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Living in isolation has never been a great challenge for me in normal times. I thought I was a distant island that only needed a visitor every once in a while for those few things I couldn’t provide for myself. But these are not normal times and the impingement from the outer world pushes hard into my space now, disrupting the solitude that I thought was impenetrable.
Listening to the words that the great leader*** spoke yesterday, where he basically admitted that he wanted the states’ governors to bend the knee before him and had instructed the VP to not call and offer assistance to those that didn’t, made me realize that we are all islanders now.
50+ sovereign states, all fending for themselves, with a hope that exceeds reality that the unified power of the central government will offer much needed aid, will somehow favor them above the others in their time of need. We are in trouble and call out for aid to those who have a sworn duty to serve us.
Much as Puerto Rico did not so long ago in the aftermath of the historic hurricanes that ravaged that island.
We are all Puerto Rico now.
We probably should have taken the treatment Puerto Rico received, a few rolls of paper towel dismissively thrown at them along with conditioned promises of aid that were never fully realized, as an omen. We all are about to receive that same treatment and the storm that approaches this time is even larger and deadlier.
Anyway, I came across a post written for a 2013 show at the West End Gallery that featured the above painting, Islander, as its title piece. I thought the words were pertinent to this time. Its a painting that really resonates deeply with me on a personal level and one that, inexplicably at least for me, has never found a home. It still resides at the Just Looking Gallery in California, waiting patiently for someone to see what I see in it.
Along with the post below, I have included a version of Simon and Garfunkel‘s classic I Am a Rock. This video features the lyrics which is a way I have been listening to a lot of music lately. Times of crisis make me look harder for connecting threads of meaning. Whether they are there is another thing.
Give a look and have a good day on your little islands.
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I am an islander.
But I don’t live on an island. Never have and probably never will.
No, my island is a metaphorical place, one that exists in the creative ether of my mind. An island that is completely apart from and immune to the outer world that exists across the deep surrounding waters. Self-sustaining and self-ruled, a blank slate on which I can create my own reality.
It’s a place free from the ire and pettiness of others. Free of strife and injustice. and filled with the quiet of solitude. Filled with color, warmth and emotion.
An island of creation and peace.
But there is a paradox in being an islander. While trying to remain separate, it becomes abundantly clear that we can never really exist as totally independent from the outer world. Actually, to the islander those bonds to the outside world become even more apparent and important. The isolation only serves to heighten our recognition of our inclusion and connection to the world. You begin to recognize them as lifelines, bringing those things to the island that you cannot create in yourself.
Try as one might, one can never live in isolation from their own humanity. I think the best you can do is to create an island that you can visit periodically to revitalize yourself. And that’s what I believe I see in the work for this show– paintings that take me away for a short while from the outer world and place me on that peaceful island.
For that short time, I am truly an islander.
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No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
–John Donne, Meditation XVII, 1624
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I’ve been hobbled a bit over the last couple of weeks by a pinched nerve in my neck that has made any work (or sleep) almost impossible to accomplish. Hopefully, it will soon fade and I will be working feverishly again. But while it has kept me from work, it has not prevented me from thinking back on 2012 and what it meant for my work. It was truly a great year for it, one that will be hard to replicate.
I am slowly trying to get back into some sort of rhythm in the studio after getting back from what for me was an extended absence while traveling out to California for my show there. It was only a week or so but it was enough to disrupt that fragile balance and set me a bit off kilter. I can sense it in getting back into my painting rhythm as well as writing this blog. Just a bit more of a struggle at the moment. I don’t fret over this as I once might have because I’ve been through this more than a few times. If I put my head down and forge forward, it returns after a bit.
Well, I’ve been back for a couple of days now and I’m still trying to recall details of our trip out to California, particularly those from the show at the Just Looking Gallery on Saturday evening. I am trying to recollect the many faces and names and stories that flash in my memory, trying to make sure that I account them all properly. For instance, here is a photo taken during the show with Yvette and Akshay along with two paintings they chose from the show. We had a lovely conversation during the show where I learned more about their lives and their backgrounds. While I know it’s important to expound and to shed some light, if I can, on the work, the meaningful part of these shows for me comes in hearing what people who find something of value in my work have to say. I realize how fortunate I am to be in a position where I can listen, a position where people are willing to speak earnestly with me.
Well, we got home last night after several days on the west coast for my show this past weekend at the Just Looking Gallery in San Luis Obispo. And though it was very wet , we had a great time. We saw a lot of great sights, from the heights of Yosemite down to the coastal area around SLO. But it was the friendliness and warmth of the people there that made the biggest impression. We met so many wonderful people. My biggest complaint is that they were there to hear about my work so I did more talking when I would rather be listening, hearing about their lives and stories.
Redtree Times 