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Posts Tagged ‘New Paintings’

GC Myers -High Sign  Every natural fact is a symbol of some spiritual fact.

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

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I think I understand what Emerson is getting at with these words.  I know that when I look around I often see juxtapositions of natural elements– trees and stone and water and sky– which move me in ways that I can never fully explain.  Some fill me with inspiration.  Some with a sense of wonder  and great calmness.  Peaceful unity with the world.  And, with some, a sense of foreboding, a dread of the inevitable valleys that accompany all peaks.  Even those scenes which make me feel as being “in the moment” resonate because they have some underlying  connection to a deeper strand of thought or being.

I think it’s this sense of this symbology that fills in some of the gaps in my work, that gives it a little more depth than the surface offers.  I know that it is this greater sense of being that I am trying to capture in my work, hoping that perhaps others who feel this same type of  innate symbolism in the natural world  somehow sense it and connect with it.

I think this newer piece, High Sign (6″ by 10″ on paper), is a good example of this.  It is a simple scene but, for me, is filled with symbolism.  Some is obvious and some subtle.   The tree and it’s position on the mound against the graded sky is obvious as is the road that winds through.  Less obvious are the upward pointing arrows of the houses’ peaks and the light and shadows of their walls.

The odd thing is that it’s not something I think about when I am painting the piece.  It’s all about achieving a sense of rightness in each move in the painting.  Each move is  step forward and if I can maintain  that feeling of rightness throughout the process, generally the painting will have this added depth, this layer of symbolism.  It comes of its own accord, naturally.   And I guess that the way it should be.

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Bluefire

GC Myers- BluefireHere’s a new painting, a 10″ by 20″ canvas,  that I am calling Bluefire.   I don’t know if the title refers to the blue sun rising over the distant ridge or if it refers to the hot contrast of the red tree to the predominately blue environment.  It doesn’t really matter  because the title feels right, feels at home in this painting.  At least, it does this morning.

Bluefire also sounds like a gem of some sort and the color of this piece definitely has a gem-like quality, sapphire  and topaz and tourmaline green.  It feels as much like a jeweled object as it does a simple painting, which I like.  I have spoken a number of times of the idea of the painting being viewed in multiple ways, as a pure object in itself as well as a representation of something emotion-based on its surface.   This seems to fit this idea.

I also like the paradox of  the warmth of this piece despite the blue overtone of the whole.  Blue is often portrayed as a cool color but sometimes that doesn’t hold completely true.  I think this is one good example of warmth in blue.  And I think it’s this going against what is the norm that I like about Bluefire.  The blues are warm and the sun is blue but it somehow doesn’t matter.  It registers true to me and that is the test that counts.

Now, whether others see and accept it in those terms is another matter.

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Every man’s memory is his private literature.

Aldous Huxley
 
 
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I like this quote from Huxley.  I have often felt that all of our personal lives fit into some sort of mythic template on which all literature is based and that we often fail to see the connections between the tales of our own lives and those stories which have come down through history in the form of myth and legend.  We all live lifes that are often filled with tragedy , comedy and drama.  Heroic, even.  But we seldom perceive them as such, instead thinking of our personal memories as being merely mundane. 
 
And that’s probably as it should be.  Life is spent, for the most part, moving forward in small, day-to-day steps with little time left to see the larger pattern of our lives.  Who has the time to reflect backwards, to see how our lives fit into the templates of eternity?  Very few of us, to be sure.  But what if we could take that time to look back fully and see the patterns set in history and to see that our lives own patterns mesh into that pattern, that we are all indeed connected to and part of the same fabric?
 
Would it make a bit of difference?  Would it make us appreciate the fragility and rareness of  each individual’s place in this world. make us understand that our own history is the history of all and that our memory binds us to the fabric of history?
 
I don’t know.  But it’s something to think about.
 
Funny how the mind works.  I meant to write about the painting above, a new piece  called Distant Memory (  10″ by 16″ on paper) set for my Principle Gallery show early next month and suddenly find myself off on a theoretical journey.  Maybe its the way the foreground of the painting, with the converging rows of the field,  relates to the house and tree across the water in the upper half of the painting.  I get a sense of looking back from the present, taking a pause from the labor of the moment,  which is represented in the rows,  to a personal past set around that house that reminds me very much of the farmhouses of my youth, often taking me back to different points of my own life, my own connections to templates of time.  Even the overall color of this piece sets that tone of memory for me.  There is  something in that green that reminds me of the ferns that my mother dug up many years ago from the hillside above the Chemung River and planted in the shade of the old farmhouse that we lived in for much of my childhood.  That green often brings back that memory, one filled with an air of  coolness and the smell of damp, rich soil.  A good memory.
 
Okay. Enough for now.  Work and the present calls.  I have my own fields to tend to now.
 
 

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I’ve been getting work ready for my upcoming show, A Place to Stand, which opens June 8th at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA.  This will be the thirteenth consecutive year that I have had a solo exhibit there yet it still induces a certain fear and anxiety, feelings that my own common sense tell me should have faded long ago.  But they still persist.  However, part of me appreciates this fear in that it makes me focus on the body of work, knowing that creating work that speaks and stands on its own is the only way to overcome these anxieties.  If I am satisfied with the overall feeling of the work then it will ultimately prove to be successful.

That being said, I am at a point in this process where the body of work has began to take a shape, a theme that runs through it.  It is called A Place to Stand and that definitely speaks very much to what I see in many of the paintings.  The word sovereignty  also comes to mind often when I scan through this group of work.  The idea of the individual standing apart, self-reliant and strong, is an appealing notion to me, as it is to many others.  This sovereign individual is still part of this world yet self-contained, it alone being responsible for its actions and reactions. It has made its choice and it has chosen solitude.

This is a scary concept for some, a life where we must take responsibility for our actions and decisions, where we relish our time alone in solitude.  It is a freedom which we profess to desire but are often hesitant in pursuing. It may not be a freedom which suits everybody but for those who seek this sovereignty of self, there is no greater reward than living by your own decisions and beliefs.  We may not seem significant in the greater world but we have the power to rule our own lives.

And that should always be remembered.

The painting at the top is very new and really ignited this thought process this morning.  It is called Sovereign Solitude, of course, and is  6″ by 22″ on paper.  I finished this piece late yesterday and found myself thinking about it all evening, wanting to get back in the studio early this morning to look at it to see if it still jibed with how I was seeing and feeling it in my mind.  It did. 

It has a warmth and calmness in it that I myself find appealing.  It is like taking a deep breath then slowly releasing it, allowing the effects of this action to be felt fully.  The pulse slows and breathing levels off. 

Solitude found.

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Sometimes you paint something that you really like, something that very much hits every potential goal you set for your work, yet you find yourself at a loss for words to describe it.  That’s very much how I feel about this newer painting, Moment Divine,  a 10″ by 16″ piece on paper.

Perhaps this lack of words is a good thing, a sign that the work needs no more said about it.  It is expression enough in itself and to talk too much would only take away from the atmosphere it creates.

I don’t really know.  Sometimes there are pieces like this that seem to have a quiet completeness to them.  They are usually simply designed with a harmony of color and form  that makes them feel effortless and without pretense.  They have a simple and natural beauty that doesn’t need embellishment. 

That’s kind of how I see this painting.  Simple and easy.  Naturally effortless. 

Maybe I’ve said too much already.  Maybe I should just let the image speak for itself now…

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Triumphant One

A new painting, this a 16″ by 20″ canvas that I call, for now,  Triumphant One.  I’m still mulling some other titles, most concerning some form of the word triumph or alluding to the word labor as symbolized to me by the various patterns running through the fields.  I originally considered The Triumph of Labor but felt that it might be too easy for the casual viewer to read that as a political statement.  And, though I have long sided with the cause of organized labor and the aspects of  it that have long benefitted us as a people,  that is not what I saw for  this piece.  It was smaller in scale, more personal in how it spoke to me.

To me the triumph of labor I saw was both in the final product, as I see here in the Red Tree as it basks under a brightening  sky, and in the sheer act of the labor itself.  The fields, to me, represent not only hard work in how they are shaped and developed.  They also symbolize a sense of joy in the actual doing, a pleasure inherent in the sense of purpose that is acquired from this labor. 

And that’s what in see in this piece– both joyful triumph and a sense of purpose.  The joy of simply working at what gives one pleasure and meaning.

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Not too long ago, I displayed a Chuck Close quote where he said that work is inspiration in itself, that by simply steadfastly doing  what you do will open up creative avenues to follow.  I frimly believe that and have experienced it on many occasions including just this past week. 

 As I have been documenting, I am working on a large canvas, which is nearing completion, by the way.  I showed, in a post last week, how I would cut the image into sections to weigh the strength of each area of the canvas to make sure that it had its own visual power to contribute to the painting as a whole.  I showed the two section from each edge of the canvas and concluded that both pieces stood up well as strong parts of the overall painting as well as compositions in their own rights. 

 In fact, the section from the far right kept me coming back to it.  I really liked the way it flowed upward with each piece interacting with those around it, creating a lovely harmony that really worked well, for my personal taste, at least.  It gave me a great sense of peace looking at it and I soon began exploring ways to make it work in a separate piece.

I felt a real sense of immediacy in creating something based on this and, searching the studio, realized I didn’t have any prepared surfaces ready in any dimension close to what I was seeing in my head.  There was a painting that was in a later state of completion, one that I had mentioned here recently.  It never really sang for me and had sat in a corner of the studio for quite  a long time, just waiting for me to give it the needed attention.  But every time I looked at it, I was less than inspired.  It just wasn’t working. 

 So, looking at it as a possible new surface to paint, it wasn’t a difficult decision to paint over  the image that had never really taken off for me.  It wasn’t a perfect choice, a bit smaller and narrower than the inspiring image, shown here to the left.  The original is somewhere in the 24″ wide by 54″ range whereas this piece is only 10″ wide by 30″ high, making it a much more condensed space in which to work.

  The resulting image is therefore different, which is as it should be.  It is inspired by, not a copy of, the original image.  For me, it flows in much the same manner and has the same sort of feel and harmony.  It works for me and having said that creates its own new sense of inspiration for other work to come.  Just like Chuck Close said– one thing leads to another.

 

 

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I’ve shown pieces with  multiple panels and images here in the past and they often are very regimented, with each panel measured and uniform in size.  There is sense of order in these paintings.  But I’ve been doing a few multiple pieces lately that are less precise, with individual panels that bulge and expand in a fashion that creates a sense of the organic.  I find these pieces very naturally engaging, meaning that the organice nature of the lines create a sense of rightness that lets you take it in easily, without questioning its validity or accuracy.

I think this piece is a good example of what I’m trying to describe here.  It’s a small 12″ square canvas that I’m calling On a Cellular Level.  The raw but right nature of the lines and the interaction between the  individual panels here gives me the sense of each panel being a living cell.  Living and moving, affected by each surrounding even though it is complete within itself.  The RedTree here is part of a group of cells that bulges up and downward, almost like mutated cells.

I don’t know if there’s any meaning in that observation but it makes the piece more alive for me. Less static.

There is just something that I really like about these multiple paintings.  Perhaps it is the power of a simple image presented in an amplified sense.  Kind  of  like tap-dancing.  One person doing a very simple tap step is not that compelling.  But put a hundred people doing the same simple  step together and it becomes a powerful entity.  Or maybe it’s like singing.  One average voice singing a simple tune, while it may be lovely, may not come across as powerful.  But add a hundred voices, none extraordinary, and you have a magnificent chorus. 

Maybe that’s how I will start viewing these multiples, as choruses.  But for now, I see this painting on a cellular level.

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Sometimes you find yourself out little bits of advice to other people, never realizing the irony behind the act.  Take yesterday’s post, where I passed on some advice from Chuck Close about getting to work and not waiting for inspiration.  Well, after reading what I had read yesterday morning, I looked across the studio at a large canvas that I had prepared last year, knowing that the time to take Close’s words to heart was at hand.

The canvas is 4 1/2′ by 7′  and has been haunting me for almost a year.  I had written about this canvas in a post last March called Daunting and I guess it must have been just that because I have found excuse after excuse to not start working on it over the past 10 or so months.  Too busy doing other things and the sort.  But in reality I was just plain scared of facing such a large challenge.

But thinking about Close and his words as well as his work and the challenges he has faced in his life made me feel a bit embarassed.  You shouldn’t run away from big challenges.  You should embrace them as an opportunity to simply overcome in a bigger way. I know that and have passed on that advice to others over the years.  Yet, here I was, not heeding my own words.  This was a challenge and to put it off only created other problems of avoidance.

So, I finally put it on the easel and started at it. 

It was difficult to start but it slowly is beginning to take form.  It will be a long process, much longer than I am accustomed to in my work, and I know that this will a challenge.  I will have to fight my urge to shorten the process, to take shortcuts that might not be too noticeable to the outside observer but would nag at me in the aftermath of completion. 

But the battle has been engaged and I am on the way to whatever this canvas holds for me.  We shall see…

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I’ve been working on a group of new work that will be going to a gallery in the Indianapolis area that is new to me.  I’ve been working on pieces that I feel are very representative of my voice, knowing that  it will be a first view of my work for most of the people who may see it there.  I’ve focused on imagery, forms and colors that feel almost ingrained in my body of work wanting to give the viewer  a quick insight into what I try to do with it.

As I’ve been working away, I keep coming back to the idea of these as internal landscapes, meaning that they are attempts at creating an inner harmony.  Harmony is the key word here, the concept of separate parts working  together to create a unified whole.  I think we often feel fragmented and unsteady in our external lives, never fully feeling in harmony with the world around us.  Perhaps I make a mistake in using the term we here when I mean I, not really knowing what the rest of you feel in your own relationship with the world.  But I do know that I have often felt this way, out of sorts with the world in many ways and that it really is an unsteady feeling and that I turn inward to try to find an inner rhythm, a harmony within that can steady me.  Something to allow me to function outwardly.

Like many things, this a difficult thing to explain.  Perhaps I should just point out this new painting, a smaller canvas, 12″ by 16″, that I call Rooted In Harmony, and let it speak for me.  This piece probably says more about what I am trying to describe in a single glance than I can with all the struggling words and sentences I could possibly write.  I find great pacification in this painting, a feeling of relaxed ease forming inside.  It tempers my confusion, calms my angers and slows the turning wheels of my inner self.  My outer self is better for it.  And maybe that is what I hope for with the title of this piece, that by finding an inner peace, the root here, it will spill outward in a harmonious attitude.

Okay, I have to stop the words.  For another example of harmony, a great example of musical harmony, here’s a little classic Simon and Garfunkel from a 1966 performance on Dutch television.  It’s I Am a Rock.

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