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Posts Tagged ‘New Painting’

Questions For the Moon-At West End Gallery in October



Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet



Do not now seek the answers…

Such a counterintuitive and wise bit of advice that Rilke passed on to his young poet friend. History and mythology are filled with characters who stand before the void, frustrated and grieved with life, pleading for answers to come out of the nothingness before them.

Answers seldom come.

But the questions remain. These questions and concerns become ingrained to the point of almost being unnoticed in the seeker’s life and being.

And one day, if they are fortunate, they realize that that the question itself was the answer and that it was always within them, ready to reveal itself when they have lived and dealt with that question in their life and finally came to this realization.

This realization is earthshaking for some and mundane for others. For others, it is both.

The point is that there are seldom easily obtained answers to the existential questions that plague us.\

Only time and life can turn these questions into answers. And some questions are such that the answers may well be beyond our living or recognition. Those answers remain a mystery.

Maybe the ultimate question here is how well we cope with lives filled with such mystery.

That is my first take on this new small painting, 8″ by 8″ on panel, that is included in my October solo show at the West End Gallery. I call it Questions For the Moon.

I’ve been on a lot of roofs in my life, having been a chimneysweep for several years, and, more importantly, have been on the roof depicted in this painting, sending out questions whose answers I was not yet ready to recognize within myself. I know the frustration and pain in that moment of questioning as you teeter on the roof’s peak.

In that moment, the only answer is to get off the roof in one piece and move on, accepting that this might not be such a bad answer. One day further down the road, if you’re lucky and have let those questions fade onto the deep recesses of your mind, almost forgotten, the question might once more show itself as an answer that has meaning for your life as it has been lived.

And you understand in that moment that this was the only way it could have been, that it took the pain and toil of life to get to where the question could be answered.

That’s a lot to ponder for a little painting.

Here’s song in that vein from the always charming Iris Dement. This is Let the Mystery Be.



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Dusk of Time– Coming to West End Gallery


When philosophy paints its grey on grey, then has a shape of life grown old. By philosophy’s grey on grey it cannot be rejuvenated but only understood. The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk.

–Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Philosophy of Right (1821)



This is the first new painting from my October solo show at the West End Gallery that I am sharing here. I didn’t think it would be the first painting from the show to be shown, mainly since it is relatively small at 6 inches wide and 18 inches tall. There are much bigger pieces from the show, including the title painting, Guiding Light, that I could have shared here first. But it stood out to me this morning and it still does somewhat represent the title of the show with its prominent dropping sun.

You might see it as a rising sun and that’s fine. Art is subjective to our own personal interpretation. While I might see it one way and I am its creator, that doesn’t mean it must have only that meaning. Once I put it out in the open air it is on its own and it becomes what the viewer thinks it is.

But I am sharing my thoughts today, so we’ll call it a dropping sun at dusk. I felt that the passage at the top from the German philosopher Hegel truly fit what I was seeing in this painting. I saw it as being about the passage of time, the ending of a period of time, and the retrospection that comes after that time is gone. 

He is basically saying that we can only truly know and understand anything until it has fully run its course and is well beyond our efforts to bring it back to life. The Owl of Minerva that he employs here is an ancient symbol of wisdom. The owl flies when we gain the wisdom from any time or event only after it has completed the course of its existence. 

That makes sense to me. So often we lose understanding and insight when we are in the midst of the happenings of our time. We see and hear only bits and pieces of the truth along with a multitude of falsehoods, biased opinions, and myriad distractions. We are unable to see the full scope and perspective of events (or lives) while they are happening.

We can’t see them in their fullness until the arc of their being has been completed. Only then does there come clarity as time washes away the debris that obscured the truth while it existed.

Of course, sometimes this clarity is only gained after years, decades, and centuries. Sometimes eons and ages. 

In this painting, Dusk of Time, I see that clarity on a smaller scale in the reflection that sometimes comes at the end of the day, especially when that day has been an eventful one. Ideally, you can see the arc of the day and understand how it took shape and where it led you. Perhaps how you will go forward.

That’s a thumbnail explanation. There’s a lot of feeling in this smaller painting, much more that I can put down right now.

It just feels like it knows a story that it needs to share. I have a sense of the story and the truth it is telling me. But what that story is and what truth it reveals is up to whoever engages with it. 

 

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The Pacifying Light

What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or disturbing subject matter, an art which could be for every mental worker, for the businessman was well as the man of letters, for example, a soothing, calming influence on the mind, something like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue.

–Henri Matisse, Notes of a Painter (1908)



I love this passage from Henri Matisse expressing his aspirations for how his work might affect the viewer. I should probably be sharing some of his work but I am instead sharing a new painting from my upcoming show at the Principle Gallery. I can rationalize this by saying that I very much share Matisse’s desires for my own work and have often found it to be a soothing, comforting influence, as he put it, on my mind.

A good armchair in which to relax.

This new painting, The Pacifying Light, fits that description very well, at least to my eyes and mind. I find something very soothing in the color and rhythm of this piece, something that instantly puts me at ease without even pondering any meaning in it. It makes it very inviting, giving the viewer an easy entrance into it.

This accessibility is often half the battle in creating a piece of art that engages or moves people in any way. Feeling comfortable in the created space of an artwork allows the viewer to relax and really explore what they are seeing in the work and what that meaning that holds for themselves.

There is that sort of easiness in this piece. It feels quiet and invitingly peaceful while still maintaining space for deeper reflection. I guess that would serve as my corollary to Matisse’s stated aspirations– to put the viewer at ease while still giving them something to think about.

I think The Pacifying Light fulfills that goal.



The Pacifying Light is 20″ by 10″ on canvas.

 is included in my exhibit of new work, Entanglement, that opens less than two weeks from today, on Friday, June 13 at the Principle Gallery with an Opening Reception from 6-8:30 PM.

Two weeks from today, I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the gallery on Saturday, June 14, from 11 AM until 1 PM. Hope you can make it either or both events.



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Art is lunging forward without certainty about where you are going or how to get there, being open to and dependent on what luck, the paint, the typo, the dissonance, give you. Without art, you’re stuck with yourself as you are and life as you think life is.

–Mark Vonnegut,  Just Like Someone Without Mental Illness Only More So: A Memoir



GC Myers- Point of Contact 2016

Point of Contact — You Could Win It!

I am on the road this morning, heading to Alexandria, VA for the Gallery Talk I will be giving today, beginning at 1 PM. I have some new paintings with me, like the three smaller pieces shown at the top, along with some other cool stuff to give away, including the painting, Point of Contact, shown here on the right. I think it’s going to be a fun talk as well as an insightful one.

I am focusing today (this is written yesterday since I am on the road right now) on luck since someone will have a bit of luck at today’s Talk when they walk away with a favorite painting of mine.

I also thought luck was appropriate since luck or serendipity or whatever you want to call it has played a big part in my career as an artist. I’ve encountered it in my dealings with galleries and people who’ve helped me move along. I’ve seen it play a part in my painting , when what looked like a mistake suddenly turns out to be hugely fortuitous, opening up new avenues that I hadn’t recognized before.

I included the passage at the top from Mark Vonnegut, son of the great Kurt Vonnegut, from his memoir on his struggles with mental health issues. His thought here on art and how it helps one sort out and find a way to escape the trap of living as someone you know yourself not to be makes sense to me and speaks to my own journey and luck as an artist.

That might part of the talk today. Not exactly positive on that but it’s a possibility. I won’t know until I am standing there.

Hope you can make it. If you can, good luck to you!!

1 PM at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA.

Here’s song for the road. It’s a highly entertaining version of Road to Nowhere, the old Talking Heads classic. This from David Byrne‘s wonderful stage show, American Utopia. Lots of fun…



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GC Myers- Too Many Moons

Too Many Moons— Coming to Principle Gallery

Nothing is more fatal to happiness than the remembrance of happiness.

André Gide, The Immoralist



I am still trying to figure out what I am seeing in this painting that contains what I perceive to be multiple moons. It feels playful on one hand but also feels like a representation of some sort of remembrance of the past.

I don’t think it represents a longing or nostalgia for the past. Like the words above from Gide, I tend to believe that nostalgia discounts and takes away from the wonders of the here and now or, at least, distracts us from fully appreciating and engaging with the present.

No, this feels less like nostalgia and more like a deep recollection of the past, where one is trying to determine the precise course that brought them to the present moment. All the twists and turns of life, the ups and downs. The right decisions and the wrong.

Everything meaningful that took place while going unnoticed or unappreciated at the time. All those moments that made us what we see ourselves as being today.

It’s an impossible task and maybe that’s what this represents– that there are too many moons to recollect. To appreciate the present moment and where you are.

Hmm. That’s not too bad for 6 AM. I might go with that. It works for this morning, at least.



This painting, Too Many Moons, 8″ by 16″ on canvas, is coming with me this Saturday, September 28, when I head down to the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. I will be giving my annual Gallery Talk there on that day, beginning at 1 PM. It is usually an hour of a little talk, many questions and a few answers, a free drawing for one of my paintings (see Saturday’s post!) and a few other surprises. Hope to see you there.

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GC Myers- Surveyor

Surveyor“– Currently at the West End Gallery



I tried to discover, in the rumor of forests and waves, words that other men could not hear, and I pricked up my ears to listen to the revelation of their harmony.

― Gustave Flaubert, November



I often write here about the need to have one’s voice heard, about how we all have a desire to send our message of who we are out into the world. And I do believe this.

But as important as this might be, I often find myself at this time of the year feeling a little tired of my own voice. And a little regretful, especially after openings or talks where I come away feeling that I spoke too much and didn’t listen enough.

It’s as though there should be a certain balance between the two — talking and listening– and I feel like I am out of this balance.  A yin/yang thing, I guess.

I know that I feel a lot better when I listen more and talk less. Maybe this allows the voice of someone else to be heard, someone who may need that more than me in that moment.

And hearing them creates a bit more balance and harmony. For them and for me.

And that feels better because, after all, balance and harmony is what I am seeking with my work.

And myself.

I think that might be the message carried in the piece at top, Surveyor. I see this painting as being about the Red Tree seeking this harmony in the rumor of forests and waves as Flaubert put it, as well as a having a need to communicate with the other distant tree.

Harmony and communication– it falls within the balance between talking and listening.

Okay, enough talking on my part…

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GC Myers- Pax Terram  2021

Pax Terram“– Now at the West End Gallery



The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

― Wendell Berry, The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry



The painting at the top here is a new, late addition to my solo show currently hanging at the West End Gallery. It’s 12″ by 16″ on aluminum panel and is titled Pax Terram which loosely translates as Land of Peace.

It’s one of those pieces that are important for me as a means to alleviating my anxiety. The process of creating a harmony in the painting requires a deep focus which stabilizes me. It makes me take a breath and step back from the concerns that sometimes plague me. It’s much like stepping back from the easel while painting to see how things look from a distance.

A benefit of using this process to do such a thing is that when I am done, its calmness inducing effects don’t end. The painting itself continues the work. Looking at Pax Terram affects me in much the same way as the actual process of painting.

It reminds me very much of a favorite Wendell Berry poem, one of this better known works that I have shared here before, titled The Peace of Wild Things. Reading it feels like the stepping back I mentioned above.

A pause and a breath.

This poem has been translated into a choral work that also has placid charms. It’s from composer Jake Runestad and the performance below is from the choral group Conspirare.

Seems like a good way to kick off what looks to be a hectic week.



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"New World Passage"-- At the West End Gallery



We don’t receive wisdom we must discover it for ourselves.

― Marcel Proust



This painting, New World Passage, was one of those paintings that started as an idea quite some time ago. Late last autumn, in fact.

It was started with forest trees and dark rolls of land that dominate the foreground, creating almost a fence through which one would look forward. I loved the first efforts on it with the rich blues and magenta having a gemlike feel. The process at that point was all about painting the negative space, trying to balance colors and forms in the narrow slots between the trees to create something more than mere background.

It was at this stage that I ran out of steam. Actually, it was more fear than fatigue. I felt this was a deserving piece, one that was filled with some great unknown and still unseen potential at that point. I just didn’t feel up to moving forward on it out of the fear that my desire to see it finished would cause me to be hasty in my decisions which could easily drain it of all possibility.

It could sink dully back to earth instead of following the life arc I imagined for it. My thinking was that by not trying to finish it, its potential would always be there. Unfulfilled, of course. But there.

So, it sat for months and months. I kept telling myself that I would just finish it one of these days  and would count it among the pieces allotted for my annual show at the Principle Gallery. I missed that deadline, putting it off and saying that it was okay, I would just move it to the West End show. But as the months passed and the West End Gallery show came into form, this painting still sat unfinished in the studio. Its presence was almost aggravating because it served as a reminder of my cowardice and uncertainty.

It taunted me up until the final day that I had allotted for painting before moving on to final touches and framing for this show. I felt time constrained and anxious but made the decision that on that day, this painting would either live or die. I still wasn’t sure where it was going behind that fence line of trees but I dove in.

At first, the small amount of sky was going to be pale to let the deep tones shine off of the lighter background. But after doing a bit, I hated the look. It actually felt like it was sapping away the vibrance of the trees’ colors. I amped up the color, going to the Indian Yellow with hints of red and orange through it that has been my friend and companion for decades now. 

It felt right. It pushed the blues and purples and magentas up further. I added the house as destination, an end point to which the path headed.

Then I added the sun.

I wanted it there as compositional balance but the pale light one that I began with did nothing for the painting. It made the whole thing, even with the vibrant colors, feel bland. I wanted something that made it feel like this was path leading to something unknown, a trail to a strange new place.

Thus, the red sun.

It felt right immediately. No warming up to its presence was needed. It made everything come together. It felt like passing through the common known– just a few trees, fields and hills– to suddenly find yourself in a world you don’t completely recognize or understand. It looks familiar but it feels different., like you are sensing things at a higher level of awareness or comprehension.

I liked it. I liked it a lot. It has the life I had felt it might possess. I was glad that I waited because I don’t think this end point was yet there when I first thought about finishing it. It– and I– wasn’t ready to move on to a new world yet.



New World Passage is an 18″ by 24″ painting on panel that is part of Through the Trees, my new solo exhibit at the West End Gallery in Corning, NY. The show opens this Friday, July 16, with an opening reception from 4-7 PM but you can see it beforehand. 

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GC Myers- Moment RevealedNothing in this world is hidden forever. The gold which has lain for centuries unsuspected in the ground, reveals itself one day on the surface. Sand turns traitor, and betrays the footstep that has passed over it; water gives back to the tell-tale surface the body that has been drowned. Fire itself leaves the confession, in ashes, of the substance consumed in it. Hate breaks its prison-secrecy in the thoughts, through the doorway of the eyes; and Love finds the Judas who betrayed it by a kiss. Look where we will, the inevitable law of revelation is one of the laws of nature: the lasting preservation of a secret is a miracle which the world has never yet seen.

― Wilkie Collins, No Name



This is another new painting from my solo show at the West End Gallery that opens Friday, July 16. It is 10″ by 20″ on aluminum panel and is titled Moment Revealed.

It’s not the biggest piece but it has a lot of power, at least for me.

In the eyes of Wilkie Collins‘ narrator in his 1862 novel, No Name, the inevitable law of revelation is one of the immutable laws of nature. I believe that as well, though I think there are instances of personal secrets remaining hidden during the lifetimes of those folks involved. But in the long term, I believe that all secrets are subject to revelation if there is someone interested enough to do the detective work.

That sounds like I am talking solely about personal  indiscretions and crimes but it also applies on a grander scale, to the big secrets and questions that the universe poses for us simple humans. They seem like unsolvable riddles to us now but given enough time and interest, the revelation of their truth and answers will become clear to us.

Will that happen soon? In my lifetime or in the lifetime of some reader out there?

Unlikely. However, maybe only one or two secrets coming to light– if we can survive long enough as a species– will change all of our perspectives on our existence.

That certainly happens on a smaller, more personal scale. Sometimes, a simple revelation can change everything in your world. Sometimes for the better and sometimes not so much. I would like to think that this painting refers to one such moment, one where the truth is suddenly right there in front of you. So much that seemed cloudy with uncertainty becomes crystal clear in that moment and the path forward is sharply defined.

One’s purpose and place in the world seems to make sense in that moment.

And that is a good moment, no doubt.



Moment Revealed is part of my new annual exhibit, Through the Trees, opening Friday, July 16, at the West End Gallery in Corning, NY. There is an opening reception that I will be attending from 4-7 PM Friday. The show is currently hanging and available for previews. Thank you!

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9921088 The Center Found sm

The Center Found“- Now at the West End Gallery



Imagination sees the complete reality, – it is where past, present and future meet… Imagination is limited neither to the reality which is apparent – nor to one place. It lives everywhere. It is at a centre and feels the vibrations of all the circles within which east and west are virtually included. Imagination is the life of mental freedom. It realizes what everything is in its many aspects… Imagination does not uplift: we don’t want to be uplifted, we want to be more completely aware.

― Kahlil Gibran



I came across the passage above from writer Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931) and felt it matched up well with my interpretation of the new painting at the top, The Center Found. I see it as it being about the Red Tree’s awareness of the many worlds surrounding it and its place and purpose within those intersecting worlds.

As Gibran points, out, that comes with the mental freedom of imagination which allows the Red Tree here to see the possibility of these worlds existing.

So perhaps the Red Tree in some of its many iterations could be a symbol for ones imagination. I can see that being true in this piece and in many others and could easily live with that interpretation since it links imagination with awareness.

Gibran is certainly right that we want to be more completely aware. I am not sure that I completely agree that we don’t want to be uplifted in a spiritual sense. I might be taking liberties here but I think he means we don’t want to be uplifted by others, that our uplifting is dependent on our own actions and understandings.

But I understand his point that without awareness, there is little possibility of being truly uplifted. And I would like to think that in this painting the Red Tree has found that center of awareness, that it feels the intersections of all the worlds around it.

And is then uplifted.



The Center Found is part of my new annual exhibit, Through the Trees, which opens Friday, July 16, at the West End Gallery in Corning, NY. There is an opening reception from 4-7 PM Friday. The show is currently hanging and available for previews. Thank you!



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