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Posts Tagged ‘Little Gems’

Arresting Motion

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on February 26, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Resistance– At West End Gallery

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life. Since man is mortal, the only immortality possible for him is to leave something behind him that is immortal since it will always move. This is the artist’s way of scribbling “Kilroy was here” on the wall of the final and irrevocable oblivion through which he must someday pass.

–William Faulkner, Paris Review interview (1958)

Faulkner perfectly captures something I have been writing about here for years, the urge to leave something behind as evidence of your onetime existence in this world. It’s the driving force behind creation of all sorts, from human procreation to multiple forms of artistic expression, from the caves of Lascaux to the Sistine Chapel to the simplistic image of Kilroy left all over the world by American soldiers in WW II. Graffiti, which might be the purest form of saying I was here, has been around as long as mankind.

For the artist, it is an act of faith that your work will somehow survive into the future. You can never know with any degree of certainty. Oh, it may well make its way into museums or collections that span generations. It might well exist.

But will it be truly seen? Will it stay relevant, will its voice clearly speak in the future? Will it still maintain its movement, its life?

This idea of relevance– or rather irrelevance– is not a concern that only applies to the future for the artist. As an artist, after decades of creating work, I often question the relevance of my work at any given moment. Is it alive in this present, let alone the future?

I don’t know that you can fully know the answer to that question for anyone but yourself. Your relevance, now or a hundred years in the future, is not something you have a lot of say in.

The best you can do is to focus only on creating something that feels alive now. If it captures the motion, the feeling, the voice, and the humanity of our existence, it might well escape oblivion and might make its presence known in the future.

If it does, great. If not, you at least created something for this moment in time. And that’s great in its own right.

I chose the painting at the top, The Resistance— currently part of the West End Gallery’s Little Gems show– not only because of the obvious motion of it but because so much of what we do as humans is comprised of acts of resistance, of fighting to be heard or not relegated to some form of oblivion, one where we have no control over who and what we are.

I guess that could be applied to creating unique work, as well. Here’s a performance that I shared here several years ago. It is Ukrainian guitarist Nadia Kossinskaja performing an Asor Piazzolla composition, Oblivion. Felt like it went well this painting this morning.

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Sunshine Song

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on February 13, 2025| 6 Comments »

Sunshine Song- At West End Gallery

It is the artist’s business to create sunshine when the sun fails.

–Romain Rolland, Jean-Christophe, (1904)

I am generally a fan of winter weather. I like colder weather and snow and the quiet it brings. Even so, I have to admit that I am getting tired of it this year. Tired of slipping and sliding on ice, probably because I am still working off a slight concussion from a fall this past weekend that had me stumbling around like a middleweight boxer who had just been hit flush with a haymaker and is forced to take a standing eight count to regain his bearings.  Tired of the oppressiveness of the sky’s constant grayness which matches my mood or that of the country a little too much. Tired of wearing layers and layers of clothing and having to put on crampons (ice cleats) just to walk to the studio.

Even the beauty of the snow is compromised at the moment. Here in the woods, it has no fluffiness or moisture now. The thought of going out and perhaps laying in the snow to make snow angels is gone as the thin layer of snow is hard surfaced with sharp icy edges.

Just want some sunshine. Want some brightness. Something to burn away the grayness of the sky and my spirit. Want to feel its warmth on my skin again. That has been such a rare occurrence this winter.

There is some consolation in that I do, at the very least, have my work. I have the luxury of being able to go into it and make my own sunshine, much like passage above which the Nobel Prize-winning French author Romain Rolland wrote in his best-known work, Jean-Christophe.

It does help to have some capacity to create one’s own sunshine. But it only goes so far. It’s not a self-sustaining perpetual motion kind of thing. It needs some input, some help, some influx of outside energy every so often.

It needs to see and feel the real sun occasionally, even if to simply be reminded that it is still there. With it, the bitterness of cold, the trudge of snow, and the skeletal trees of winter are tolerable.

Okay, enough. The gray light of morning is coming through the studio windows. Barely. I have to go make some sunshine.

Here’s an old song from Donovan about a guy I could use right about now, Sunshine Superman.

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Why Do It?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on February 11, 2025| 3 Comments »

Little Gems Now at West End Gallery

Why one writes is a question I can answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me — the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art. The artist is the only one who knows the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements. It is a materialization, an incarnation of his inner world. Then he hopes to attract others into it, he hopes to impose this particular vision and share it with others. When the second stage is not reached, the brave artist continues, nevertheless. The few moments of communion with the world are worth the pain, for it is a world for others, an inheritance for others, a gift to others, in the end. When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others.

We also write to heighten our own awareness of life, we write to lure and enchant and console others, we write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth, we write to expand our world, when we feel strangled, constricted, lonely. We write as the birds sing. As the primitive dance their rituals. If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don’t write. Because our culture has no use for any of that. When I don’t write I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire, my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave. I call it breathing.

― Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin

Why do it?

Even after nearly 30 years of doing what I do–which is paint, if you were still wondering– I still often find myself asking why I do this. There are certainly easier and more lucrative ways to make a living but they normally don’t offer the autonomy, solitude, and non-financial rewards that this life offers.

However, I don’t think it’s as simple as putting everything on a spreadsheet and comparing columns of pros and cons, of which there are plenty of both. I don’t think any single line item on such a spreadsheet would justify doing or not doing what I do. 

No, I think it’s something beyond quantification or even justification. It’s something that I know is there, and have known for some time, from a point in my life where I was yet to fully live this life. It’s something I often struggle to put into words. That’s probably why I often find a rationalization for what I do from writers who struggle with that same question. Though they are writing about the act of writing, their observations carry cross all creative disciplines. 

I have recently read two wonderful books that deal with this question. One, Art & Fear from David Bayles and Ted Orland, touches on it while dealing broadly with art and creativity while the other The Writing Life from Annie Dillard, gives deep insight into the essential part of the writing impulse which moves, as I said above, across the creative spectrum. Annie Dillard’s book, by the way, was a gift from the Great Veiled Bear this past Christmas and ranks as one of my favorite gifts and reads in a long, long time.

It scratched my itch. 

Reading it right after Art & Fear came at a time when I was truly struggling. The two books clarified a lot of issues that had been plaguing me. As a result, I felt that I was less alone in my struggles, that my questions and issues were much the same as other people in the creative fields, even those who appear to be at the top their fields. 

I came across the passage at the top from The Diary of Anaïs Nin which neatly sums up much of what I had pulled from these two books. It also lined up well with my view of the need to create one’s own inner world or inner vision, a setting is built on your own beliefs and truths. Perhaps new and inhabitable planet? 

Whatever the case, this Passage from Anaïs Nin struck a chord with me and I will be filing it along Annie Dillard’s book, Art & Fear, and Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, so that I can pick it up at any time when I need an answer to that question.

Here’s a favorite song that I have only shared a couple of times over the many years I have done this blog. It seems to make sense with this post and for those of us who are struggling with the time we are now experiencing. This the great Mavis Staples and Jeff Tweedy with an acoustic version of You’re Not Alone.

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Heart’s Fortress

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on February 7, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Heart’s Fortress– At West End Gallery

Fortify yourself with contentment, for this is an impregnable fortress.

–Epictetus

Epictetus probably personally knew a thing or two about building a fortress out of contentment. He was a Greek Stoic philosopher born into slavery in the middle of the first century AD. In Rome, he served as a slave to a powerful and wealthy man who was secretary to Emperor Nero. His owner recognized that Epictetus, who also had a disability caused in his childhood which required him to use a crutch, possessed a passion for philosophy and allowed him to study under a Stoic master.

Eventually the owner released Epictetus from servitude, and he began teaching philosophy in Rome. Around 93 AD, Emperor Domitian banished all philosophers from Rome and Epictetus left for Greece where he established his school of philosophy which became well known and revered.

Having survived slavery, disability, and banishment, Epictetus was someone who knew hardship and loss. Even so, it seems as though he was able to find his own fortress of contentment that was beyond the reach– the influence, opinion, and injury– of the outside world.  

I think that idea applies to the new painting from the Little Gems show (opening today at the West End Gallery) shown at the top, Heart’s Fortress. I know that it is just an idealized condition, that no one can fully isolate from the world. But we all need a place of our own, even if it exists only for short periods of time in our inner landscape, where we can be free from the world. A safe island of quiet where we can examine all that we are and find some degree of satisfaction in that.

I try.

Occasionally, I succeed.

And sometimes the world comes in the form of tidal waves that crash on the cliffs of my fortress, shaking away much of my contentment.

Still, my fortress remains. Perhaps a little disheveled and in need of some maintenance. But it stands.

And in that alone, there is some satisfaction, some contentment. 

Heart’s Fortress is a small painting, 3″ by 4″ on paper that is now at the West End Gallery in Corning as part of the annual Little Gems show. There is an opening reception for the show today from 5-7 PM. Hope you can make it.

Here’s a lovely song that, while it may not be about the specific island of my heart’s fortress, is about the love of an island. This is Island in the Sun from the late great Harry Belafonte.

 

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Height of Achievement

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on February 6, 2025| Leave a Comment »

 

Height of Achievement– At West End Gallery

“All who are not lunatics are agreed about certain things. That it is better to be alive than dead, better to be adequately fed than starved, better to be free than a slave. Many people desire those things only for themselves and their friends; they are quite content that their enemies should suffer. These people can only be refuted by science: Humankind has become so much one family that we cannot ensure our own prosperity except by ensuring that of everyone else. If you wish to be happy yourself, you must resign yourself to seeing others also happy.”

— Bertrand Russell, The Science to Save Us from Science, NY Times (19 March 1950)

The final sentence above from Bertrand Russell from 75 years ago seems almost quaint in the selfish and cynical times in which we find ourselves. The idea of making others happy as a measure of our success or our satisfaction with our lives is not particularly popular these days.

It raises many questions for me.

How does anyone define success? Or happiness?

Can anyone be successful and happy while denying the same to others? 

That would be the old climb-to-the-top-and pull-up-the-ladder-behind-you trick that’s so popular these days. We have sadly come to believe that our own success and happiness is somehow diminished or devalued by the success and happiness of others. Many see it as some sort of reality show competition and not only pull the ladder up behind them but roll boulders down at those attempting to climb a bit higher.

This all came from thinking about what I was seeing in this new small painting, Height of Achievement, that is part of the Little Gems show now hanging at the West End Gallery. I see it as being about defining your success and happiness on your own terms, about claiming your own small pinnacle and laying a path that gives others the opportunity to climb as well. I see the Red Tree here as not a ruler over a domain but as an explorer or guide showing the way.

I also saw a slightly different interpretation, one where the Red Tree has climbed to the top, achieving the success it sought, and found it a lonely place. And happiness was in short supply, as well, since it was forever preoccupied about keeping its place up there. It never was able to enjoy the view or share it with others.

I guess both translations say much the same– strive for yourself but for others, as well.

That works for me this morning.

Here’s a song that is well-worn, both in airplay and on multiple film soundtracks, for good reason. Just a great song. This is the 1967 hit, Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, written by Ashford & Simpson and performed by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, who both died tragically young. Diana Ross did a great version of the song as well in 1970 but I thought I’d go with this one.

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Twilight Time

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on February 5, 2025| 2 Comments »

Twilight Time–AT West End Gallery

And even if you were in some prison the walls of which let none of the sounds of the world come to your senses—would you not then still have your childhood, that precious, kingly possession, that treasure-house of memories? Turn your attention thither. Try to raise the submerged sensations of that ample past; your personality will grow more firm, your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes, far in the distance.

–Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Little time this morning as I have some maintenance issues around here that demand immediate attention. Before I get to those issues, I thought I would share a triad of image, word, and song to serve as a reminder that the annual Little Gems exhibit of small works is now hanging at the West End Gallery and that the opening reception takes place this Friday, February 7, from 5-7 PM.

Above is a new painting, Twilight Time, 6″ by 12″ on canvas, that is included in the show. The words at the top are from the always relevant Letters to a Young Poet from Rainer Maria Rilke.  This passage is from a letter where he was instructing a struggling young poet to stop trying to satisfy the critics or publishers and focus on creating an inner world where his work can grow and prosper.  It then takes on its own life based on the poet’s unique self, instead of an imagined criteria set by other people. It then takes on a reality that others will recognize.

For the music, I am selecting the obvious song, Twilight Time. I probably should share the old beautiful Platters hit that most will recognize but I am going with a version from Willie Nelson. I enjoy his takes on the American songbook of standards. It always gives the work a somewhat different dimension, an easiness that is comforting to my ears. 

Okay, got to run. There are things to do that cannot wait.

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On the Lake Road

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on February 4, 2025| Leave a Comment »

On the Lake Road

What if culture itself is nothing but a halt, a break, a respite, in the pursuit of barbarity?

–Slavoj Žižek, Living in the End Times

This is another new small painting (only 2″ by 4″!) that is included in the Little Gems show now hanging at the West End Gallery. It’s called On the Lake Road. The first thing that came to mind for me was that it reminded me of the feel of the some of the roads that run around the edges of the lakes here in the Finger Lakes region of NY, especially in the summer when the roads are filled with summer residents and vacationers all seeking a pastoral break from their regular lives. There’s an almost palpable feeling of ease as you drive on those roads with the lake right there with you amid the quaint summer cottages.

I saw that feeling in this piece and named it accordingly.

While looking for a literary bit to pair with it, I came across this quote from Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek and it stopped me in my tracks. It made me wonder if our natural instinct as a species was one of barbarity and if art was one of the few things that kept from fully following that instinct.

Were all forms of art just a means to stifle our barbaric impulse? Is it meant to remind us that we have another option beyond our inborn tendency toward cruelty, selfishness, and tribalism? Does it exist to let us know that, though it is naturally within us, we have ability to reject that instinct and instead choose compassionate kindness? 

I don’t know. I am sure there all sorts of examples and differing definitions of art that contradict this but sitting in the dark in the computer screens glow at 5 AM, it sounds plausible. After all, so much great art in all forms has come from times when we were battling our own barbarity, often offering us another vision of what might be. And I believe we might find that the barbarians among us, those who are without empathy and compassion, also have no room in their life for art.

I might expand the old saying music has charms to sooth the savage breast (which, by the way, goes back to the first line from the 1697 play The Mourning Bride by William Congreve) to include all forms of art. 

Can even a small painting like On the Lake Road serve as a levee against our potential floods of barbarity?

Maybe. I would like to think so.

Here’s a song I’ve loved for many years now from the legendary bluegrass duo of Flatt & Scruggs. This is their cover of a Bob Dylan song, Down in the Flood.

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Daytripper

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on February 3, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Daytripper– At West End Gallery

The best kept secret in America today is that people would rather work hard for something they believe in than live a life of aimless diversion.

–John W. Gardner, Living, Leading, and the American Dream, 2003

This is another new Little Gem that is now at the West End Gallery for their annual exhibit of small works. This piece really hit me in a visceral way when it was done. It exuded a lot of different things that all hit the mark for me. The color was right on with its mood, tone, and temperature harmonizing perfectly. The shapes and forms felt right in relation to each another and the small figure in the foreground added great depth to the scene.

There was a lot packed into this very small painting. Yet, I struggled with what it was saying to me. The wildfires in LA were burning at the time and I thought that with its extra warm coloration it might be saying something about fleeing the heat and flames.

But that didn’t feel right. The nature of the tiny figure was a nagging question for me. Was it fleeing the city’s hustle and bustle? Or was it returning from the city to its home in a cooler, calmer remote place? I couldn’t answer that definitively, but I loved the ambiguity. It didn’t really matter whether the figure was  seeking diversion in the heat of the city or in the cool of the country. The point I saw was that it was seeking something different, if only to provide a contrast to what it experienced every other day.

The daytripper, of course. 

I looked for a short quote or passage that somewhat summed up what I was seeing here and came across this short passage from a posthumously published book the late John W. Gardner (1912-2002) who had served as the U.S. Secretary of Heath, Education, and Welfare under LBJ. I wasn’t sure it spoke directly to this painting, but it spoke to something that had been on my mind, something that seemed to manifest itself in recent times.

It was this idea that we have become a country that leans into constant diversion, that we seek easy, instant, and short-lived gratification in lieu of working or sacrificing for something that would more deeply satisfy our needs and desires. Something that would benefit us in a lasting manner. It’s a tendency that has been exploited by the powerful and influential for their own benefit

It is a hard offer to resist. We all want things to come easy., with little thought or effort. on pour part. And after being exposed to easy diversion for so long, we expect and demand it. We no longer value the day trip– we expect it each and every day.

It’s all an illusion. And a dangerous one at that. We have lost that muscle memory of the need for work and sacrifice for something greater, something more lasting.  We have exchanged that ability for shiny trinkets. 

I know that sounds much like the rants of an old codger at the local diner crowing about how things were so much better back in the day. To be honest, it wasn’t any better. We still wanted everything to be easy and thoughtless. That desire just wasn’t being as fully exploited as it is now. 

I’m going to stop now because I can’t fully link that thought to the painting outside of saying that we need diversion and the occasional day trip. But it should remain that– a day trip. Not a life filled with diversion that keeps us from attending to the real needs of ourselves and others. We need to pay attention, to look away from the shiny and easy a little more often. 

Divert ourselves not with the meaningless, but with things that feel our souls. 

And I think John W. Gardner was correct in believing that most people today would be willing to shuck constant diversion in order to have something worth working or fighting for. 

Maybe that tiny figure is turning its back on the diversions presented to it in order to seek its purpose? Or maybe the painting itself is a diversion?

I don’t know.

But like I wrote earlier, this little painting has a lot of things packed into it. 

Here’s the song that gave the title to this little guy, Daytripper. I am sharing both the Beatles’ original along with a wonderful version from fingerpicking wiz Tommy Emmanuelle that also includes Lady Madonna from the Beatles. If you like watching a master guitarist play, this is a must see.

A little diversion, yes, but it feeds the soul. Or so I think.

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The Resistance

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on January 31, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Resistance– At West End Gallery

We have been silent witnesses of evil deeds: we have been drenched by many storms; we have learnt the arts of equivocation and pretense; experience has made us suspicious of others and kept us from being truthful and open; intolerable conflicts have worn us down and even made us cynical. Are we still of any use? What we shall need is not geniuses, or cynics, or misanthropes, or clever tacticians, but plain, honest, straightforward men. Will our inward power of resistance be strong enough, and our honesty with ourselves remorseless enough, for us to find our way back to simplicity and straightforwardness?

–Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison

I see this new painting, The Resistance, as being about the willingness to stand one’s ground when the prevailing winds bellow against, trying to force you in a direction in which you do not want to go. You can read that interpretation as being political, topical, or merely symbolic of one holding tight to their principles. It’s a painting, ostensibly a piece of art, so that’s up to you.

Whatever the case, it’s a little piece that speaks loudly for me which is why I had not hesitation in coupling it with the words at the top from Dietrich Boenhoeffer. He and his writings, especially his posthumous Letter and Papers from Prison, are the subject of what has easily been my most popular blog post, On Stupidity.

Dietrich Boenhoeffer (1906-1945) was a German pastor and theological writer who stood in direct opposition to the Nazi regime and spoke out against its programs of eugenics, euthanasia, and genocide. He fled Germany and had an opportunity to stay in the US in the late 1930’s, safe from the reach of the Nazis. But after only two weeks in NYC, he insisted on returning, believing that if he were to rebuild the German church in the war’s aftermath, he must endure the conflict with its people.  In June of 1939, he returned and joined the German resistance to Hitler and Naziism.

He was imprisoned in a German prison in 1943 and later transferred to a concentration camp. He was implicated in a plot to assassinate Hitler in April of 1945 and was sentenced to death after a court martial trial in which there were no witnesses, evidence or any form of defense provided for him. He was hanged in the final days of the war. The legacy of his courage and the strength of his resistance are still celebrated around the free world today.

As I said, this painting may represent that sort of resistance for you. You might well just see it as simply being about a strong wind blowing against a person and a tree. Or you might be a bit of a contrarian (as I am) and see it as a symbol of not being swayed by popular opinion as symbolized by the wind’s effect here. Or you might expand that reading of this painting and see it in an existential sense. Again, that decision is your privilege and responsibility.

However you see it, I hope you see something for and of yourself in it.

This small painting, The Resistance, is 3″ by 3″ on paper, and is now at the West End Gallery for their annual Little Gems exhibit. The show is hung in the gallery for viewing now and the opening reception is next Friday, February 7.

Here’s a song from Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band to go with this all. Maybe it’s a little too on the nose but the song is Against the Wind. For some unknown reason, I have never shared anything from Bob Seger here even though I was big fan of his work, especially in the 70’s and 80’s. I think it’s just a case of holding on to some things and losing track of others. But it’s almost always solid stuff.

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Cloud Flyer

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on January 30, 2025| 2 Comments »

Cloud Flyer– At West End Gallery

In a time of sceptic moths and cynic rusts,
And fattened lives that of their sweetness tire
In a world of flying loves and fading lusts,
It is something to be sure of a desire.

Lo, blessed are our ears for they have heard;
Yea, blessed are our eyes for they have seen:
Let the thunder break on man and beast and bird
And the lightning. It is something to have been.


–G. K. Chesterton, The Great Minimum (1917)

The new small painting at the top is titled Cloud Flyer and is now at the West End Gallery as part of their annual Little Gems exhibit. I showed my work for the first time ever at their first Little Gems show back in 1995. The show has proven to be one of their most popular shows every year since. I know it’s one of mine, both in painting for it and seeing the small work of the other artists.

It seems to go against logic but there seems to be something freeing in painting on a small scale. Maybe it’s because it feels less daunting facing a small unintimidating surface than being confronted with the broad blankness of a large canvas.

Or maybe because of the size there is only one take, to use a movie term. There are no preliminary sketches or studies. I know many artists who work in a 3-step process of first creating a small loose study then transfer it to a slightly larger version that is a bit tighter in its painting. They then attempt to transfer everything they have gleaned from the first two studies to a large and totally finished final painting. With few exceptions, when I get to see all the stages of a painting done in this way, the first sketch is generally the most alive of the three. It is fresh and free and, unlike the later stages, not trying to recapture something that may have been unintended when it emerged. The final painting often ends up feeling like a copy of something else other than what it is.

I don’t work that way. My belief has been that every painting ends up being a rehearsal for the next. Therefore, you should strive to paint each piece, no matter its size or significance, in the same manner. I think it creates consistency in the quality of the work, something that transcends its size. I feel that every small piece I have done for all the Little Gems shows over the years is a work unto its own.

That’s certainly how I feel about this small painting. It has things in it that I know I would be hard-pressed to recreate it on a larger scale and still maintain the original unique feel of this one. An angle here or there would be off, the composition and colors would be altered in some way, and it might feel a little stilted. Contrived. It wouldn’t be the same. And for me, that’s the way it should be.

This piece has its own life and a sense of freshness. This was one of the first pieces I worked on for this show and I can’t tell you how much I springboarded off the energy this little guy provided. It was like a little jolt of lightning hitting me at a time when I needed it.

That’s the reason I chose the section from the G.K. Chesterton poem, The Great Minimum, at the top. That final line– And the lightning. It is something to have been. — just kills me. The rest of the poem, as I read it, is about the small joys of being alive, how each small thing brings value to this world, and nothing is insignificant.

Little things mean a lot.

Of course, I could be wrong. We all read things differently with our own set of filters and desires for what we want to see and hear. 

For me, it fits this painting. And this exhibit.

Below is a version of the poem performed as a song by the Nicole Ensing Band. I liked this better than some of the dryer straight recitals of it. They do a nice job with it. Below that is the whole poem if you would like to read along.

The Great Minimum

It is something to have wept as we have wept,
It is something to have done as we have done,
It is something to have watched when all men slept,
And seen the stars which never see the sun.

It is something to have smelt the mystic rose,
Although it break and leave the thorny rods,
It is something to have hungered once as those
Must hunger who have ate the bread of gods.

To have seen you and your unforgotten face,
Brave as a blast of trumpets for the fray,
Pure as white lilies in a watery space,
It were something, though you went from me today.

To have known the things that from the weak are furled,
Perilous ancient passions, strange and high;
It is something to be wiser than the world,
It is something to be older than the sky.

In a time of sceptic moths and cynic rusts,
And fatted lives that of their sweetness tire,
In a world of flying loves and fading lusts,
It is something to be sure of a desire.

Lo, blessed are our ears for they have heard;
Yea, blessed are our eyes for they have seen:
Let thunder break on man and beast and bird
And the lightning. It is something to have been.

— G.K. Chesterton

 

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