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Posts Tagged ‘Lisa Hannigan’

Maintaining Balance— At West End Gallery






Silence has many dimensions. It can be a regression and an escape, a loss of self, or it can be presence, awareness, unification, self-discovery. Negative silence blurs and confuses our identity, and we lapse into daydreams or diffuse anxieties. Positive silence pulls us together and makes us realize who we are, who we might be, and the distance between these two.

–Thomas Merton, Love and Living (1979)





I’ve had this passage from the late Trappist monk/poet/author Thomas Merton rolling around in my head for a while now. Silence and quiet have been themes in my work for a long time for a good reason. I have found peace and understanding at times in silence, in stilling my mind and just trying to be where and what I am at the moment.

It’s a good place to be.

On the other hand, I have also known the negative silences of which Merton writes. There is silence but not emptiness nor stillness–important distinctions. Even in this silence, there are things– worries, fears, regrets, grievances, despairs, etc.– occupying the space and in constant motion. They distract the mind and take its focus off its silence. The mind darts through the mind space from each of these things to the next.

The desired stillness is lost in what seems to be a cacophony of motion.

I don’t know that you can totally eradicate these negative silences. They are insidious, always ready to jump back onstage and do their little silent song and dance. Maybe you can if you’re monk or a total hermit far removed from the world in all ways.

I am neither of those nor are most folks.

I guess the best we can hope for is to keep trying to find silence and stillness when it is most needed. To not fall prey to the lures of the negative silences. To drop the curtain on them when they start their little act.

And to make the most of those times when we find ourselves in that positive silence. To heal. To appreciate. To be.

It’s easy to write this. Much harder to accomplish. I always felt that if I have many more moments in the positive silent space than in the chaotic negative space, I am doing okay. I’ve been doing this delicate balancing act for a long time now and it’s always difficult to maintain. But it has become get easier. As it is with anything, rehearsal, practice, and repetition are the key to getting where you want to go.

I don’t know that this makes any sense this morning to anyone outside the space in my head. I’d be surprised and glad if it does and can only say sorry if it doesn’t. Don’t want to waste your time.

In the spirit of saving time, let’s move on. The image at the top is of a new piece, Maintaining Balance, a 6″ by 12″ painting on canvas. Just a little bigger than a true Little Gem, it is now at the West End Gallery whose Little Gems show opens this coming Friday. I had the Merton passage in mind when I was painting and titling this piece.

For this Sunday Morning Music, I am going with a song originally sung by Dick Van Dyke in the 1968 movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It was written by the Sherman Brothers who produced more motion picture song scores than any other songwriting team in film history, including the many memorable songs from Mary Poppins and The Jungle Book. This performance is from a favorite of mine, Lisa Hannigan, and British musician Richard Hawley.

Just a lovely stillness and delicacy. Just what’s needed to maintain balance…





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The Entangling— Coming to Principle Gallery, June 2025



The outward wayward life we see,
The hidden springs we may not know—
It is not ours to separate
The tangled skein of will and fate.

–John Greenleaf Whittier, Snow-Bound (1866)



This new painting from my upcoming Principle Gallery show might best represent the concept of this show, at least in how I see it. It’s a triptych called The Entangling. It’s simple and spare with the tangles of knots that make up the sky and their relationship to the Red Tree carrying the painting’s emotional weight here. It has a mixture of stillness and movement, along with a quietness that sings clearly, that connects with me and pulls me into the tangles.

I am showing it with its frame here. It seemed more important to show it as it will appear on the gallery wall rather than showing just the images of the three painted surface.

This piece probably deserves more discussion and time than I can afford this morning. But then again, maybe it doesn’t need it. Maybe it doesn’t require explanations. Maybe it is, in simply being what it is, the explanation of itself.

Hmmm… That’s something to think about today as I continue prepping work for the show. In the meantime, here’s a song from Lisa Hannigan that is at least somewhat titularly related to the subject today. It’s called Knots and this fun video does have to do with painting– sort of.



The Entangling is included in my exhibit of new work, Entanglement, that opens Friday, June 13 at the Principle Gallery with an Opening Reception from 6-8:30 PM. I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the gallery on the following day, Saturday, June 14, from 11 AM until 1 PM.



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Frisson


Gravity– At West End Gallery

fris·son, frēˈsôn / noun– a sudden strong feeling of excitement or fear; a thrill. “a frisson of excitement”

Frisson (French for ‘shiver’) is a sensation somewhat like shivering, usually caused by stimuli. It is typically expressed as an overwhelming emotional response combined with pilo-erection (goosebumps), pupil dilation, and sometimes tears. Stimuli that produce a response are specific to the individual and most often involve a response to music, though it often occurs in response to film, oratory, literature, and art.



When the word frisson recently popped up as the subject of a short article I came across, it was new to me. It might be one of those words that just never registered in my mind when I had read it in the past or maybe I had simply never come across it before.

Whatever the case, I immediately recognized it as it was something I have experienced all my life. In fact, so long and so often that I assumed it was just a natural for everyone.

The article I read pointed out that it was not as common as I had thought. It claimed that the number of people who experienced it was perhaps a little less than 50% and that those who experienced frisson on a regular basis to a wide array of stimuli was probably a little more than 10%.

It went on to say that that those who most often experience it have been found to have a higher volume of fibers connecting their auditory cortex to the areas that process emotion.

The numbers surprised me. But the difference in the wiring of the brain actually made sense to me. It probably explains, in a physiological way, why I do what I do and why I have struggled at other endeavors in my life. I know that I have experienced this frisson with my own work at times. I have told the story here before of the breakthrough moment I had when I first began painting and stumbled across the style and feel that I suddenly knew without knowing I was seeking. It was an electric reaction with goosebumps and the hair raising on the back of my neck.

Perhaps it has been that feeling of extreme frisson that I have been hoping to create in others with my work ever since?

Perhaps. I have been fortunate to have had a few people describe feelings that resemble the frisson response they had felt from my paintings. Their description of this feeling creates a similar response in me, and for that moment I feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

For me, I get strong feelings of frisson from many things. There are songs that will make me tear up or produce an immense feeling of elation, even if I were to hear them every day. The same for certain scenes in films. For example, the scene in Casablanca where the patrons of Rick’s loudly sing the Marseillaise to drown out the Nazi’s singing never fails to make me bleary-eyed. Even thinking about it now produces the effect. I can also recall often coming across works of art or reading passages in poetry and literature, as well as theatrical performances and great speeches, that do the same.

I am sometimes embarrassed by this response, especially when I am around those who seldom experience it. Fortunately, I am seldom around people. But knowing that it might just be a matter of how the brain might be wired a bit differently takes away some of that stigma.

In fact, I am grateful for these feelings of frisson. I certainly wouldn’t be doing this or looking forward to painting soon after. That being said, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Here’s a song I have played here once before that creates this feeling of intense frisson for me, especially with the gorgeous harmonies contained in it. It is Undertow performed by the Irish singer Lisa Hannigan accompanied by fellow countrywoman Loah (Sally Garnett) from a pandemic era performance at the National Gallery of Ireland. Their joyful laughter at the end of their performance makes me believe they knew they had just created something special.

And they had.



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“I can live with doubt and uncertainty and not knowing. I think it is much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers that might be wrong. If we will only allow that, as we progress, we remain unsure, we will leave opportunities for alternatives. We will not become enthusiastic for the fact, the knowledge, the absolute truth of the day, but remain always uncertain … In order to make progress, one must leave the door to the unknown ajar.”

― Richard P. Feynman



The post below is from several years back and deals with my constant uncertainty, a theme that has ran through my life. I added the Feynman quote above because I like the idea of uncertainty opening the doors to new possibilities and futures that would not even be imagined if we held too tightly to our beliefs and saw them as absolute. Here’s that post:



I don’t know…

I would guess that I’ve said that phrase a couple of hundred thousand times in my life. Or maybe even a million times.

But then again, I don’t know.

As years pass, I am constantly fascinated by how little I know despite consciously trying to obtain more knowledge. It turns out that there are an awful lot of things out there that I will never know.

That doesn’t make me happy but I have learned to live with it and take some comfort in knowing that I am not alone. I don’t think any of us really knows as much as we let on. Oh, some speak with absolute certainty and and an air of confidence but that’s just bravado or a simple failure to recognize their lack of knowledge.

I do know that.

From personal experience, unfortunately.

So I cringe a bit now when I spot that arrogant certainty in the declarations coming from myself or others. Then I cast a doubtful eye towards these claims, my own included.

What does this have to do with the price of a gallon of milk in Kokomo?

I don’t know. I’m just blabbing in order to set up a song from the Irish singer Lisa Hannigan and is titled, fittingly, I Don’t Know. I particularly like this version shot in a Dingle pub. Lovely.

Have a good day and be wary of those who seem a bit too certain. Or not.

I don’t know.



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*****************

I want to be, all of a sudden
Every wave and undertow
I want to float
Everywhere I go

Lisa Hannigan, Undertow

****************

I debated yesterday over playing the song I eventually chose, Push the Sky Away from Nick Cave, or a song from Lisa Hannigan, Undertow. It was a tough choice. Hannigan’s Undertow features some beautifully delicate vocals that have a haunting quality.

Both songs actually have that haunting quality and both stayed with me all day while I worked.

So, since I am still very busy with prep work for the West End Gallery show, I thought I’d play Undertow this morning, as a kind of Sunday Morning Music addenda.

The painting at the top, In a Warm Breeze, is from the West End show. It has a nautical theme which I guess links it in a way to the song. But it also has a calm and quiet way about it while still having a layer of passion, of desire, in its undercurrent.

As its undertow, I guess. Whatever the case, it’s a piece that I like very much, one that gives me a sense of peacefulness that I really appreciate these days.

Give a listen to Lisa Hannigan and her Undertow, recorded in May at the National Gallery of Ireland. Have a good and hopefully calm day.

***************

 

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I don’t know…

I would guess that I’ve said that phrase a couple of hundred thousand times in my life. Or maybe even a million times. But then again, I don’t know.

As years pass, I am constantly fascinated by how little I know despite consciously trying to obtain more knowledge. It turns out the only thing I really know is that there are an awful lot of things out there that I will never know.

That doesn’t make me happy but I have learned to live with it and take some comfort in knowing that I am not alone. I don’t think any of us really knows as much as we let on. Oh, some speak with absolute certainty and and an air of confidence but that’s just bravado or a simple failure to recognize their lack of knowledge. I do know that.

From personal experience, unfortunately.

So I cringe a bit now when I spot that arrogant certainty in the declarations coming from myself or others. Then I cast a doubtful eye towards these claims, my own included.

What does this have to do with the price of a gallon of milk in Kokomo? I don’t know. I’m just blabbing in order to set up this week’s Sunday morning music. It’s from the Irish singer Lisa Hannigan  and is titled, fittingly, I Don’t Know.  I particularly like this version shot in a Dingle pub. Lovely.

Have a good day and be wary of those who seem a bit too certain. Or not.

I don’t know.

********

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