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Posts Tagged ‘Principle Gallery’

Details, Details, Details…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on June 11, 2026| 2 Comments »

A New Cornucopia detail

For the secret of man’s being is not only to live but to have something to live for. Without a stable conception of the object of life, man would not consent to go on living, and would rather destroy himself than remain on earth, though he had bread in abundance.

–Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (1880)

I began writing this post a while ago about a painting, A New Cornucopia, that is included in my solo show that opens tomorrow at the Principle Gallery. After setting up the image of the entire painting and the Dostoyevsky passage, I began to write. However, I was totally distracted by the lower part of the painting that showed on my screen. I kept stopping to look at the colors of the flower beds and how they played and flowed together.

A New Cornucopia— Now at the Principle Gallery

There was such a richness, an opulence, in its colors, forms and texture. I decided to begin again and put that cropped detail at the top of the page, just as I had done yesterday with the Archaeology painting. It was a potent illustration of what I felt from Dostoyevsky’s word, that the world surrounds us with an abundance of sustenance and beauty, yet we sometimes struggle to have a purpose in our life that allows us to fully see it.

And since A New Cornucopia is included in what amounts to be a sort of semi- retrospective show of my work, it also a great example of something I started doing with my work many years ago. My belief then– and now, for that matter–was that if every square inch of a painting held some sort of visual impact, the whole of the painting would have even more impact, both visually and emotionally. There should be no part of the painting, even a single square inch, that would not enhance or contribute to the whole.

And for the most part, I found this belief and attention to that detail well-founded. At the time I was working primarily in water media, both watercolor and the transparent inks I work with to this day, on very smooth surfaces. I used watercolor paper but after a while of experimenting had settled on an all-cotton matboard that had a layer of vellum near its surface. This prevented the pigments in the inks and watercolors from absorbing into the matboard, allowing the brilliance of the transparent pigments to better show against the whiteness of the matboard. It gave the work asor of inner glow.

But as the work grew in size, it was more and more difficult to keep to this every-inch-must-have-visual-impact rule. The larger fields of color sometimes flattened a bit making an individual square inch sometimes less impactful than the whole. My eye would go to those less than impactful areas and I felt if that were case for me, it might well be the same for others. I know that sounds nit-picky but in my head it mattered.

To counter this, I began to integrate layers of gesso on my surfaces. I could create chaotic under-textures throughout the painting that would capture the pigments in a variety of ways that gave each little bit of the painting its own visual pop. It has been a process that has answered my own somewhat neurotic rule that my paintings must follow.

Of course, as the years passed, I began to keep that rule less in the front of my mind, believing that it was ingrained in my work process by then. And I think it has become just that, for the most part. I sometimes now find a piece that has left the studio that doesn’t meet this standard, but the work still carries big impact as a whole. But I find that the pieces that have the most powerful presence tend to still adhere to my rule.

This detail section of A New Cornucopia brought that home to me this morning. Of course, after that, I had to neurotically zoom in to every corner and inch of this painting and was pleasantly pleased that it easily exceeded this self-imposed rule with a mixture of texture, colors, and brushstrokes. Though someone might focus on the immediate and easy attraction of the flowerbeds, the wholeness this painting possesses is created by those individual square inches, each serving as an important small building block that gives it solidity and strength.

Of course, that’s just how I see it. You might see and feel something other than that.  Or maybe just think I am crazy for focusing on an individual square inch in a painting that has 400 of them.

You might be right about the crazy part. But it is the only way I can do it.

And it makes me happy.

Here’s song, a big hit from Sheryl Crow that ties into this a bit. This is her If It Makes You Happy. Like she says: If it makes you happy/ It can’t be that bad…

PS: My annual show, including A New Cornucopia, opens at the Principle Gallery tomorrow with an Opening Reception from 6-8:30 PM. Hope you can make it in to chat for a bit.

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Archaeology: The Now and Then

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on June 10, 2026| 4 Comments »

Detail from Archaeology: The Now and Then — Now at Principle Gallery

Of all the priceless objects left behind, this is what we rescue. These artifacts. Memory cues. Useless souvenirs. Nothing you could auction. The scars left from happiness.

–Chuck Palahniuk, Diary (2003)

Archaeology: The Now and Then – Now at Principle Gallery

This short passage from a Chuck Palahniuk novel spoke loudly to me this morning when I was examining the artifact field of the new Archaeology painting, Archaeology: The Now and Then, that is part of my solo exhibit opening on Friday at the Principle Gallery.

I sometimes crop out the landscape sections of my Archaeology pieces, leaving only the artifact field such as I have done in the image above. It allows me to examine these groupings of artifacts, allowing me to see if it has its own rhythm or wholeness outside the context of its position in the painting. More often than not, I am pleased by the results.

I usually find myself vowing to do several large paintings that would consist of only artifact fields such as the one above, devoid of the landscape or soil strata that is normally shown in these paintings. Maybe I will do that sometime soon. You never know, right?

I was greatly pleased by the image above, both as itself and in the painting. It felt playful and somewhat mournful at the same time. It reminded me of the passage from Palahniuk. These were ultimately memory cues and useless souvenirs. Nothing priceless or valuable in a general sense.

The scars left from happiness.

The remains of a life once lived. Gone are the memories attached to these simple objects, as well as the inside jokes and knowing glances they once inspired. Objects that held meaning and utility when viewed in the context of a life but now are little more than a random trash heap.

These paintings always make me wonder if these artifacts are the scars of my own happiness. I guess they must be. On one hand, that makes me a bit sad. Seeing the remnants of one’s life spread through a landfill has that effect.

But looking at the detailed section at the top, I find myself fairly happy. Maybe even joyful.

And in my mind, that makes sense.  These are, after all, scars left from happiness. Every scar is tangible evidence of our experience in this life, each bearing our story and memory.

What’s not be happy about?

If my life is some day in the future reduced to this buried field of artifacts and scars, I am okay with that.

I smile at the possibility of an archaeologist a millennium or two in the future trying to piece together a narrative from the debris I leave behind.

As the late Polish poet and Nobel Prize winner Wisława Szymborska said in her poem Archaeology:

Show me your whatever
and I’ll tell you who you were.

Well, this is my whatever, I guess. Good luck to those future archaeologists. I hope they make me look better than I am.

If that is the case, I am sure whatever bit of cosmic dust that remains of me then will be grinning somewhere out there.

Archaeology: The Now and Then is 10″ by 20″ on canvas and is now hanging at the Principle Gallery for my annual solo exhibit. This year’s show, titled Flow, begins with an Opening Reception this Friday, June 12, that runs from 6-8:30 PM.

Here’s a 2003 song, Traffic in the Sky, from singer/songwriter Jack Johnson. With the lyrics below, it seems to be a good fit here.

Puzzle pieces in the ground
No one ever seems to be digging
Instead, they’re looking up towards the heavens
With their eyes on the heavens, mm
The shadows on the way to the heavens, mm
It’s enough to make me cry
But that don’t seem like it would make it feel better
The answers could be found
We could learn from digging down
But no one ever seems to be digging

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A Look Back: Inner Sanctum

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on June 8, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Inner Sanctum (2002)– Now at Principle Gallery

The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens into that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was a conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.

–Carl Jung, The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man (1934)

 Perhaps the room in this 2002 painting is that most intimate sanctum of the soul that Carl Jung mentions and, though there is no visible door, perhaps these windows open out into that primeval cosmic night as he calls it.  I have always felt that it has a dreamlike quality to it in the manner in which it transmits its message through small bits of information. Nothing– the Red Chair, the room, the windows, the outside landscape– is shown in their entirety. It is in the color and texture of these elements and the way they relate to one another that creates the mood and message of this painting.

And what is that mood and message?

Well, that’s a tough question. I can tell you what I see in it for myself but that might well be different than what you glean from it. It might even be different than what I took from it when it was painted nearly 25 years ago. That’s quite a chunk of time for a human and many of us change considerably over such a timespan– for better or worse. For a fortunate few, the change is for the better.

Surely, I am a different person in many ways since this was first hung on a wall. A lot of water from that river has flowed past those windows in that time. I am calling it a river for this analogy though I actually see it myself as a lake. In someone else’s eyes it could be the ocean or a coastal inlet.

The point is that our perceptions of certain pieces of art sometimes change, evolving with time and our experience of it.

In this case, this painting feels much the same to me but there are subtle differences in the way I look at it brought on over that time. I should say that there are subtle differences in the way I look at my life in it brought on over that time. Most of my paintings– and for that matter the work of others that draw me in– are autobiographical in how I see them. I believe we all react to most art in how our life and experience is reflected in it.

In 2002, in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, this piece was painted at time of great uncertainty in this country. In my mind, a blue shadow hung over all things then. I retreated a bit more from the world and felt as though I couldn’t look too far ahead in the blue haze of that shadow. My work, in pieces such as this, reflected that feeling.

In 2026, we are once again at a time of great uncertainty in this country. In many ways, this time may be even more uncertain and anxious. I am probably even more withdrawn from the world that in 2002 for a number of reasons– the isolation of the pandemic which I still cling to in many ways, health issues, and a general sense of tiredness that predated my current fatigue. Like I said, a lot of water flowed past those windows.

But for the similarities in the circumstances I have mentioned, I see it somewhat differently these days. In 2002, it felt more like an elegy for this country and the loss of, for lack of a better term, our innocence. We can debate how truly innocent we then were at another time.

This painting could easily be seen as an elegy now as well. But I believe an elegy today for this country would appear differently in my work. In 2002, it was seen with more of a mournful feeling since we were dealing with instantly losing parts of our way of life that we had thought would never be taken away. But we were losing them to external forces with which we could seemingly unite and rally against. In 2026, we seem to be losing even more of our ways of life to dark forces from within who in no way want to unite the country. They seek division and polarization in order to pit us one against the other.

An elegy today would be painted in a harsher and angrier way, with jarring contrasts of reds and yellows along chaotic skies.

So now I view this painting in a different way. It is more inward looking, more focused on the contemplation of personal identity and existence. Oh, the windows are still there, and I can see that outer world when turn to take a look. But that horizon that I now see is more a symbol of eternity. And there is something hopeful in the peace and silence of eternity.

I find more peace in this painting now than I did in 2002. It’s a feeling I get now standing at the window of the studio in the light just before dawn. The world is about to reawaken once more.

And even with all its built-in sorrows and tragedies, that remains a beautiful thing.

Wasn’t planning on going all in this morning. I never know what is going to come out most mornings but there it is.

This painting, Inner Sanctum, is 9″ by 20″ on wood panel, matted in a 16″ by 26″ frame. It is included my annual solo exhibit, this year titled Flow, at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. The show is being hung this week and will be available for previews and purchase. The Opening Reception is this Friday, June 12, running from 6-8:30 PM. I will be there so stop in and we can chat. You can tell me what you see in this piece.

Since you endured this to the end you deserve a treat. I don’t keep cookies or candy in the studio, so you’ll have to make do with a song. This song just felt right for this painting and post this morning. This Etta James and her version of Misty Blue.

Good stuff…

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A Way Forward

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 7, 2026| 2 Comments »

A Way Forward (2012)- Now at Principle Gallery

If we would guide by the light of reason, we must let our minds be bold.

–Justice Louis Brandeis, dissenting opinion in Jay Burns Baking Co. v. Bryan (1924)

The painting above, A Way Forward, was completed in 2012. It left the studio almost as soon as it was done so I only lived with it for a very brief time. Since it left, with only its image to remind me of it, I thought it was good piece. A very good painting even.

But something always seemed missing in it. The image I was looking at on my computer screen didn’t seem to fully capture what I remembered of that piece. After a while I just rationalized that away by saying that I didn’t get to fully know the painting since it lived with me for such a short period of time and that the image on the screen was most likely accurate.

When it returned to the studio several months ago, I realized how wrong I had been. The image on the screen didn’t capture hardly any of the depth or nuance in this painting. That image was much flatter in tone, the colors seemed too dark and dull, and it had a sort of yellow glaze over the whole of it. It was a like I was looking at a different and altogether inferior painting.

The actual painting was so much more. Shockingly so.

It was, of course, my fault as that earlier image was from my own photography and photo editing. This was not the first instance of this, especially in work from that period around 2012 and 2013. I featured painting, Islander, here this past week whose digital image had many of the same flaws as that of this painting. It was a mess, causing the painting to lose much of the pop that made it so effectively alive when seen in person.

I am not sure why there was this dramatic lapse in the quality of the images at that time.  Maybe it was the camera or computer I was working with at the time. I don’t really know. Whatever the reason, I am aware that my photography often does not always capture the depth or the full effect of certain pieces. I have been told numerous times by people in the galleries how much better the work looked in person, that the images they saw online didn’t compare. I have often written here that if you like the image here, you’ll love it even more in person.

I immediately reshot both paintings, as well as a few more from that time. The image here is infinitely better than my original image of this painting. But even then, it will still show more depth and subtlety in person.

My opinion of this painting soared after getting it back. Even its emotional impact and messaging, as I saw it then in 2012 and now, seemed clearer to me. It has a pop to it feels much bolder and far more confident than the image I looked at for so many years. There is again lovely nuance in the sky and distant hills and the Red Tree seems to have an air of certainty in its stance and position as a guide pointing us forward into the future.

It is a piece filled with hopeful optimism.

I once again feel that excitement that I remember feeling when it was painted back in 2012, a feeling that was somewhat dulled in my memory by my poor imaging of it.

Now I am able to fully enjoy this painting again and I am thrilled.

This painting, A Way Forward, is 10″ by 16″ on paper, matted and framed at 16″ by 22″. It is included in Flow, my annual solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery that opens Friday, June 12 with an opening reception from 6-8:30 PM.

For this week’s Sunday Morning Music, here’s a favorite song that the Red Tree might very well be singing in this painting. This is the classic I’ll Take You There. from the always great Staple Singers.

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Placid Pondering

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on June 4, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Placid Pondering (2012)- Now at Principle Gallery

Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write
But the fair paradise of Nature’s light?

— John Keats, I Stood Tip-Toe Upon a Little Hill (1816)

As I have noted here a number of times, my show at the Principle Gallery, this year titled Flow, is a mix of old and new work, a semi-retrospective. Gong through the available work and selecting which pieces would be included was a tough but wonderful task. It forced me to examine some pieces a bit closer with an eye that is somewhat different than when the work was painted. In a few cases, my whole perspective on the paintings had changed and the work now revealed insights and emotions I had missed before.

And in some, my original feelings were reinforced mightily.

Placid Pondering, shown above, falls in that category. I felt from the time it was painted in 2012 that this 24″ by 24″ canvas had a certain message and strength that came through clearly. Looking at it fourteen years later, that only seems to have strengthened for me.

The acrylic inks employed in this piece, which were the primary media in the first decade or so of my work, allow the white of the textured gesso surface come through and create a warm glow. It has a great depth in it that creates the feeling of being beneath and in the center of airy dome.

Apart and peaceful.

The perfect place for considering the world.

It is a painting that makes me happy though I am not sure at this moment that happy is the right word.

Maybe satisfied fits better?

Whenever I look at this painting, I find myself thinking that I would be very content in being that Red Tree in that place and time, apart yet connected to the world by that thin white ribbon of a path that runs to it.

Does that path might indicate that it is indeed my destination, that it is a place that can be one day reached?

I don’t know. But I hope so.

Just have to keep walking that ribbon, forever working towards it.

Here’s a song in sort of that vein of thought. It’s an acoustic version from U2 of their song Walk On. The song was originally on their 2000 album, All That You Can’t Leave Behind, a title I might have to consider for a future Archaeology painting.

Who knows? For now though, take the title of this song literally and walk on, okay?

Git.

This painting and many more are currently at the Principle Gallery for next week’s opening of Flow, my annual show there. Though the work is available now for previews and prebuys, the show opens officially with an Opening Reception on Friday, June 12, that runs from 6-8:30 PM.

Hope to see you there.

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Concordia

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on June 3, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Concordia (2015) –Now at Principle Gallery

When our universe is in harmony with man, the eternal, we know it as truth, we feel it as beauty.

–Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man {1931)

When I finished this larger painting back in 2015, it was its feeling of peace and harmony that first hit me. That feeling in this piece hasn’t left me in the past decade.

I saw the Red Tree here as both an observer and a participant in the wonder of the harmony surrounding it, as though it was conductor before an orchestra who stands rapt by the music being produced which creates harmonies of color and form that whirl through its mind.

The rolls of the fields as well as their darker tones represent the beginning of harmony, as form and rhythm are found. These rolls transition, with the Red Tree’s guidance, into the warmer colors of the fields in the middle of this piece that then move towards a blank and distant horizon, representing the eternal nature of harmony.

The world is right. All is as one.

In that moment, the title that came to me was Concordia. Corncordia was the ancient Roman goddess of peace, harmony, and unity. It seemed like a fine fit then and it still feels right.

Concordia is, as I said a above a larger painting, measuring 36″ by 36″ on canvas. It is included in Flow, this year’s edition of my annual solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery. The Opening Reception for this exhibit, my 27th consecutive at the prominent Alexandria gallery, is next Friday, June 12, running from 6-8:30 PM.

I will be there, come Hell or high water. Over the past 27 years of shows, there have times of both and we’re still going. That wasn’t a sure thing just a few months ago when I was struggling with my treatment and my time at work suffered. But the show has come together extremely well.

The world contained within it is right and I find myself being pretty damn proud of it.

That might be a boldly foolish statement, but I am going with it, nonetheless.

Here’s a wonderful composition from Claude Debussy that is indicative of what I see in this piece. It is his Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun from 1894. It runs about ten minutes but this performance from the Berliner Philharmoniker is worth a few extra minutes.

Maybe it will put your world into a state of peace and unity that you can carry into the rest of your day.

Maybe not. Who knows? Either way, it is a marvelous piece of music.

So, listen quietly and happily or get out before you screw up my little bit of oneness with the world.

You do know I am joking when I say stuff like that, right?

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Delivery Day/ Passenger

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , on May 31, 2026| 6 Comments »

 

Flow– Coming to Principle Gallery Today!

My fate cannot be mastered; it can only be collaborated with and thereby, to some extent, directed. Nor am I the captain of my soul; I am only its noisiest passenger.

–Aldous Huxley, Adonis and the Alphabet (1956)

On the road this morning, heading down toward Alexandria to deliver the work for my upcoming solo show at the Principle Gallery. This year’s title for the show, my 27th there, is Flow, and it opens on Friday, June 12. I think it’s going to be a very good show.

It feels good right now.

Actually, it always feels good any time I finish the work for a show.But this show feels even better in getting it done and into the gallery. It was a hard fought, tough slog right up to late this afternoon (this is being written Saturday afternoon) when the last piece was loaded into my good friend and neighbor Bob’s van. This show was completed with a great deal of satisfaction in simply getting it done. Plus, though it was a grind, the show excites me very much.

What more could I ask?

Applying the finishing touches over the last few days have been especially draining so I am also thrilled to be able to be a mere passenger on this trip as Bob pilots the whole route down and back. Damn good man.

Sometimes it is nice to simply be the passenger…

Here’s a song that fits that thought pretty well. It’s a cover of an Iggy Pop song, Passenger, performed by The Big Push— featuring Ren, of course– busking on the streets of seaside Brighton in the UK. Their live street performances always sound great which is probably why they drew such large crowds.

Good road music, as well.

I won’t be there to yell at you but stay off my lawn anyway. Believe me, I’ll know…

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A Look Back: Everpresent

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on May 30, 2026| 7 Comments »

Everpresent (2003)- Coming to the Principle Gallery

Dreams come true; without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them.

–John Updike, Self-Consciousness : Memoirs (1989)

This painting, Everpresent, has lived with me for a long time now. It was painted in 2003, and I believe it was shown in a gallery setting only once before returning to me. It is a piece I have looked at thousands of times over the years. So often that after a while I was looking and not really even seeing it, if that makes any sense to you. I think it was a matter of me thinking that I had absorbed everything it had to offer, that it was completely within me.

I took for granted that it had nothing new to offer. And as it happens so often in those cases where we take something for granted, we are wrong. I realized my mistake one day a year or two ago with this painting.   It was hanging in a bedroom here in the studio that serves as a library, with filled bookshelves lining two of the walls. It had hung in that spot for probably a decade or more. I stopped and looked at it. Really looked at it, trying to see if it had something that I had missed in the thousands of sometime cursory views I had given it over the years. I tried to see it with new and fresh eyes, not my old, tired ones.

Could it offer anything new?

For many years, as the title suggests, I viewed this as though the everpresent I referenced was a spiritual force. That perception made sense in my mind. Seemed natural.

But with new eyes looking at it, I perceived something quite different. I saw the Red Tree as being symbolic of those dreams we hold for ourselves and place before us as goals and destinations. The Red Roofed houses were assembled in this piece as being a sort of roadblock, a barrier that stood between the viewer and that distant dream as personified by the Red Tree. The same held true for the body of water standing between the viewer and the Red Tree– another barrier to be overcome.

The Everpresent I saw now was not some omniscient spiritual force. No, it was the dream, the aspiration, that one holds forever in their mind. Some of us stay forever separated from them by the roadblocks and barriers between us and our dreams. Some don’t even attempt to get past them. But the dream remains always though sometimes it fades into the distance for those that have given up hope of ever reaching their dream.

And the lucky few do reach that distant land where the dream in the form of the Red Tree dwells.

It was a much different reading of the painting than I was expecting. And this delighted me, even though I was happy with what the painting was expressing to me before this new view. It made me think that maybe the dreams we hold are a spiritual force of some sort.

They certainly might constitute a belief system– self-belief. It seems to me that the stronger one’s belief in their ability to reach their dream, the more likely it is achieved. But like any belief system, how we go about practicing it is our affair, something we must deal with on our own terms. There is no one way to go about it.

Everpresent is 11″ by 14″ on canvas and is included in Flow, the exhibit of my work that opens June 12 at the Principle Gallery.

Here’s the late Roy Orbison doing his Dream Baby backed by an all-star band from back in 1988.

Okay, got to get going. Much to do still and little time to waste on the likes of you. You do know I’m kidding, don’t you?

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A Look Back: Respice Finem

Posted in Early Paintings, In the Studio, tagged , , , on May 18, 2026| 3 Comments »

Respice Finem (1999)– Coming to Principle Gallery, June

Respice finem; that is to say, in all your actions, look often upon what you would have, as the thing that directs all your thoughts in the way to attain it.

― Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan (1651)

The Gesta Romanorum is a early 14th century Latin collection of anecdotes and stories, most carrying a moral meaning. It was greatly influential as a source of material for generations of writers down through the centuries, such as Chaucer, Boccacio, and Shakespeare.

One of the tales concerns a certain King Dominatius who is approached by a traveling merchant who offers him three invaluable rules of wisdom for a hefty price. The King pays the price and is given the three tidbits which are:

  1. Quidquid agis, prudenter agas et respice finem translates as “Whatever you do, do it wisely, and consider its consequences or its end.”
  2. Never tell a secret to a woman or your dearest friend.
  3. If you leave your path for a shorter one, you will often find it longer and more dangerous.

The King was so taken by the first rule, Respice Finem, that he had it inscribed throughout his castle, even on the towels used while he was shaved. Though he is fair-minded and just ruler, he nonetheless has enemies surrounding him at court. They bribe the King’s barber to assassinate the King by cutting his throat while shaving him. Ready to do the act, the barber catches sight of the words on the King’s towel. He stops and thinks of what will become of him if he goes through with the deed, which would most likely be torture then crucifixion. Heeding the wisdom in considering the end of his actions, he drops the razor, thus ending the treasonous plot and saving the King’s life.

Over the years, Respice Finem, while serving as a warning to consider the long-term consequences, has also come to be viewed as a Memento Mori, a reminder of one’s mortality, to live so that your life will be approved after your death.

That brings us to the painting at the top, Respice Finem, which has been with me in my studio for most of the time since it was painted in 1999. It has become so ubiquitous to me that I don’t even remember why it stayed here for so long. It was always just here.

Maybe it was that title, reminding me to keep in mind that life is ephemeral, as well as that what we do today often has consequences in the distant future.

Maybe. Who knows?

Whatever the reason might be, this smaller painting is heading to the Principle Gallery for my June solo show there. As I have pointed out here, this year’s show will be hybrid retrospective of my work, combining new work with older examples from different points in my painting life.  I feel it is a fine example of my work from 1999, painted as it is in transparent inks over a surface treated with gesso, which at that time I was just starting to use. The segmented sky also signifies the process I employed while transitioning to larger work. At the time, I was working with small blocks or puddles of color and to make a larger piece I would sort of mesh together smaller blocks to cover a larger area.

It also has a sense of stillness that was the primary goal for my work then. Actually, it still is the goal.

It has lived well with me, and I have tried to heed the advice it has readily offered.

What more could I ask?

Well, there is still much to do in preparation for the show. The last few days have been rough, physically, so I am glad I began final prep work much earlier than normal in my process. Everything seems to be moving at a snail’s pace, just trying to conserve energy. But even that slower pace at much shorter intervals seems to drain me– much more than I had expected several months ago when I was planning for this. It seems that the fatigue I am experiencing, the added effort of the work itself, and the normal anxiety that comes with any show are a potent combo.

I guess I underestimated the effects of it all and overestimated my own ability to overcome it. Suppose I should have spent more time considering the message of the painting– Respice Finem. Consider the consequences.

That being said, today, as the song below from John Prine says, will no doubt be a Long Monday. One day, one step at a time…

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Flow

Posted in Early Paintings, Event, Painting, Poetry, tagged , , , on May 11, 2026| 4 Comments »

 

Flow– Coming to Principle Gallery, June

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.

— Rainer Maria Rilke, Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower (1922)

My annual solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery opens in a little over a month, on Friday, June 12th. I have been in getting things together for the show in recent weeks, as I normally would though at a much slower pace. Still battling fatigue which requires that there be an almost equal amount of rest for any real effort made. This was to be expected after my recent radiation treatments so early in the year, the Principle Gallery and I decided that this year’s show would be a hybrid retrospective exhibit, a mix of new work and older work, covering the nearly thirty years my work has been showing there, as well as some representing my earliest work.

 I would prefer a show of only new work for this show, my 27th at the Principle. There’s something exciting about unveiling a group of new work. Sometimes it’s exciting like opening a wrapped Christmas present and sometimes it’s more like being handed the gun during a game of Russian Roulette. You never know.

But things being as they are, I am happy to put together this hybrid show. It’s been really interesting going through my older work and reexamining them with a newly critical eye. Fortunately, it’s gone pretty easily thus far.  The hard part is not in trying to determine which pieces fit into this show as I see it but rather which pieces I cannot include.

I believe that is because the title and theme for this year’s show is Flow. I wanted this show to show how the work has changed over the last thirty years but also how it has maintained a throughline in its identity and feeling.

A continuum.

A flow.

Like drops of water in a stream that moves forward and merges with and grows as it runs toward its place in the great waters of the earth.

I cross a small footbridge every morning while walking to the studio. It’s a runoff creek that dries up in the summer, much more often now than it did thirty years ago. But on those days when the creek is running, the thought that this humble trickle of water is destined to someday move through the Chesapeake Bay and merge with the Atlantic brings to mind the unity that makes up this world.

It seems small but contains greatness.

That’s how I would like to have this work come across, as part of the flow that sees small drops merging into a greater body.

I think the final lines from the poem at the top, Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower, sums it up beautifully:

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.

These were, fittingly, the final lines of the final poem in his 1922 book, Sonnets to Orpheus. These lines spoke to me because when I began painting, I felt unheard in the world. Small and insignificant.  Each painting was a small droplet put out into the stream. Over the years, these droplets moved from stream to river, bay, and ocean, continually gaining momentum, proclaiming in its voice that comes from its humble origins in a tiny creek running through the wood: I flow, I am.

I flow, I am…

 

 

 

 

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