our duty, not to compose books, and to win, not battles and provinces, but order and tranquility in our conduct. Our great and glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately. All other things, ruling, hoarding, building, are only little appendages and props, at most.

—Michel de Montaigne, Essays, 1588

Our great and glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately…

The passage above is from the influential French philosopher Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592) is from his final essay, Of Experience.

As is the case with so many things of consequence, the task he sets before us– to live with order and tranquility– seems simple yet is difficult to achieve.

Simplicity is always harder to achieve than one might think. In life and in art.

That’s it for today. Any more would be too much.

Here’s a version of the great Beatles song Across the Universe that I like from Rufus Wainwright. Seems to fit the morning.

Be good.

A Rising Peace— Now at the Principle Gallery, Alexandria

Sophia and Grandmother sat down by the shore to discuss the matter further. It was a pretty day, and the sea was running a long, windless swell. It was on days just like this–dog days–that boats went sailing off all by themselves. Large, alien objects made their way in from sea, certain things sank and others rose, milk soured, and dragonflies danced in desperation. Lizards were not afraid. When the moon came up, red spiders mated on uninhabited skerries, where the rock became an unbroken carpet of tiny, ecstatic spiders.

― Tove Jansson, The Summer Book, 1972

It’s a strange thing, walking into a gallery where your work covers the walls. It’s both emboldening and embarrassing, and sometimes even nauseating. I think I’ve written here about experiencing that sensation after going into the Principle Gallery back in 2000 and seeing my first solo show, Redtree, there on the walls.

It felt overwhelming. Too much, like seeing your guts smeared on the wall. Maybe that’s too graphic. But it sure didn’t feel like the thrill I’d thought it would.

But years passed with many shows that followed that first and I got past that stage of nausea, partly by not looking too closely at my work at the walls. Almost keeping blinders on.

In those shows that followed, there was still the excitement and emboldening surge of pride in seeing the groups of my paintings on the walls but that was always countered by a sense of embarrassment at being the center of attention and the nagging worry that I didn’t deserve it and that this would be the group that showed to the world that I was a fraud and a poser.  I can’t say for sure, but I believe this is not an uncommon trait among artists.

I didn’t have to really face these feeling too often in recent years where the pandemic walled off my participation. And when I did participate, I was able to feel a bit less exposed behind my N95 mask.

That brings us up to the opening on Friday evening of my current show, Passages, at the Principle Gallery. Not being at an opening there since 2019 and going into this one unmasked made this feel a little like that first show there. I didn’t know what to expect, wasn’t sure anyone would show up.

I still had my blinders halfway on to stave off the nausea but couldn’t quite ignore the work on the walls. I took a few minutes to really take it all in and it was good. Had the sense of wholeness I couldn’t fully discern in the studio. It certainly felt like it had a lot more powerful presence of color than the last show of mine I had attended there.

It felt good. Oh, I was still embarrassed and more than a little worried, but the work felt properly in place there. It was one of those rare moments when I didn’t feel close to being exposed as a fraud, that the work deserved its place there.

The show went well with a good crowd that kept me engaged the entire time. It was good to see many familiar faces and meet many new folks, some who had come across my work in that four-year hole and had been waiting to speak with me. The interaction felt familiar and I discovered I could still make conversation, could still talk about this stuff.

It was fairly comfortable —that’s saying a lot for me— and the night ended with a sense of satisfaction.

It felt good– and almost normal. A rare sensation these days. It made me feel somewhat optimistic going forward, as though the last four years were a period of listlessness and stagnation. As though they were the dog days as we call those sweltering days of summer when little is accomplished except for the days passing.

It felt like these dog days were coming to an end.

A real thank you to those of you who made it to the show and an even bigger, more heartfelt thank you to Michele, Clint, Owen, Taylor and Sierra at the Principle Gallery. My gratitude to them is endless. Champions all.

Here’s this Sunday Morning Music selection. Here’s a new lyric video from Florence + The Machine of her anthemic 2009 song, Dog Days Are Over. What else could it be?

Three Sides to the Story— Now at Principle Gallery

Let’s look at photographs as food. Does an exhibition leave you hungry or fill you with the visual equivalent of a snack or feast?

…

Do your photographs offer substance and sustenance? Or a starvation diet? Do your photographs feed another man’s body, his emotions, his love, his intellect, his cupidity, his lower appetites, his transcendental hungers? 

–Minor White, Mirrors, Messages, Manifestations (1969)

The American photographer Minor White (1908-1976) might have been talking about photographs for an exhibit in the passages above, but the same criteria could be applied to any sort of artistic exhibition. I look at the work for my shows, including the one opening tonight at the Principle Gallery, in very much the same sort of way.

Using White’s analogy, the individual paintings are the dishes that make up the meal that is the exhibit. As an artist, you are like the chef trying to serve up tasty dishes with flavorful depths that make the meal satisfying as a whole.

Not only do you never want it to be said that you allowed people to leave the table hungry, but you want them to give them tastes that linger in their mind long after they have left the meal.

I like this show and its wide and varied menu of dishes very much. It fills me with its variety of dishes and flavors, very much satisfying my appetites. Will it do the same for others? I hope so. Any artist wants their work to reach out to people and move them in some way or connect with them on a deeper level. That would be the substance and sustenance to which White refers.

But, in the end, the table is set and out of my hands now.

So, we shall wait and see.

This year’s show at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria is called Passages. It opens today, Friday, June 9, with an opening reception that begins at 6 and goes until 8:30 PM. I haven’t been at an opening at the Principle Gallery since 2019 and while I am more than a little anxious, I am looking forward to seeing and speaking with folks down there again.

Hope you can make it. Bring your appetite!

Passages: Between Then and Now— At Principle Gallery

I wanted to make it as anonymous as a photo. But it was perhaps also the wish for perfection, the unapproachable, which then means loss of immediacy. Something is missing then, though; that is why I gave that up.

–Gerhard Richter, Gerhard Richter: text : writings, interviews and letters, 1961-2007

I came across the passage above from artist Gerhard Richter and it really stuck with me since i have been recently thinking about a form of immediacy, both in art and in life.

In life, we often live in the thens rather in the now. We did that back then. I will do that then.

In pasts and futures. Often more present in either, rather than in the now.

That’s what I see in the new painting at the top, Passages: Between Then and Now. It’s a 24″ by 24″ canvas that is part of my Principle Gallery show, which is now hanging in the gallery. We spend so much time looking forward and backward that we fail to notice the colors and forms of now. We fail to fully live in the present.

I know it sounds cliche, this idea of living in the present. But sometimes cliches come about because of our constant need to be reminded of self-evident truths. I certainly need to be reminded of such things.

As for art, I have been thinking about how a piece of art always speaks in the voice of now. Always in the present and with open arms. Timeless and warm. I think that’s why Richter’s thought struck me so. He gave up seeking perfection and embraced the immediacy and imperfections of the now.

If I had to describe my work, that might be how I would describe it: immediate and imperfect.

Human.

And that gives me great satisfaction. I see this in the group of work from this show at the Principle Gallery: human– imperfect and hopefully living in the here and now.

Below is a slideshow of work from the exhibit. The soundtrack is Jitterbug Waltz from the wonderful piano of the late Vince Guaraldi.

Passages is my 24th solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. The opening reception is tomorrow, Friday, June 9, beginning at 6 PM and going to 8:30. I am looking forward to being in attendance at this year’s show for the first time since 2019. Hope you can make it!

Zenith— 48″ by 30″ on canvas- At Principle Gallery

The moving toward one’s inner self is a long pilgrimage for a painter. It offers many temporary successes and high points, but there is always the residuum of incomplete realization which impels him on toward the more adequate image.

–Ben Shahn, The Shape of Content, 1957

Does anyone ever know when they have reached their peak? Does anyone ever recognize that period of time when all they are as close to self-realization– mentally, spiritually, and creatively–as they will ever be?

Does it even matter? Maybe it shouldn’t. Perhaps if we don’t concern ourselves with trying to identify our peaks and focusing on signs of our inevitable decline from this peak, we can somehow extend our upward ascent and continue our growth.

Move the peak, if you will.

I think that’s what late artist Ben Shahn was referring to in the passage above. It certainly rings true for me, as an artist. There have been many times where I felt that I had finally done my best work, that I could not do any better nor have anything more to express. I felt at those times as though I was at my creative peak. But, as Shahn wrote, there has always been that feeling of being incomplete to spur me on on the next work.

To move the peak.

I see this new painting from my show, Zenith, a 48″ by 30″ canvas, as representing one of those moments when one feels the elation of being at their ultimate peak of being.

Let’s hope they can move that peak and keep climbing.

Here’s Willie’s version of the classic Hoagy Carmichael song, Stardust. I don’t know how well it fits this post and don’t want to perform any mental gymnastics trying to justify it. I just wanted to hear it.

And that’s good enough for me. Now, either give a listen or get off my hill.

Passages is my 24th solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. The opening reception is this Friday, June 9, beginning at 6 PM and going to 8:30. I am looking forward to being in attendance at this year’s show for the first time since 2019. Hope you can make it.

Hometown Hero— Now at Principle Gallery, Alexandria

Times of heroism are generally times of terror, but the day never shines in which this element may not work.

–Ralph Waldo Emerson, Heroism, 1841

I wanted to write a bit about the new painting at the top, Hometown Hero, which is an 18″ by 36″ canvas that is part of my exhibit of new work that opens this coming Friday at the Principle Gallery. There was something about this piece that spoke of the kind of everyday heroism that takes place in many different locations throughout the world.

As Emerson points out, we think of heroism in times of terror or war but does not have to be confined to those times. Heroism is just as effective and important anywhere, anytime.

There is always the need for a hometown hero.

I’m not talking about running into burning buildings or pulling babies off the tracks before a speeding train, though those are certainly worthy heroic efforts. I’m talking about the simple heroism that comes from acts of kindness and compassion to those people we encounter on an everyday basis.

We all rightfully admire the hero on the big stage– in wars and disasters– but the hometown hero often has much greater impact. A generosity of spirit, an attitude of tolerance and a willingness to understand the circumstances of others go a long way in making the lives of those in our communities better.

A helping hand and a caring heart can elevate an entire community.

And that’s what I see in this piece, the Red Tree here serving as an aspirational symbol attempting to elevate the village around it.

You may something completely different and, as always, that’s okay.

I am playing one of my favorite songs again today. The song is Heroes from the late great David Bowie. This is a version from the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain that I last shared her about 5 or 6 years ago. It’s a wonderful performance, respectful and true to the song.

I have had solo exhibits at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA every year of the 21st century, beginning in 2000. Passages, my 24th such show, opens this Friday, June 9, with an opening reception that goes from 6 until 8:30 PM. I will be in attendance this year and hope you can stop in to see the show, say hello and maybe chat for a few minutes.

Let Loose— Now at the Principle Gallery, Alexandria

It is an uneasy lot at best, to be what we call highly taught and yet not to enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be liberated from a small hungry shivering self.

–George Eliot, Middlemarch

The title for this new large painting (24″ by 60″ on canvas) is Let Loose. It could be both a description of liberation and a command for the individual to do so.

It’s works for me in this painting that sets the flailing crown of the Red Tree and the writhing trunks of the surrounding trees against the angular containment of the colors of the fields, the Red Roofs, and the marks that make up the sky. I see the surrounding trees in a choreography that is a signal for the Red Tree to break free and dance with them.

To let loose and express its wildness. Its uninhibited beauty. Its true self.

I delivered this new painting to the Principle Gallery yesterday along with the other works that comprise this year’s show, Passages. The exhibit opens Friday, June 9, and will be on the walls of the gallery and available for previews after tomorrow.

I will be at the exhibit’s opening reception (6-8:30 PM) this year for the first time in four years and am looking forward to talking a bit about the work as well as seeing it in the gallery space, particularly this piece. Though I have ample space in the studio, seeing it in the setting of the gallery is always a different thing.

It’s like the painting is finally freed from my control.

Let loose.

On that same theme, this is a longtime fave of mine, I’m Free, from the Rolling Stones. It’s off their 1965 album, December’s Children (And Everybody’s) here in the US, Out of Our Heads in the UK.

I’m free to do what I want any old time
So love me, hold me
Love me, hold me

Passages: Moving Through— Now at the Principle Gallery

Deep down within the heart there is a stillness which is healing, a trust in the universal laws which is unwavering, and a strength which is rock-like. But because it is so deep we need both patience and perseverance when digging for it.

–Paul Brunton, Notebooks

On the road this morning, headed to Alexandria for delivery of my new solo show, Passages, which opens at the Principle Gallery this coming Friday, June 9.

This year’s show, my 24th consecutive there since my Redtree exhibit in 2000, marks my return to being in attendance at the opening since 2019. I have to admit to being both a little excited and nervous about it, fearing I am a little rusty with my people skills. But it’s what I do and I am confident things will work out.

Like riding a bicycle, I am told. That’s somewhat reassuring though I am also reminded of the scars that I still have on knees and elbows from childhood bike incidents. We’ll see.

It also helps that I like this show very much. It just feels right for the moment. It plays well to the themes in the work that resonate with me personally– stillness, the contemplation of our place in the universe, and how we adapt and change during our time here.

I hope that comes through. I believe it does.

For this Sunday Morning Music, let’s give a listen to Through the Morning, Through the Night written by Gene Clark, one of the founding members of the Byrds and a giant in folk-rock and country-rock. This version is from Allison Krauss and Robert Plant. I just love the pairing of these two seemingly disparate entities. It just works.

And that’s good enough for me.

Have a good Sunday and if you’re in the Alexandria/ DC area this coming Friday, stop in at the Principle Gallery. I will be there from 6 until 8:30 and will be glad to chat with you.

Soloist– Coming to the Principle Gallery Tomorrow

The riders in a race do not stop short when they reach the goal. There is a little finishing canter before coming to a standstill. There is time to hear the kind voice of friends and to say to one’s self, The work is done.

–Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., on his 90th birthday, 1931

I understand what the late jurist Oliver Wendell Homes, Jr. was saying. The painting process is done for my show at the Principle Gallery. You would think that would be the end of it and there would be a period of relaxation, a time when I can leisurely look at the work for the show as a whole and say, “Well done.”

Nope.

This morning I still have some preparation to complete. One large piece to be framed.  Then go over each painting making sure the paintings’ backs are all sealed, the final hanging wires are put on, that they are signed, that there are nothing that needs a touch up, and that they are ready to go. 

Then just get them ready for packing for tomorrow’s delivery to the gallery. Then perhaps, after the great group at the gallery has arranged and hung the show and I return later in the week for the opening, I can take it all in and say, “Well done.”

Getting a show ready and in place at the gallery is a lot more work than you might think. But I have done a lot of work in other fields that was far worse and less satisfying. Now, this is just what I do, not even really thinking that it is work as work is normally defined. 

Anyway, I have to get to the finish line this morning before I get to canter before coming to a standstill.

The painting at the top is Soloist, a small 6″ by 12″ piece on panel from the show. It is one of a small group from the show that have smooth untextured surfaces, giving it the appearance of glass or an enameled piece. I don’t do a lot of these pieces for a number of reasons. They can be difficult and there is practically no room for error in them. Combined with my reductive process, the surface is absolutely unforgiving. If I lose my concentration and make even a small mistake, the piece is pretty much ruined and irreparable. So, when I do paint them, they tend to be smaller paintings. That might be why I look at these pieces with such fondness.

Here’s a short song from a true soloist and one of my favorites, Martin Simpson. This is Shallow Brown. from the aptly titled 1991 album, When I Was on Horseback.

A nice tune for when one finally comes to a standstill after crossing the finish line…

Passages is my 24th annual exhibit at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. The opening reception is next Friday, June 9, beginning at 6 PM and going to 8:30. I am looking forward to being in attendance at this year’s show for the first time since 2019.