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Posts Tagged ‘Exhibition’

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“Our worst misfortunes never happen, and most miseries lie in anticipation.”

― Honoré de Balzac

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This quote from Balzac has been paraphrased and changed over the years by others to the more tidy phrase: Our worst fears lie in anticipation.

I usually don’t agree when writer’s words are changed or used to express something decidedly different from their original intention. But maybe speakers over the years have decided that our worst misfortunes sometimes do happen.

Balzac died in 1850, years before the horrors of the American Civil War, World War I and WW II, which carries its own separate list of atrocities that easily live up to the expectations of being our worst misfortunes. We have witnessed concentration camps, the slaughter of innocents in attempted genocides on several continents, extreme racial and ethnic hatred and so many other black blotches on our collective history.

And I am most likely skimming over a multitude of other examples, such as the 1918 Flu Pandemic.

Yeah, in the 170 years since Balzac’s death, we have seen ample evidence that our worst misfortunes do indeed happen.

But even so, there is truth in saying that most miseries lie in anticipation. Because for all the evidence we have of our ability to inflict the worst on each other, most times we come out on the other side without seeing the worst come to fruition.

That brings me to the new painting at the top of the page, an 18″ by 24″ canvas that is part of my upcoming solo show, From a Distance, that opens next week at the West End Gallery. The title of this piece is The Anticipation.

A lot of the work from this show is a result of my reaction to these times but this painting might best sum that feeling of queasiness and dull fear that comes in waiting for the next shoe to drop. It seems to be its own separate symptom of the pandemic, one that even those who are not yet infected experience.

It’s that feeling that you know there is a beginning and an end and, that even while we are in the midst of this thing, it will someday be over and in the past. That is the light at the end of tunnel. But you know you have to go through the rest of that tunnel, have to absorb all the worst it has to offer, in order to get to that endpoint.

So, you trudge and trudge, each step filled with a dark foreboding anticipation. In every dark shadow along your way you see a new imagined demon, one that threatens you with some awful painful fate. The light barely seems to get closer with each day’s journey and your fears grow with your uncertainty as to when– or if– you will finally emerge from the darkness.

The fear of what might happen eclipses your imaginings of hope.

That sounds dire. But remember, even with our rampant thoughts of the worst that could happen, we are still moving forward toward the light in the future and our actions as we move along can diminish or even eradicate those imagined worst outcomes.

In the waiting, our imagination may only see the worst but perhaps it is so we can act to avoid it ever coming to be.

That’s what I am seeing in this painting. There is foreboding but there is the possibility of hope in our own reaction.

So, while our worst misfortunes do sometimes happen, we do not have to willingly accept them as our fate. We have the opportunity to stand against them, to infuse light into the darkness that comes in our anticipation.

Here’s to that light…

 

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Let the New Day Begin- at the West End Gallery Now

The work for this year’s edition of my annual solo show, Moments and Color, is now hanging in the West End Gallery, all ready for the opening this coming Friday, July 12. I put together a video slideshow of the work from the show which is below.

This was an interesting project, in that it was hard setting the lineup for the images in this video. I couldn’t frontload the video with what I might consider the best pieces because I couldn’t rank them. There’s great consistency across the board that made deciding difficult. Each time I tried to move a piece up or down in the lineup, it didn’t seem to make a difference in the quality or feel of the video. I think you could watch this backwards and would get the same visceral experience from it.

And I like that. That consistency has always been a point of pride for me. I like to think that every piece, from the smallest and simplest up to the largest and most complicated, has the same level of consideration and effort.  After all, big or small, they all represent me out in the world and to skimp on one in effort or any other way diminishes them all.

This show has a lot of facets, a lot of familiar and new looks, but it just hangs together well. It’s a show that gives me a lot of satisfaction on a number of levels. Please take a look at the video and if you’re in the Corning area, please stop in for the opening on Friday, from 5-7:30 PM. I look forward to seeing you there!

 

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I want to live alone in the desert
I want to be like Georgia O’Keeffe
I want to live on the Upper East Side
And never go down in the street

Splendid Isolation
I don’t need no one
Splendid Isolation

–Warren Zevon, Splendid Isolation

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Over the next several days I will be showing paintings from my upcoming show, Moments and Color, that opens Friday, July 12, at the West End Gallery. Today is a piece called Pondering Solitude, a 24″ by 24″ canvas, that was a favorite of mine during its time here in the studio.

Like much of my work, I can’t exactly put my finger on any one thing in this painting that makes it hit the mark for me. Maybe it’s something as simple as the color combinations or the way the light flows within the composition. Or just the simplicity of it as a whole. Or the feeling of warm solitude it emotes.

Again, I don’t know. That probably sounds strange to some of you. After all, I painted it so shouldn’t I know the entire what and why of a piece I have created? You would think so, wouldn’t you?

Oddly enough, in my best work–or at least what I feel is my best work– I have no answers. And that makes sense to me because the work is for me a way to get enough clarity to understand enough to be able to ask questions. Then, hopefully, answers emerge.

It’s hard to find answers when you don’t really know the questions.

And that is kind of the story of this piece. I see it as the Red Tree feeling a need for clarity and light, answers to questions that it can’t articulate, and finding solace in the light and warmth of its solitude.

There is more likely than not more to say here but I think I am leaving it at that for now.

I used some lyrics from the song Splendid Isolation from the late Warren Zevon above. Here is the song.

 

 

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My show at the Principle Gallery is in place, adorning the walls of the Alexandria gallery. I got word yesterday in the form of a few images that really put to rest a lot of my apprehensions.

It looks good. Very good.

I go through a cycle with every show where I have peaks of excitement over the work as it builds in the studio. But near the end of prepping for every show or after the show has been delivered and is out of sight, I begin to second-guess my own judgement of the work. The excitement I once held turns to a fear that I have been seeing the work through magic goggles that give the work qualities that really aren’t there.

Thankfully, most of the time these fears have been unfounded. But even so, this year gave me an extremely high level of excitement for the work which translated to an even greater dread in the last week or so. Much of it has to do with the fact that this is the 20th solo show at the Principle Gallery, the significance of this being something I have written about here in recent weeks.

Add to that the inclusion of my new Multitudes series that consists of masses of faces, such as the piece, The Following, here on the right. This group of work makes up a significant part, almost 25%, of the show and is untested in the marketplace. But Michele and her great staff– Clint, Taylor and Owen– have done a masterful job of hanging this work, interspersing it with the other work in a way that shows it as an extension of the prior work and not an exception.

Plain and simple, it all really fits together well. And that bring back to me a level of excitement. But that just makes me wonder if I put my goggles back on.

I guess you’ll have to be the judge. You can borrow my goggles, if you want.

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The show is hung for previews and the opening for Red Tree 20: New Growth is this Friday, June 7, beginning at 6:30 and running to 9:00 PM. Hope to see you there!

Taylor in the Front Gallery

 

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GC Myers- Delicate Balance  smMy solo exhibit, Into the Common Ground, opens at the Kada Gallery in Erie this Friday, December 5th.  While much of my work centers on the unique voice of the individual, the theme of this show is about finding those common bonds and experiences that we share with others.

Actually, I’ve always thought that my work succeeds when it communicates as a mix of those two things– individual expression of a common theme or emotion.  Art for me is communication, about reaching out and finding validation in my own humanity through contact with others.  I  feel that art should be expansive, not exclusive or reserved for wealthy insiders.  While art is often an inward search, it should always be reaching out to engage the world.

And maybe that is what I see here in this new painting, Delicate Balance.  Creating work that reaches out and finds common ground is a sometimes delicate balance.  It comes down to identifying what is really at the base of what you are or hope to be as a human and pushing aside those negative feelings– envy, greed and hate among many other negatives– that cloud your judgement.

Its not always an easy thing to accomplish.  That bridge across to others can be sometime wobbly.  But when it does happen, that simple crossing seems like the 8th wonder of the world. A miracle.

 

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GC Myers- Chaos and Order smIn its simplest terms, this painting is about all that we don’t know, individually and collectively.

I call this 20″ by 24″ canvas Chaos and Order.  In it, the Red Tree dwells in a land that is apparently in order, a clean landscape of neat rows in the fields and a clear path that takes one through it.  It is seemingly the master of its domain, possessing knowledge of all things within its reach.

Yet, by merely looking into the night sky and seeing the great patterns of chaos written upon it, the Red Tree realizes the limits and boundaries of its knowledge.  It tries to make it fit into some sort of orderliness, something that it can understand on its limited terms but the patterns are too great and come at it like the cacophony of a thousand different languages being spoken at once.

What is the message here?  That we are small and weak before the power of the universe?

Yes and No.  Yes, without knowledge, with only a fear of what lays in that chaos, we are weak and small.  But I don’t think that is the message I see here.   It is that we are merely searchers, still learning the secrets and languages hidden right before our eyes.   The great chaos we see before us might be daunting but we will always try to make order from it in order to find our place within it.  That is simply who we are.

This is another painting that will be at my show, Into the Common Ground, at the Kada Gallery in Erie, PA,  opening December 5.

 

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