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A Look Back: Dissolve

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on April 28, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Dissolve– 2011

Anyone in whom the troublemaking self has died,
sun and cloud obey.
If you wish to shine like day,
burn up the night of self-existence.
Dissolve in the Being who is everything.

— Rumi, Masnavi, Book I (ca. 1258)

The paintings in the A Look Back series usually drawn are from my earliest work, pre-2000 or thereabout. By that definition, this painting from 2011, Dissolve, is not part of that series. But nothing is carved in stone here and it is more than a few years old. That’s good enough for me.

I used this piece several weeks ago in a post about being humble. The painting was not mentioned and only served as a symbol of humility for that post. I thought it deserved more attention since it has long been a favorite of mine and will be included in my solo show, Flow, at the Principle Gallery in June.

Below is what I wrote about this painting soon after it was completed in 2011:

This painting called Dissolve is another in the series I’ve been working in for the past few months. This 24″ by 36″ piece is based very much on the same format as Like Sugar In Water, [a large 36″ by 60″ painting from that same time, shown below that served as an anchor for my 2012 show at the Fenimore Museum]. Both paintings grow from the bottom where they begin in structured blocks of color. The path cuts through, rising from the geometry of the fields up to a plain that flattens out. The path continues by the red-roofed house and is not seen again as it enters the broad yellow field that runs to the horizon. The path’s upward movement is continued in the spreading bare limbs of the distant tree which merges into the broken mosaic of the sky.

GC Myers- Like Sugar In Water

GC Myers- Like Sugar In Water 2011

It’s a simple concept and composition, dependent on the complexity of the color and the placement of the elements in order to transmit feeling and emotion. These simpler compositions, when things click and I feel they work well, are often very potent purveyors of feeling and are among my personal favorites. The stripped-down nature of the scene takes away all distractions and centers the essence of the work in the willing viewer’s eyes, making it very accessible to those who connect with it.

And that is much of what I hope for my work- to create work that stirs strong emotion within a seemingly simple context.

Maybe there’s more to it than this. I can’t be sure if my thoughts and interpretations are any more valid than those of a first-time viewer. That’s the great thing about art– there are no absolutes.

That’s also the thing about art that scares a lot of people. Many people fear the gray areas of this world, of which there are many, desiring an at least an appearance of absolute belief and knowledge in all aspects of their lives. However, art most often lives in the ambiguity and uncertainty of this world.

And that can be unsettling to some. 

 Dissolve seems absolute and certain at first glance but is all about the gray areas of our world and our belief.  At least as I see it…

I realize that this earlier description didn’t really say much about what it meant for me. Here’s how I described this painting to the writer for American Art Collector, which will be featuring it in an upcoming preview for my show:

The title for this painting, Dissolve, comes from the feeling I sometimes have that we humans exist in a state of being in that gray area between the physical solidity of this earth and the ethereal nature of the sky. We are made up of both– the physical and the ethereal– equally. At some point that balance shifts. The body remains but the ethereal part of us begins to disperse and dissolve into the sky. Like sugar in water.

I don’t know if the two descriptions combined do this piece justice. Funny how what seems to be a simple painting can sometimes be beyond the grasp of words yet speak powerfully to some emotion within us.

Maybe that is its strength, the quality in it that draws me to it.

I don’t know. I only know that it always leaves me with the desire to stand out in an open field and feel myself being absorbed into the ether, my atoms mingling once more with those of the universe.

Here is a song in a similar vein. This is a new cover of the Mazzy Star hit from 1993, Fade Into You, from Gregory Alan Isakov, who I have featured here in the past, and Sylvan Esso, which is an electropop duo from Durham, North Carolina , according to Wikipedia. Not knowing exactly what electropop is, they are new to me, but I like their work with Isakov on this song. It has a good feel.

Now be gone. You’re blocking my absorption…

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Failure? No, thank you…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on April 25, 2026| 2 Comments »

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it.

-W.C. Fields

As I’ve been going through older work here in the studio lately, I began to think about the time and effort I spent in creating these paintings. The work probably represents thousands of hours spent painting, probably a couple of years of my labor, maybe more. I am not willing to do the precise calculations this morning.

Taking them all in, the question comes to mind: Do these pieces represent some form of failure?

The pessimistic part of me wants to say yes but examining each of them reveals a different answer. I would never consider most of the work failures in any way. They are alive and vibrant with speak their own voice. They simply haven’t found a way to escape from me. And for those paintings with evident flaws, their failure is a temporary condition that can be remedied with a bit more care and consideration on my part. A heightening of color here and there, a small addition that better balances the composition, or a change of frame or varnish for those that have been poorly presented.

Relatively minor things Few, if any, are irreparably flawed. Most just need a bit more time and attention.

And for those that can’t be brought alive, I salute them for their sacrifice. Their failure and the lessons learned from them may have provided what was needed for the success of another piece at some later date.

This all brings to mind the post below on failure that first ran back in 2011 and was shared again in 2021.

[From 2011}

In response to yesterday’s post concerning a very large blank canvas that is waiting patiently for me, I received several very interesting questions from my friend, Tom Seltz, concerning the role that failure and the fear of failure play in my work. He posed a number of great questions, some pragmatic and some esoteric, that I’ll try to address.

On the pragmatic side, he asked if there is a financial risk when I take on large projects like the 4 1/2′ by 7′ canvas of which I wrote. Shown here, this went on to become what I consider a signature piece, The Internal Landscape. Actually, it’s not something I think about much because every piece, even the smallest, has a certain cost in producing it that, after these many years, I don’t stop to consider. But a project such as this is costlier as a larger canvas is more expensive right from the beginning simply due to the sheer size of it. The canvas is heavier and more expensive and more of it is used. I use a lot more gesso and paint. The framing is much more expensive and the logistics of shipping and transporting become more involved and costly. It’s larger size and corresponding price means the audience of potential buyers is much more limited which means it might take more time to find, if it ever does. Which means more time trucking it around to galleries or storing it.

And while these cost of materials and handling represent the financial risk, the largest cost outlay comes in the time spent on such a project. It takes longer to prepare such a large canvas, longer to paint and, if it works out, longer to finish and frame. This is time not spent on other projects. Time spent is by far the biggest risk in facing such a project and that is something I have to take into consideration before embarking on large projects.

He also asked whether I can reuse the materials if I don’t like what I’ve painted. Sure, for the most part.  Especially canvasses. Actually, the piece shown here on the right was once such a piece. There’s a failure lingering still beneath its present surface.

I had a concept in my head that floated around for months and I finally started putting it down on this 30″ square canvas. I spent probably a day and a half worth of time and got quite far into it before I realized that it was a flawed concept, that I was down a path that was way off the route I had envisioned. It was dull, shapeless, and lifeless, even at an early stage.

It was crap and I knew that there was no hope for it. I immediately painted it over, mainly to keep me from wasting even more time by trying to resuscitate it, something I often attempt. The piece shown here emerged, happily for me.

Tom also asked if I ever “crashed and burned” on a piece or if the worst sort of failure was that a piece was simply mediocre. Well, I guess the last few paragraphs say a bit about the “crashed and burned” aspect, although that is a rarer event than one might suspect. After decades of painting, a piece doesn’t get too far along in the process before I recognize its apparent flaws in design or execution and begin the process of correcting them.

Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. The beauty of painting is that it’s results are always subjective. There is almost never total failure.

It’s not like skydiving and when your parachute doesn’t open you die. At least, that hasn’t been my experience thus far.

I’ve fallen on my face many times but I’m still here.

Mediocrity is a different story. That is the one thing I probably fear most for my work and would consider a piece a failure if I judged it to be mediocre. I have any number of examples I could show you in the nooks and crannies of my studio. I’m not sharing those today. Even flawed and mediocre, these pieces have a purpose for me, and many have remaining promise. The purpose is in the lessons learned from painting them. I usually glean some information from each painting, even something tiny but useful for the future. Each is a rehearsal in a way. But most times, the mediocre pieces teach me what I don’t want to repeat in the future. A wrong line or form here. A flatness of color there or just simple dullness everywhere.

But, being art, there are few total failures, and many of these somewhat mediocre pieces sit unfinished because there are still stirs of promise in them.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to what I felt was a dead end for a painting, feeling that it was dull and lifeless, and set it aside. Months and months might pass and one day I might pick it up and suddenly see something new in it. A new way to move in it that brings it new life. These paintings often bring the greatest satisfaction when they leave the gallery with a new owner.

Sometimes failure is simply a momentary perception that requires a new perspective.

Sometimes you need to fail in order to succeed later.

Okay, that’s it for now. I’m sure I have more to say about failure, but it will have to wait until a later date. I’ve got work waiting for me that doesn’t know the meaning of the word failure and I don’t want to take the risk that it might learn it.

Tom, thanks again for the great questions.  I’m always eager for good questions so keep it up!

Now here’s I Don’t Mind Failing from the quirky folksinger Malvina Reynolds. It’s from around 1965 and was written after hearing a sermon called The Fine Art of Failing. Lot of great lines in this one:

I don’t mind failing in this world,
I don’t mind failing in this world,
Somebody else’s definition
Isn’t going to measure my soul’s condition,
I don’t mind failing in this world.

Give a listen and if you fail today, don’t worry about it. You’re in good company.

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The Outsider

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on April 1, 2026| 2 Comments »

Out of the Loop 2013

I’m fundamentally, I think, an outsider. I do my best work and feel most braced with my back to the wall. It’s an odd feeling though, writing against the current: difficult entirely to disregard the current. Yet of course I shall.

–Virginia Woolf, 22 November 1938, A Writer’s Diary (1953)

The lines above Virginia Woolf from a 1938 entry in her A Writer’s Diary struck a chord with me. In the entry, Woolf looked back on her career, describing how she had at points received praise and widespread acclaim and at other times fell out of favor with the literati, suffering criticism and personal attacks that marked her as a second-rate talent.

She had certainly known the highs and lows.

She claimed that the attacks did not bother her as much as she might have expected since she had never saw herself as being famous. How can they take away something you never felt you possessed? Actually, she saw their downgrading of her as being a sort of relief, shedding all pretense of her being part of the insider’s club. She could clearly see herself as an outsider now. As she wrote, it put her back to the wall, a place where she felt she did her best work.

Much like the I’ll show them attitude I described here recently.

As I wrote above, this resonated with me. Though I’ve had my fair share of high points and an equally fair share of low points, I have always, like Woolf, viewed myself as an outsider.

I believe this comes from knowing who I am and how I am built. I understand that I don’t have what it takes to be an insider. I don’t play a social game, don’t go to parties and few openings. To be honest, I am uncomfortable at my own events. I don’t schmooze with museum or gallery directors. Don’t seek out people who might specifically help my career. No agent seeking new opportunity nor public relations person trying to spread my name in the media. Outside of this blog and a few little social media entries, I have no mechanism for self-promotion. And even this seems like something more than self-promotion now.

I was never part of an artistic group or school. Well, there was one time, when my work first showed at the Principle Gallery in 1997. I was part of group of five artists from this region, all then showing at the West End Gallery, selected by the Principle Gallery who then labeled us the Finger Lakes School. We did a couple of shows there under that label. But even then, I was the outsider in that group, the only one of the five working outside of traditional representational oil painting.

I also don’t pursue opportunity. Perhaps to a fault.

After my 27-year relationship with Kada Gallery in Erie ended when they closed a couple of years ago and the gallery repping my work in California had changed their business model in a way that greatly lowered my visibility there, I considered looking for new galleries to replace those two. I had a realization then that I had not approached a gallery in nearly 30 years and that every gallery that had represented me approached me first. Approaching galleries now felt so far out of my comfort zone that I soon dropped the idea.

And often, I turn away those opportunities that are offered.  I have often failed to follow-up on commission requests simply because I wanted to do work that pleased me first and then others, not the other way around.

A year or so ago, I was offered a chance to have 13 of my Red Tree paintings grace the covers of a series of Hermann Hesse books published in Mandarin Chinese. The company in China had been following my work for several years and felt that my work was a good match for Hesse’s work. I was flattered but ended up turning down the offer simply because I felt it was too far out of my hands.

Mistake? Maybe. It wouldn’t be the first time. But I find myself being okay with this and those other peccadilloes because I know how I am.

I know I am an outsider, will never be the toast of the art world outside of my little corner of it every once in a while.

The way I see it is that to be in that wider spotlight requires effort and responsibility that goes well beyond the work itself, something I am not comfortable in taking on at this point in my life as an artist.

And I am fine and comfortable with that. To be honest, I never trusted the perception that came with the highs nor the lows. Though the praise is nice to hear sometimes and the rejection always stings, they ultimately are not accurate indicators. The work was generally equal in my eyes at both the high and the low points. Actually, there has been work produced in the low points that went unnoticed that I feel was better than much of the work from the high points.

Time, it turns out, levels out those highs and lows.

So now I just do my work, as Woolf did, with my back against the wall and going forever against the current.

That’s all I can do. That is who and what I am– the outsider.

Here’s a tune from Eddie Vedder that is somewhat, if not wholly, in the same vein. This is Society.

PS: Not that it matters, but this is a remake of the post I accidentally deleted yesterday. I think the original had a bit more gracefulness and flow than this one. Maybe it hit its points more impactfully. But this will have to do for now.  It’s much like trying to recreate a painting where the original just flowed organically from the artist. The copy never has the same ease of being, at least in the eyes of its maker. 

The painting at the top, Out of the Loop, is a piece from 2013 that I am considering for inclusion in my June show at the Principle Gallery. It recently came back to me from California where it had been for over a dozen years. My impression of it had been reduced to the online image of it, such as the one at the top. When I took it from the crate, I was thrilled and surprised at its vibrance and depth, which far exceeded the digital image. Seemed a perfect fit for this post but still deciding if it goes to Alexandria in June. We’ll see…

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A Look Back: Mountain of Frustration

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on February 16, 2026| 4 Comments »

GC Myers – Mountain of Frustration 1995

Frustration is one of the great things in art. Satisfaction is nothing.

—–Philip Guston, Philip Guston: Collected Writings, Lectures, and Conversations

I don’t know that I completely agree with the late artist Philip Guston on frustration being one of the great things in art. When you are truly frustrated great is not a word that springs to mind. 

It might be great in the fact that it is sometimes a potent motivator for artists. It creates a sense of restlessness that I believe artists need in order to maintain growth in their work.

Without this restlessness, the artist begins to view their work with mere satisfaction and as Guston says, satisfaction is nothing. I agree completely with that.

Frustration for the artist comes in many forms. Sometimes it is a mental block that prevents them from achieving their vision or, sometimes, from even being able to work. Been there, done that.

Sometimes it comes from outside the artist, in the obligations and responsibilities that often keeps them from focusing on their work. Been there, done that.

Sometimes it comes with feeling that their work is overlooked and underappreciated, that the outside world just doesn’t comprehend what the artist is trying to communicate. Or that the outside world sees the work as being so irrelevant that they don’t even stop to really consider it. Been there, done that, as well. Too many times.

There are plenty of other frustrations for the artist, probably too many to laundry list here.  But for the purpose of today’s post let’s focus on the last one listed above, about the artist being frustrated by others not seeing the value of what they are trying to do.

The painting at the top is another early piece, one from early May of 1995. I remember finishing this piece thirty years ago and just not clicking with it in the moment. So, it was set aside and never shown. But like many of those early pieces, I would periodically pull it out and look it over for a while. I began to see more and more in it over the years and came to have a real affection and appreciation for it. It has things in it that excite me now, making me wonder why I couldn’t see them when it was first painted.

The paper on which it was painted listed only the date and the number I had given at the time. No title or note on it.  As a result, I never viewed it with a title in mind, nothing that could inform me of what I was feeling about it at the time. But I recently looked it up in my painting diary from that time, something which, for some unknown reason, I had failed to do in the intervening years. 

There was a title for it, Mountain of Frustration, and a note. The note said it was an odd, color-filled picture and that I was feeling anxious and frustrated on that day. It went on to say that I was disappointed by being rejected for a regional exhibit to which I had submitted my work and was beginning to question my ability. I ended by writing that maybe I was mentally putting myself further down the road than where I truly was at that point.

I had no memory of writing that entry. But reading it made so many things clearer for me about this painting. I could see now how my frustration shaded my opinion of this painting for a number of years until the memory of it faded.

Actually, my first reaction was to laugh at the fact that I was so upset by the rejection in the first place. This was May of 1995, so I had only been showing my work for a few months at that time and had only been painting for a little over a year. I am not sure I had even sold my first painting at that point.

Saying that I was putting myself further down the road was an understatement. Hell, until just a few months before this, I didn’t even know there was a road. 

I can’t remember what painting had been rejected but I am sure the slide I submitted was very poor in quality. I laughed and shook my head at the gall and hubris I had displayed. I thought I had responded like a fool.

But even though I see how ridiculous it was now, I can’t discount the impact of that frustration I was feeling at the time. I looked at it then as a challenge. It was a defiant call to arms and an “Oh, yeah? Well, I’ll show you!” moment.

I’ve had plenty of those over the years but many more so in those early years. As I wrote above, that frustration transformed into a huge motivating force for me, one that has served me well for many years.

It strengthened my resolve and focus. I may not have seen it in this painting then, but I definitely see it now. After having the diary entry jog my memory, this painting, though I have come to appreciate its power over the years, now drips defiance for me.  It was just what needed to be painted in that moment.

It was a bellow into the void. My first real yawp. Many of you know what I mean by that.

Just sorry that it took thirty years to realize it.

A side note:  I completed my next painting after this on the following day. It was titled The Sky Doesn’t Pity and was later that year submitted to another regional exhibition. It was awarded third prize. There was a lot of validation in receiving that small award. Though I don’t put my work up for competitions today, I entered several regional and national competitions in those early years and won a number of prizes, including a couple of Best of Show awards. 

That was probably all a result of the disappointment and frustration I felt then from that first rejection. Maybe Guston was absolutely correct in saying that frustration is one of the great things in art.

Works for me.

 

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A Look Back: Into the Valley

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on February 2, 2026| 1 Comment »

 

 

Into the Valley (1995) – At West End Gallery

There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.

–Charles Dickens, David Copperfield (1850)

 The painting at the top is another early piece that is going to be included in the Little Gems exhibit opening at the West End Gallery this coming Friday, February 6. This painting, Into the Valley, has a direct connection to the Little Gems show of 1995, which was the first such exhibit for the gallery as well as the first public showing of my work.

Painted on February 4, 1995, this was the first work produced after I had attended the opening of the show the night before, on February 3. In the painting diary I kept at the time there was no mention of the night before. I was a bit surprised that there was no mention of the opening since it had an immediate effect on me. But after looking at the diary a little more, I wasn’t so surprised. It included mainly simple direct information about each piece such as the date, title, the type of paper used (I was working solely on paper at that point), and some notes on the piece. These notes sometimes pertained to the paints I was using as well as my first impressions of the painting.

Here’s the entry for this painting what will be from 31 years ago in just two days:

Lovely piece, good greens, interesting sky and eye-intriguing shape. I like it, at this moment. Fabriano is exquisite.

It’s a short entry but it gives me a world of pertinent info. Mainly, it tells me that my first impression of it was very positive, but I wasn’t totally confident in my own opinion of it. Some things never change. It was this hesitation in my judgment that probably kept this painting in a box for the past three decades.

My first impression of Into the Valley as I wrote then was right on the money. It is a lovely piece. It does have good greens and its sky is interesting and its shapes are eye-intriguing. And the Fabriano paper that I was just working with for the first time around then was and is exquisite.

Looking at it now, I realize that I made a mistake in not freeing this little guy long ago. I hope that it gets to have a long life of the appreciation it due.

A little side note. I stopped using this painting diary at the end of 1995. My entries for the time after that are regrettably even less informational. But I am thrilled in having these notes for the earliest works. Reading recently, I noticed that I seldom went beyond this terse format in my painting diary.  One interesting except was an entry a few weeks before I painted Into the Valley.

It came on January 17, 1995. I don’t remember much about the painting from this entry except that it was renamed Teasdale which I remember did find a new home later in the year. I don’t think I even have an image of that painting or, if I do, it is lost in a jumble of poorly shot slides from that time.

But the painting is not the interesting thing here for me.

More importantly, this short entry came from the day I took my work stuffed willy nilly into man old blue milk carton out to the West End Gallery. That was the day when all kinds of new horizons opened for me that I hadn’t even dared to imagine before that day. Here’s what I wrote after that meeting with Tom and Linda Gardner at the West End:

A good day… I floated all day. It now seems like such a restrained understatement for what I was feeling on that day and for what it came to mean for my future.

This probably gives you an idea why I have such deep appreciation and fond feelings about the Little Gems show. It is an integral part of my career, the point of departure for my artistic path. Without that day in January back in 1995 and that first opening a few weeks later, I have no idea where I might be now. The only thing I can say for certain is that I could not be any more content wherever I might have ended up.

When I see new artists, especially the younger ones, show for the first time at the West End, or any gallery for that matter, I look at them closely, knowing how excited and hopeful they must be. I can only hope they use the opportunity to find a path forward that is as satisfying for themselves as mine has been for me.

I’ve said it before, but I owe so much to Tom and Linda Gardner for that opportunity, that good day back in January of 1995.  Thank you, Linda. Thank you, Tom. Thanks to you both, I still find myself floating.

The 32nd annual Little Gems opens Friday, February 6, 2026, with an Opening Reception that runs from 5-7:30 PM.  Hope to see you there.

 

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Self-Portrait

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on October 13, 2025| 2 Comments »

Idyllica-At West End Gallery

Each for himself, we all sustain
The durance of our ghostly pain;
Then to Elysium we repair,
The few, and breathe this blissful air.

–Virgil, Aeneid (29–19 BC)

This year’s edition of my annual solo show at the West End Gallery, Guiding Light, opens this coming Friday, October 17. The painting above, Idyllica, is one of the larger pieces from the show, coming in at 30″ by 48″ on canvas.

I might call this a signature piece, if I were to put a label on it. By that, I mean it might be a painting that I feel neatly sums up what my work means for me. A painting that symbolizes who I am and how I see the world and my existence.

Kind of like a self-portrait that portrays the artist in their best light as they see it.

I have had this feeling a number of times about paintings, feeling that they represent a totality of what I hope I am. Mybe it is really more that they represent all the things I aspire to but knowingly lack personally.

Grace, balance, and harmony, for example. You can also add boldness, confidence, and courage. Maybe throw in Inner peace and strength, as well.

Maybe I am not seeing this so much as a self-portrait, a picture of who I am now, but rather as a laundry list of everything I have yet to find fully in myself. An image of what I desire to be.

Perhaps that is what I see in this– a clear statement of my hopes for myself as a human.

Maybe in some way it can serve as a template or roadmap to the attainment of these qualities?

I don’t know. Maybe.

But for the time being I find myself basking placidly in this piece. And in these days now filled with uncertainty, lies, malevolence, and moral cowardice, it is refreshing to rest for a moment in something that aspires to the better parts of our humanity.

It’s what I need right now…

Here’s a song that haunts me for days every time I hear it. It plays, in a way, into what I am saying this morning. It’s from Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, best known for their performances and music from the film Once, performing as The Swell Season. I am a big fan of their work, especially Hansard’s solo work. This is their version of Don’t Want to Know from a tribute album to the late British singer/songwriter John Martyn that came out soon after his death in 2009 at the age of 60. I don’t have time to go into his life right now, but Martyn was an interesting and enigmatic character, a mass of contradictions and conflicts and talents. The 1973 album that this song is from, Solid Air, is considered a gem that is little known here.

Here’s Don’t Want to Know from The Swell Season.

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Natural Selection

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on August 21, 2025| 4 Comments »

 The Heights, circa 1994

Evolution advances, not by a priori design, but by the selection of what works best out of whatever choices offer. We are the products of editing, rather than of authorship.

–George Wald,The Origin of Optical Activity  (1957)

I came across the quote above from George Wald (1906-1997) who was a Nobel Prize winning a scientist whose work focused on retinal pigmentation. I don’t know much about that, but his words made me think about how evolution occurs in whatever we do, how we try new things in order to hopefully make our lives better. We keep those that work best for whatever reason and discard those that don’t, mirroring the process of Natural Selection.

This thought made me think of how this has worked in the evolution of my own work. It has been a constant trial of new techniques and materials. There have been small and large changes, some that have stuck with me and are now built into my artistic DNA. Others lingered for but a short time and were soon took their place in my personal annals as examples of a failed past, like looking in a book of natural history describing species like the Dodo that lost out to Natural Selection.

Thought I’d take this opportunity to share a post on some of my earliest work, sort of like pages from my book of extinct species. Some are gone forever as a result of the editing of natural selection, but some live on in certain traits that have been passed down from them. And as I point out in the post below from 2014, the styles and techniques shown below, unlike the Dodo, can always be reborn by me in some manner in the future. 

GC Myers 1994 Early ReductiveWork6I have been spending a lot of time in the studio in the last few weeks painting in a more traditional manner, what I call an additive style, meaning that layers of paint are continually added, normally building from dark to light. I’ve painted this way for many years and most likely that’s the style you know. But much of my work through the years, especially in the early years of my career, has been painted in a much different manner, one where a lot of very wet paint is applied to a surface, usually paper. I then take off much of this paint, revealing the lightness of the underlying surface. That’s a very simplified explanation of the process, one that has evolved and refined over the years. I refer to it as being my reductive style.

When you’re self-taught, you can call things whatever you please. I’m thinking of calling my paint brushes hairsticks from now on. Or maybe twizzlers. Maybe I will call my paints something like colory goop?

This reductive process is what continually prodded me ahead early on when I was just learning to express myself visually. I went back recently and came across a very early group of these pieces, among the very first where I employed this process. I am still attracted to these pieces, partly because of the nostalgia of once again seeing those things that opened other doors for me. Pieces that set me on a continuing journey. 

But there was also a unity and continuity in the work that I found very appealing. Each piece, while not very refined or tremendously strong alone, strengthened the group as a whole. I would have been hesitant to show most of these alone but together they feel so much more unified and complete.

This has made me look at these pieces in a different light, one where I found new respect for them. I think they are really symbolic of some of what I consider strengths in my work, this sense of continuum and relativity from piece to piece. It also brings me back to that early path and makes me consider if I should backtrack and walk that path again, now armed with twenty years of experience. Something to consider.

GC Myers 1994 Early ReductiveWork 1GC Myers 1994 Early ReductiveWork 5GC Myers 1994 Early ReductiveWork 2GC Myers 1994 Early ReductiveWork 4

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Aftermath

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on June 16, 2025| 4 Comments »

Semi-Finished Demo Painting- Principle Gallery 2025

Thought I would share a recap of this past weekend at the Principle Gallery in the aftermath of my opening there on Friday evening.

The opening itself was a bit more subdued than in previous years but that was something that was anticipated by the gallery and me.  With the high temps (94° on the highway during the drive into town) and humidity along with the threat of severe thunderstorms, we knew that the crowd might be smaller. You can add to that the scheduling of the political circus/parade that was centerstage in DC this weekend, tying up traffic and both driving many people out of the area and keeping others away. And there was also my scheduled painting the following day which no doubt would keep those who wished to attend that making the decision to skip the opening. Thus, we lowered expectations accordingly. 

But the turnout was fairly good, for all of that. I was engaged in many conversations for the entire time and before I knew it, it was time to close up. Time flew by. Many thanks once more to those who made it out to the gallery on Friday. 

Then came the painting demonstration late the next morning. Due to the uncertainty of the weather, we held in the gallery as opposed to being out on the closed-off street as originally planned. The turnout was exceptional for this event with about as many people as we could comfortably fit in the space. And they were exceptional in other ways as well. 

Up to the minute it started I was unsure what I was going to do with the demo. I opted at the last second to make it a little more interactive– and a little riskier. I asked if anyone would like to make the first mark on the 20″ by 20″ canvas I had prepared first with multiple layers of gesso then a final layer of black paint. I explained that I would then work off that first mark, that it would dictate my reaction the next steps in the painting. Everything after that first mark would be an unplanned reaction.

A familiar and friendly face to me, Jesse (hope that is spelled correctly!), volunteered to make the first mark. I loaded a brush with the red oxide paint I use to compose the underpainting and handed it to her. She hesitated a bit then made a swooping and bending downward moving line. 

Now, allowing someone to make that first mark can be a risky proposition. It’s a bit like a circus highwire performer working without a net. The difference is that the circus performer rehearses their act over and over and there is only one way to go once you’re on the wire.

I immediately saw Jesse’s swooping line as a path. That was the good news. The bad news was that the mark began in the upper left quarter of the painting. I quickly realized that this first mark put some limits on where I could go compositionally. Kind of like my tightwire suddenly came apart and I was left with several narrower but shakier paths ahead. None were the optimal, easiest wire to walk.

On the other hand, being put in a tighter, more awkward spot allowed me to better show how decisions pop up during the process of painting that are often unforeseen but have to be quickly made in order to make progress.  In this case, I decided to keep the mark as a path and build a sloping hill around it, one that allowed more space for a sky to the right of it. What that sky would be was another question, another decision to be made, along with many others.

I am not going to go into every decision made or every twist and turn that the painting took here. As I told the folks there on Saturday, I was painting much faster than I would in the studio, making those decisions much quicker and putting on paint a bit sloppier and at a much faster pace. I was sometimes making instantaneous decisions.

As we got near the end of the demonstration, the piece had taken on a somewhat complete appearance and most folks there felt it was complete. The image at the top is the painting at that point. All it could very well be complete. But there were things that I can see– then and even more so back in the studio when I looked it over yesterday–that still need to be addressed along with a few changes that I would like to make but am not sure are even possible. These were mainly the result of decisions that I made before taking every possibility into consideration. Kind of like real life, right?

Overall, I was pleased to get to that point of completion while working so quickly. It still has work to be done which I will be doing in the coming days. I think you will be surprised at the transformation– if I can pull it off. Either way, I will share the change.

Time being such a precious commodity in this lifetime, the group that spent those several hours with me on Saturday were exceedingly generous with not only their time but with the good humor and kindness they offered me. In return, I hope they got a better glimpse of the thought process behind the making of a painting, at least in the way I work.

As is often the case, I believe I got more from them than they from me. Thank you to the many who were there on Saturday. I am as appreciative as can be.

Here’s a short video slideshow that shows the process. Many thanks to my friend Larry Robertson who I met along with lovely wife, Kai, many years ago at the gallery, for the photos from the demonstration.

 

GC Myers/ Principle Gallery Demo June 2025

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The Regeneration/ Virtual Walkthrough

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on June 12, 2025| 5 Comments »

The Regeneration— At Principle Gallery, June 13, 2025

There can be only one permanent revolution — a moral one; the regeneration of the inner man.
How is this revolution to take place? Nobody knows how it will take place in humanity, but every man feels it clearly in himself. And yet in our world everybody thinks of changing humanity, and nobody thinks of changing himself.

—Leo Tolstoy, Three Methods of Reform, 1900 Pamphlet

The regeneration of the inner man…

It’s a similar sentiment to one shared here the other day from the Dalai Lama, one that stated that change in this world begins with the individual. An act of change much like a pebble thrown into a pond whose ripples continue to move outward from itself.

Change the world? Change yourself.

Why would the world change when you will not? The world is waiting for each of us to shape it, to be that pebble thrown into the pond.

A blank canvas waiting for us to pick up a brush and make that first mark.

That is a rough interpretation of this new painting from my show that opens tomorrow at the Principle Gallery. I have titled it, The Regeneration, and it is 24″ by 30″ on canvas. In short, I see it as being about the world as that blank canvas, a surface filled with all possibility. Everything we need is at hand. We simply have to put things in place in a way that satisfies our needs and desires.

Of course, with a painting like this, that is only part of its message. Regeneration also refers to the Earth’s ability to repair and recreate itself in the wake of human action. We muddy the canvas and it immediately begins to paint it over so that it appears once again as a blank canvas, waiting for that next first mark from its next inhabitants. Maybe a more apt analogy would be that of a landlord painting the walls of an apartment between tenants?

This piece also plays strongly to the Entanglement theme with its bands of color and light harmonizing in its sky. One perception of it that sticks with me was that this represents a time of absolute harmony, a time when humans have finally moved on. Perhaps it represents a time when we have evolved enough that we are released from the cycle that had us leading constantly reincarnated lives that continuously repeated the same mistakes life after life. Perhaps it is a time when we have finally learned the lessons of time and harmony and rejoined the greater energy bands that make up everything.

Maybe. Maybe not.  I think it’s a boldly strong piece however you or I may interpret it. It generates its own life. It certainly draws and holds my attention. And that’s a good thing, in my opinion.

The Regeneration is now on the wall at the Principle Gallery, for my 26th annual solo show, this year called Entanglement, which opens tomorrow, Friday, June 13. The paintings for the show are now in the gallery and are available for previews, in the gallery or online with a Virtual Walkthrough that you can access by going to my Artist Page at the Principle Gallery website (where all my work for the exhibit is also shown) or by simply clicking here. The Virtual Walkthrough is a great tool, allowing you to move through the exhibit and view the work both up-close and from different angles. 

I will be attending the Opening Reception for the show that runs tomorrow evening, Friday from 6-8:30 PM. I look forward to chatting with you.

And the following day, next Saturday, June 14, I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the gallery. The demo, my first there, should run from 11 AM until 1 PM or thereabouts.

Hope you can make it.

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Pax Omnis

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on June 9, 2025| 2 Comments »

Pax Omnis– At Principle Gallery

The creation of a more peaceful and happier society has to begin from the level of the individual, and from there it can expand to one’s family, to one’s neighborhood, to one’s community and so on.

—Tenzin Gyatso, 14th Dalai Lama, The Art of Happiness in a Troubled World (2004)

The name of this new painting is Pax Omnis which translates roughly as Peace for All or Peace Everywhere. I consider this painting to be one of the anchors for my Entanglement exhibit that opens Friday at the Principle Gallery. With the richness of its surface and message, it felt that way for me from the minute it was completed.

Much of the work from the Entanglement show has to do with how we, comprised as we are of bands of energy, are interwoven with all other things. Many of the paintings depict the interaction of the individual, often represented by the Red Tree, with the bands of energy that surround us.

That holds true in this painting but extends the interweaving to the earth and its inhabitants beyond the Red Tree. I see it as reflecting the sentiment expressed at the top from the Dalai Lama which basically says that the world we inhabit here is created by the attitude and actions of each of us.

We shape our world. A peaceful world is created by peaceful people. Tranquility begets tranquility.

The hatred, dishonesty, and greed of people creates a world filled with the same.

I submit the world as it currently stands into evidence.

This painting represents a best-case scenario, of course. The idea that we can eradicate hatred, greed, or any of the other darker parts of ourselves is pretty much a pipedream. But we need to keep such scenarios in our mind if only to remind us of the world we hope to create–a place of peace and harmony that makes us wish to linger here a bit longer before moving on to reunite with the entanglement of forever. 

I think this piece serves that function well. It has a very centered feel for me, if that makes sense to you. I wish it were here right now so that I might dwell in it for just a bit longer before looking at this morning’s news of the outer world’s disharmony and dysfunction.

At least I have the image of it to remind me of where I want to be and that I have a responsibility, as does everyone else, in doing my part to create that place of peace.

Amen.

I am sharing a song to go along with this post. Yesterday, the great Sly Stone (born Sylvester Stewart) passed away at the age of 82. His music was built with the strength and unity of all people in mind. I have written here in the past that the world would be a far better place if his songs were played out in the streets around the clock. Below is his classic song, Everyday People. The first line in the song– Sometimes I’m right and I can be wrong/ My own beliefs are in my song— fits in well with the theme of my show. A later line–I am no better and neither are you/ We are the same, whatever we do– reinforces that theme. 

Welcome back to the entanglement, Mr. Stone. Pax Omnis…

Pax Omnis is 16″ by 40″ on canvas and is now at the Principle Gallery, for my 26th annual solo show, this year called Entanglement, which opens this coming Friday, June 13. The paintings for the show are now in the gallery and are available for previews. The show will be up on the walls of the gallery by tomorrow, Wednesday.

I will be attending the Opening Reception for the show that runs on Friday from 6-8:30 PM. I look forward to chatting with you.

And the following day, next Saturday, June 14, I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the gallery. The demo, my first there, should run from 11 AM until 1 PM or thereabouts. Hope you can make it.

Hulu documentary on Sly

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