“Be hole, be dust, be dream, be wind/Be night, be dark, be wish, be mind,/Now slip, now slide, now move unseen,/Above, beneath, betwixt, between”
—Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book
***********************
This new painting has a feeling of magic for me, the feeling of an incantation being cast out into the dark of night. There’s a sense of wishing in the way the Red Tree postures beneath the moon, asking whatever force that moves the moon and brings the light to cast a spell and bring about some sort of change.
Perhaps a spell is nothing more than wishes spoken aloud and defining that gnawing desire inside ourselves. After all, once we know what we truly want we begin to shape the world subtly, and often unwittingly, so that these wishes might be fulfilled. And sometimes, if the belief behind them is strong, these spells become reality. But many other times the spell is lost in the ether of time and space and they never come to be.
Such is the nature of spells.
I am calling this piece Casting Spells.
For this Sunday Morning Music, I thought this song would be the right accompaniment to this painting. It’s a version of I Put a Spell On You, originally written and performed by the inimitable Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. This version is from another true original, the late great Nina Simone. Great version.
Have a great Sunday and watch out for spells–they’re floating all over the place out there.
I am still trying to make sense of the attacks in Paris, trying to understand the logic of terrorism and how people are convinced to follow any quasi-religious group that advances its beliefs through such violence. It all defies logic and that is a terrifying thing because how can you fight against, let alone negotiate with, such an illogical entity?
What is lacking that would drive people to such acts? What is missing that drives young people to join these groups in order to give their lives to hurt and kill others? Is it real religious conviction or is it just a matter of them feeling a sense of purpose that they either can’t find or refuse to feel in the world in which they were raised?
I just don’t know. But I do fear that this marks a tipping point, that we are in for a long and even uglier struggle, if you can imagine that, going forward. It may be that we are already in the beginning days of a type of World War III as the Pope has said recently. I hope not but when you are dealing with the illogical there’s no telling where this goes.
But my heart bleeds for the people of France. Part of me wants to jump on a plane to Paris just as a sort of ‘screw you’ to those who wish that country harm, just to let them know that their terror based on a warped and hateful religious vision will not stand up to people who try to live by the motto, Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.
Liberty. Equality. Fraternity. These are the uniting qualities of humanity, not just of France, and will not be taken away through a campaign based on fear and hatred. These are words that we need now more than in any time in the recent past.
Okay, let’s take deep breath. Today’s Sunday music is a fitting tribute written by the great American songwriter, Cole Porter. Although there are many, many great versions out there, I chose this one from jazz great Etta Jones– not to be confused with Etta James of “At Last” fame. Have a great day and keep the people of France in your thoughts. Here’s I Love Paris.
I’ve been in a pretty deep funk lately. I wasn’t going to write about this at all though I am sure it seeps into the writing that I do post. But in the name of transparency I thought I would share a few words on the subject.
I have often experienced down periods (or funks as I call them) throughout my life. In the recent past they are less frequent and last for a relatively short period of time, mainly due to having built up some knowledge in how to pull out of them. There is a general disinterest in most things and a dulling of emotions as well as a loss of confidence where I find myself questioning everything I think I know. I feel tired and listless and anxious to the point that I can’t focus fully on much of anything or get anything done. For example, writing this blog has been a tremendous chore over the past several weeks.
As I say, I can usually work my way out these within days or a week or so. That has been the gift that my painting has presented me over the past two decades. But this recent bout has been a doozy with a complete collapse of confidence in everything that I do or have done. I felt dead inside and paralyzed in every way, fearful to move in any direction.
This extended to my work, that one thing with which would normally buoy my emotions, to the point that I couldn’t even pick up a brush. The mere thought of it formed a giant knot in my gut, as if actually painting would provide proof of the doubts and fears that were eating at me. I kept putting off working on a couple of commissioned pieces or starting any other new work and worked only in fits on another project that was several months late already.
But slowly I find myself creeping out of the pit. Small goals and small steps forward. Yesterday I finally picked up a brush and worked on a couple of very small pieces, such as the one shown at the top. And much to my surprise, I felt that spark once again, a positive emotion generated. It just felt good again.
So, I see a light at the end of my tunnel. And believe me when I say I am running toward this light.
As I said, I wasn’t going to write about this here. In fact, I still am thinking about deleting the whole thing even now. But I won’t. I’ve tried to maintain transparency in how my life translates into my work and this is certainly part of my life. It might be that bit of darkness that underscores the lightness in my work.
I don’t know but at least I feel like thinking about it once again. And that is a good thing…
So, for this week’s Sunday morning musical break. let’s listen to one of my all time favorites, Sam Cooke, who I believe could sing any song and make it sound incredible. I took a shortened title from this song for the piece at the top, calling it Nobody Knows. Of, course, the song is Cooke’s upbeat version of the old spiritual Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen, which might seem a bit on the nose for today’s entry. But it feels positive and so do I. So, give a listen and have a great day.
November sneaks in on a gray and damp Sunday morning this year. It’s one of those months that bring about mixed memories. Some, like those from Thanksgivings from the past , are warm and fuzzy while others bring much different emotions. For instance, next week marks twenty years since my mother died. Hard to believe that it’s been so long, a thought that comes to mind every year at the beginning of November.
I try to not remember Mom in terms of those last pain-filled months leading up to her death, instead focusing on better days and moments that I hold in my mind. Despite that, November reminds me of those last days and I find myself digging through the files to look at some of the images from my Exiles series that were painted back when she was going through her final days in 1995. Looking at them now brings back a rush of emotions and memories, some that I try to avoid most days.
But ultimately, you can’t avoid those things we all must experience. Life has its own way and we have to accept what it gives us as a gift. Perhaps those painful moments and the tears we shed are proof of the preciousness of that gift.
I don’t fight back the tears in November. Like any gift, I accept them now with what I hope is gratitude.
That brings us to this Sunday’s musical interlude. I have chosen Johnny Cash‘s cover of the Loudon Wainwright song, The Man Who Couldn’t Cry. I really like this version of this song about a man who finally learns to cry, becoming a real human.
Have a great Sunday. And if you feel like crying, go ahead…
Sometimes on a Sunday morning I find myself surfing around on YouTube trying to find a song that strikes me just right, something that wants to be shared as my Sunday morning music. Today it started in one spot that had me listening to 60’s music then the blues and prison songs from the 1920’s and 30’s that influenced them then back to other newer versions. Then I somehow found myself listening to funk and acid jazz— actually, a term I had never heard before so I couldn’t resist at least a short listen. It wasn’t for me so I moved on and before I knew it I was back at one of my favorites, Richard Thompson.
I chose one of his classics, Dimming of the Day, a song that has been covered many times by a multitude of artists. Just a beautiful song. This version is from its original incarnation when he was still recording with his then wife Linda Thompson.
But looking for an image to accompany the post my eyes fell on the painting shown at the top. Originally titled Fragments, it was back in the studio after a few years making the rounds of the galleries. It’s one of the pieces that I feel strongly about but doesn’t find a home quickly. There have been a few of these through the years and this one always made me wonder what it was about it that kept it from finding that home. But looking at it while this song played made me realize that it needed a different title, one that perhaps fit it a bit better. And Dimming of the Day seemed so right for it, both in tone and meaning. Why not? So I changed the title this morning and this painting is now the same as the song.
And it feels complete to me now.
Here’s the song from Richard and Linda Thompson. The track finishes with a beautiful instrumental track, Dargai. Enjoy and have a great day.
It is a widely accepted notion among painters that it does not matter what one paints as long as it is well painted […] There is no such thing as good painting about nothing.
—Mark Rothko
**************
I have often said, often without much grace, that the subject for a painting is secondary, not really that important so long as the painting says something, expresses feeling and evokes emotion within the viewer. I think the work of Mark Rothko is a good example of this sentiment. They are simple of blocks of opposing colors set one over the other or, as in the case of the piece above, one alongside another.
Seemingly without subject.
Seemingly about nothing.
But as Rothko states, there is no such thing as a good painting about nothing. And this is a good painting. It allows the viewer’s own emotions into its space, lets their own story become the story and subject of this work. That space is the subject and purpose of this work.
So, every picture does tell a story. Some dictate the story, forcing the viewer to follow a set storyline through the picture as though they were the plot of a murder-mystery novel. Others do so like a song or poetry, evoking feeling with a suggestion or a gentle nudge. The viewer here is complicit in the fulfillment of the art.
For myself, I prefer the latter but have enjoyed works with more obvious subjects. Perhaps not as deeply felt but enjoyable nonetheless. I still question where my work falls on this scale. I am sure it has been both and I know I am much more satisfied when it appears more poetic. But being able to dictate the nature of the work is often beyond me. It sometimes appears in the poetic form seemingly on its own, without my direction.
And that is most satisfying. And elusive.
All this being said is mere pretense for this week’s Sunday Morning Music. It’s a cover of Rod Stewart‘s classic song, Every Picture Tells a Story, done by the Georgia Satellites back in 1986. I always liked their version of this song and hope it’ll kick off your Sunday on a high note. Have a great day!
I am a little busy this Monday morning but I wanted to run something to replace yesterday’s post at the top of this blog. Something a little lighter in feel I came across this entry from back in 2011 and it made me stop. It’s about an old experiment from my formative years along with a great little piece pf music. Enjoy!
Looking through some old work, most of which was done early on while I was still forming my technique and style and before I showed my work publicly, I came across this oddity that I noted as Hogback Heaven. It’s a goofy little scene of a rough hewn home and yard somewhere out on a back country road, the kind of place that I often passed years ago in my treks on the backroads around my home area. All that is missing here from my memories of those places are a barking hound and a toddler in a sagging diaper playing in the gravel of the driveway.
Whenever I come across this piece, I have to smile. I don’t know if it’s the subject or the crazy electric feel of the cobalt blue sky and hills and the red neon outlines of the house and ground. I’m still trying to figure out where that color came from. Maybe it’s a smile of embarassment that this little painting is hovering in my past. But there’s something in it that makes me not want to destroy it.
I wanted to set this post to some fitting music and in my search came across this other sort of oddity. Called Yiddish Hillbillies, it’s a vintage 40’s era cartoon that has had the soundtrack replaced ( in a very clever and coordinated way) with a song from Mickey Katz. Katz was a comedian who specialized in Jewish humor, with Yiddish-tinged song parodies of contemporary songs of the time being his specialty. Think Borscht Riders in the Skyor Sixteen Tons (of Latkes). While much of the Yiddish-tinged wording goes over my head I do enjoy the klezmer feel here. A note on Mickey Katz: His son is actor Joel Grey which makes him the grandfather of actress Jennifer Grey.
Another week with another tragedy that seems more and more uniquely American. Is this what is what people mean when they say American Exceptionalism?
The airwaves are filled as always with the same expressions of shock and outrage from public figures, which leave me cold. It happens so frequently that there is almost a standard protocol for reaction in place for the media and public officials. You know as soon as this happens what the outcry will be and how it will fade in several days except for those who lost family and friends in the gunfire.
Until the next time, which unfortunately will not be too long in coming. So we wait and shrug our shoulders, saying, like The Onion headline above, “There’s no way to prevent this.”
And there isn’t so long as we refuse to make difficult decisions.
Maybe putting off hard choices is our exceptionalism. We are wonderful in that capacity.
That brings me to this week’s Sunday musical choice. It’s fittingly titled If Not Now from Tracy Chapman from way back in 1988. Maybe if we hadn’t kicked that can down the road back then…
It’s been a strange week spent trying to get some chores done around the studio and our home but not actually achieving as much as I had hoped. Most of my time has been spent thinking about some concepts that I am trying to move forward with in my work. A lot of this has to do with using different materials in a way that seems organic and not forced– one of the differences between art and craft.
Sometimes I will form an idea that seems like the perfect direction to head but once I extend my thinking through it I find that the result that I imagine is so much less that I had originally foresaw. I begin to see the idea becoming too crafty and just that thought puts a serious damper on my enthusiasm for the concept.
So I continue to roll things around in my mind, trying to find that elusive edge which I can grab on to and run with. This is a bigger part of what I do than one might imagine. It’s never just a matter of physically placing yourself in the studio and mechanically moving materials through a process to produce paintings. The mental aspect is the hardest part of the process, hard to describe and even harder to master.
It was put best by iconic painter L.S. Lowry when asked what he was doing when he wasn’t painting. His response: “Thinking about painting.”
So I am here this morning, thinking about painting. But I am my own master, my own boss, which makes a nice intro to this week’s selection for some Sunday Morning Music. It’s a song from nuevo flamenco guitarist Jesse Cook and friends called La Rumba D’el Jefe— The Boss’ Rumba. So, give a listen, maybe move your feet a little bit and have a great Sunday. Me? I’ll be thinking…
The artist is a man who finds that the form or shape of things externally corresponds, in some strange way, to the movements of his mental and emotional life.
—Graham Collier
****************
I have been working on dream inspired patterned forms, as I’ve noted here several times recently. I have been incorporating into the layers that make up my skies in simple landscapes where they serve to give added depth and texture. It works really well in that context and it would be easy to just use it in that way.
But there is something about some of them that make me just push them to the forefront alone without masking them with any representational forms over them. Something beyond narrative. Elemental. Like it is somehow tied to my own internal shapes and forms and patterns.
I was thinking this when I came across the quote at the top from the late jazz musician/composer Graham Collier. It made so much sense because I think that is, in general, the attraction of art for me– it’s an external harmony of internal elements.
I didn’t know much about Collier who died in 2011. He was a bassist/bandleader/composer who was the first British grad of the Berklee College of Music. He played around the world and also wrote extensively on jazz but he still wasn’t on my radar. While I like jazz my knowledge, as it is in many things, is pretty shallow. So I decided that i should listen to some of Collier’s music.
The first song I heard was titled Song One (Seven-Four) and it just clicked for me. It was so familiar and seemed to be right in line with the piece at the top, a 12″ by 12″ painting on masonite panel. It made me think about the connection with music, how sounds often take the form of shapes and colors in the minds of both musicians and listeners.
Again, very elemental.
So I began to think of these newer pieces as music. It creates a context that makes sense for my mind, one that gives me a way of looking at the work without seeking representational forms. It’s an exciting thing for me and I look forward to some newer explorations in this realm in the near future. For Graham Collier’s clarification, I am calling the piece at the top Jazz ( Song One). Here it is :