Inner Sanctum (2002)– Now at Principle Gallery
The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens into that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was a conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.
–Carl Jung, The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man (1934)
Perhaps the room in this 2002 painting is that most intimate sanctum of the soul that Carl Jung mentions and, though there is no visible door, perhaps these windows open out into that primeval cosmic night as he calls it. I have always felt that it has a dreamlike quality to it in the manner in which it transmits its message through small bits of information. Nothing– the Red Chair, the room, the windows, the outside landscape– is shown in their entirety. It is in the color and texture of these elements and the way they relate to one another that creates the mood and message of this painting.
And what is that mood and message?
Well, that’s a tough question. I can tell you what I see in it for myself but that might well be different than what you glean from it. It might even be different than what I took from it when it was painted nearly 25 years ago. That’s quite a chunk of time for a human and many of us change considerably over such a timespan– for better or worse. For a fortunate few, the change is for the better.
Surely, I am a different person in many ways since this was first hung on a wall. A lot of water from that river has flowed past those windows in that time. I am calling it a river for this analogy though I actually see it myself as a lake. In someone else’s eyes it could be the ocean or a coastal inlet.
The point is that our perceptions of certain pieces of art sometimes change, evolving with time and our experience of it.
In this case, this painting feels much the same to me but there are subtle differences in the way I look at it brought on over that time. I should say that there are subtle differences in the way I look at my life in it brought on over that time. Most of my paintings– and for that matter the work of others that draw me in– are autobiographical in how I see them. I believe we all react to most art in how our life and experience is reflected in it.
In 2002, in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, this piece was painted at time of great uncertainty in this country. In my mind, a blue shadow hung over all things then. I retreated a bit more from the world and felt as though I couldn’t look too far ahead in the blue haze of that shadow. My work, in pieces such as this, reflected that feeling.
In 2026, we are once again at a time of great uncertainty in this country. In many ways, this time may be even more uncertain and anxious. I am probably even more withdrawn from the world that in 2002 for a number of reasons– the isolation of the pandemic which I still cling to in many ways, health issues, and a general sense of tiredness that predated my current fatigue. Like I said, a lot of water flowed past those windows.
But for the similarities in the circumstances I have mentioned, I see it somewhat differently these days. In 2002, it felt more like an elegy for this country and the loss of, for lack of a better term, our innocence. We can debate how truly innocent we then were at another time.
This painting could easily be seen as an elegy now as well. But I believe an elegy today for this country would appear differently in my work. In 2002, it was seen with more of a mournful feeling since we were dealing with instantly losing parts of our way of life that we had thought would never be taken away. But we were losing them to external forces with which we could seemingly unite and rally against. In 2026, we seem to be losing even more of our ways of life to dark forces from within who in no way want to unite the country. They seek division and polarization in order to pit us one against the other.
An elegy today would be painted in a harsher and angrier way, with jarring contrasts of reds and yellows along chaotic skies.
So now I view this painting in a different way. It is more inward looking, more focused on the contemplation of personal identity and existence. Oh, the windows are still there, and I can see that outer world when turn to take a look. But that horizon that I now see is more a symbol of eternity. And there is something hopeful in the peace and silence of eternity.
I find more peace in this painting now than I did in 2002. It’s a feeling I get now standing at the window of the studio in the light just before dawn. The world is about to reawaken once more.
And even with all its built-in sorrows and tragedies, that remains a beautiful thing.
Wasn’t planning on going all in this morning. I never know what is going to come out most mornings but there it is.
This painting, Inner Sanctum, is 9″ by 20″ on wood panel, matted in a 16″ by 26″ frame. It is included my annual solo exhibit, this year titled Flow, at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. The show is being hung this week and will be available for previews and purchase. The Opening Reception is this Friday, June 12, running from 6-8:30 PM. I will be there so stop in and we can chat. You can tell me what you see in this piece.
Since you endured this to the end you deserve a treat. I don’t keep cookies or candy in the studio, so you’ll have to make do with a song. This song just felt right for this painting and post this morning. This Etta James and her version of Misty Blue.
Good stuff…
