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Posts Tagged ‘Red Tree’

Betwixt and Between— At Principle Gallery



Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious, and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can’t try to do things. You simply must do things. 

— Ray Bradbury



I ran a post featuring a Ray Bradbury quote the other day which reminded me of another of his quotes and a favorite blog entry from the past that employed the above quote. It’s a refinement of a quote from a 1962 essay, The Queen’s Own Evaders, in which Bradbury wrote about his time in Ireland writing the screenplay for the 1956 John Huston film, Moby Dick.

Never wanting to be a screenwriter, Bradbury adapted only his work for movies or television but made an exception when offered the chance to adapt the Melville classic. He struggled for months and months trying to adapt the novel then one day realized he was being too self-conscious, overthinking every word and element. He began anew and, at the end of an epic eight-hour writing session, finished the script.

The original quote was:

Self-consciousness is the enemy of all art, be it acting, writing, painting, or living itself, which is the greatest art of all. 

Ridding one of self-consciousness was a subject that popped up in many of his essays and interviews over the next 20 years or so as he refined the message. I well understand his view since I feel that I am least self-conscious when I am painting. My paintings are my world much like Bradbury’s world was that of Mars or the October Country or the strange, animated skin of the Illustrated Man.

Bradbury also stated over the years that an artist should not attempt to explain an artwork while it is being created. That’s how I feel about painting, as well. You do it. Then you think about it. As a result, that is why I seldom even begin to think about what the painting is about or what it might be called until it is done or at least well into its process.

Bradbury’s words on creativity are worthwhile for anyone, not just writers or artists. As he said, living is the greatest art of all. Here’s that earlier blog post, last shared here in 2018:



I came across this quote from famed sci-fi writer Ray Bradbury on an online site with quotes on creativity. This struck close to the bone for me as I have proudly not thought for years now. I have long maintained that thinking usually inhibits my work, making it less fluid and rhythmic.

It’s a hard thing to get across because just in the process of doing anything there is a certain amount of thought required, with preliminary ideas and decisions to be made. I think that the lack of thought I am talking about, as I also believe Bradbury refers, is once the process of creating begins. At that point you have to try to free yourself of the conscious and let intuition and reaction take over, those qualities that operate on an instantaneous emotional level.

I can tell instantly when I have let my conscious push its way into my work and have over-thought the whole thing. There’s a clunkiness and dullness in every aspect of it. No flow. No rhythm. No brightness or lightness. Emotionally vacant and awkward. Bradbury’s choice in using the term self-conscious is perfect because I have often been self-conscious in my life and that same uncomfortable awkwardness that comes in those instances translates well to what I see in this over-thought work.

So, what’s the answer? How do you let go of thought, to be less self-conscious?

I think Bradbury hits the nail on the head– you must simply do things. This means trusting your subconscious to find a way through, to give the controls over to instinct.

And how do you do that? I can’t speak for others but for myself it’s a matter of staying in my routine. Painting every day even when it feels like a struggle. Loading a brush with paint and making a mark even when I have no momentum or idea or at hand. Just doing things and not waiting for inspiration.

You don’t wait for inspiration– you create it.

So, stop thinking right now and just start doing things.

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The Wisdom Beyond Words– At Principle Gallery


The hero adventures out of the land we know into darkness; there he accomplishes his adventure or again is simply lost to us, imprisoned, or in danger; and his return is described as a coming back out of that yonder. Nevertheless—and here is a great key to the understanding of myth and symbol—the two kingdoms are actually one. The realm of the gods is a forgotten dimension of the world we know. And the exploration of that dimension, either willingly or unwillingly, is the whole sense of the deed of the hero.

-Joseph Campbell, The Hero With A Thousand Faces



“The realm of the gods is a forgotten dimension of the world we know.”  

This sentence from the late Joseph Campbell could well summarize what the work from my current solo show at the Principle Gallery, Entanglement, is trying to convey. It is a show about those forgotten, hidden, and unrecognized dimensions that surround us every minute of every day during our time in this physical plane.

They are dimensions made up of energy and rhythm woven into deeply entangled patterns. Some of these patterns manifest themselves in this physical plane, resulting in a template or pattern of mythic behaviors that have been manifested and recalled with reverence in the stories of every culture throughout history.

Patterns of mythic action that exist in every time and place.

Here and now.

In my eyes, this work is a representation of the psychic unity of mankind, a theory to which Joseph Campbell’s work adhered.  It basically states that all people in this world share patterns of thought and behavior. Patterns that replicate those that exist in the dimensions beyond our recognition or understanding that these paintings represent.

If you’re familiar with Campbell’s work, you know that the great myths, such as Homer’s Odyssey, are not the sole province of the hero’s journey. Most people, in every time and place, at some time in their lives recreate the hero’s journey. It may be on a smaller, more intimate scale. They surely will not see it as being mythic or heroic. But it is woven from the same cloth and in the same patterns of the great myths, those same patterns that I see in these paintings.

 I could go on and on but that’s all I want to say this morning. I have things that need to be done. 

Heroic things?

Probably not. But then again, who knows?

Here’s an all-time favorite song of mine, one that I have probably share a little more here than I should. It’s Heroes from David Bowie. The line from the song that repeats and resonates- We can be heroes, just for one day— pretty much sums up this post. 

We can be heroes…



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In the Free World-– Now at Principle Gallery, Alexandria



Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.

–Henry Ward Beecher, Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit (1887)



As an artist, if you will allow to call myself that, I believe these words the famous 19th century preacher Henry Ward Beecher are true. I know that I feel closest to my work when it most reflects a feeling and tone that I recognize deep within myself. You just hope that this aspect of your nature is equally reflected outward, that people see that same aspect in you as a person.

Sometimes they do and sometimes they do not. It is not always an easy transition when trying to bring anything from the inner to the outer world. I guess the best one can do as an artist is to be sincere, to represent those aspects which truly are part of your true nature.

To try to do otherwise produces insincere work. And while it can exist and even prosper in the short term, it eventually reveals its insincerity.

I don’t know, maybe I am just spinning my wheels this morning. I often do that in the aftermath of a show opening. It’s a matter of finding something to hold on to before I fully fall into the abyss of funk that I seem to encounter after every show. In this year’s case, I am holding on to the fact that I know the work I produced is indeed sincere and represents what I believe is my true nature.

Well, most of my true nature. You know, the good parts. The aspirational. The inspirational. But in reality, even the darker aspects of my true nature show up in what I consider my best work. I think it is that tension between the dark and light aspects of an artist’s nature that produce meaningful art.

Sincere art. Art of the soul.

Okay, a little more info on Henry Ward Beecher, for those of you not familiar with the name. He was one of the biggest celebrities of the late 19th century, on an equal footing with the actors, musicians, and writers of the era. At one point, he was referred to as the Most Famous Man in America. He was even on popular trading cards and had his own sex scandal that culminated in one of the most celebrated trials of the time. He was also a great social reformer as an abolitionist and advocate for women’s suffrage. He was the brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe of Uncle Tom’s Cabin fame, as well as the brother of Thomas K. Beecher. I throw in Thomas because of his local connection to my hometown. He was the big fish in our small pond at the time, a preacher who drew huge congregations as well as a civic leader. He was a good pal of Mark Twain and buddied around with him, playing pool and such, during Twain’s many summer stays here in Elmira. Beecher also presided over Twain’s wedding to local girl Olivia Langdon.

Okay, enough extra info. Let’s have a song. Since we’re discussing the nature of the soul, here’s Soul Time from Shirley Ellis. You might know her from her fun big hits The Name Game and The Nitty Gritty. A video for The Nitty Gritty with some exuberant dancer, highlighted by the wild moves of well-known dancer/choreographer Bobby Banas, became a viral hit. Lots of fun.



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It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble, how hopeless the outlook how muddled the tangle, how great the mistake. A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.

-Emmet Fox, The Sermon on the Mount (1938)



I was a little hesitant in using the quote above from Emmet Fox. I didn’t know much about him. You never want to quote someone then have them turn out to be some hideous creature. Been there, done that. Learned my lesson.

But I decided to go ahead after seeing on Wikipedia that Fox was: an Irish New Thought spiritual leader of the early 20th century, primarily through the years of the Great Depression until his death in 1951. Fox’s large Divine Science church services were held in New York City. He is today considered a spiritual godparent of Alcoholics Anonymous.”

I don’t know anything about the New Thought movement outside it being one of those fringe spiritual/semi-religious movements that took hold in the late 19th/early 20th century when people were scrambling for answers to troubled times in which they lived. You know– the Gilded Age. That time of  the abrupt change from a relatively independent agrarian society to an industrial society that spawned Robber Barons and the exploitation of the working class, that glorious time that so many regular folks seem to now think were the Good Old Days.

That commentary aside, I figured the Fox quote was safe to use since this show itself represents a belief system outside that of religion, at least in the organized sense. Trying to make sense of the world or universe and our place in it is not the province of any one person or group and what may seem crazy to me may very well make sense to you. We may even hold the same beliefs but with a different vocabulary and symbology. 

And that’s what I see in this quote from Emmet Fox– the idea that love and our recognition that it connects us to the greater forces of the universe is the balm for so much of what ails us. I think, to a great extent, that is the true theme of this show. We belong. We are drawn from the beginning of all time and will be part of it until its end. Love, compassion, and empathy creates the harmony that binds us in these entangled bands of energy.

Is that so crazy a thing to believe? 

I don’t know. To some, I am sure it is.

Like art, there is no absolute consensus of right or wrong. In fact, our whole existence dwells in a plane that exists between certainty and uncertainty. 

Okay. That’s the end of today’s sermon, truncated (or confusing) as it may seem here at the end. All I really planned to do this morning was introduce a short video preview of some of the paintings from my Entanglement show that opens Friday at the Principle Gallery. All the pertinent info is in the image at the top, outside of the fact that I will also be giving a painting demonstration the following day, Saturday, June 14, beginning at 11 AM.

Here’s that promised preview of some of the work from this year’s show. Please note that this does not show all the paintings. I will be posting a link to a virtual walk-through of the show either tomorrow or Friday that will allow you to see all the work as it is on the gallery walls. Bet they didn’t have that back in the Good Old Days!



 

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Pax Omnis– At Principle Gallery


The creation of a more peaceful and happier society has to begin from the level of the individual, and from there it can expand to one’s family, to one’s neighborhood, to one’s community and so on.

Tenzin Gyatso, 14th Dalai Lama, The Art of Happiness in a Troubled World (2004)



The name of this new painting is Pax Omnis which translates roughly as Peace for All or Peace Everywhere. I consider this painting to be one of the anchors for my Entanglement exhibit that opens Friday at the Principle Gallery. With the richness of its surface and message, it felt that way for me from the minute it was completed.

Much of the work from the Entanglement show has to do with how we, comprised as we are of bands of energy, are interwoven with all other things. Many of the paintings depict the interaction of the individual, often represented by the Red Tree, with the bands of energy that surround us.

That holds true in this painting but extends the interweaving to the earth and its inhabitants beyond the Red Tree. I see it as reflecting the sentiment expressed at the top from the Dalai Lama which basically says that the world we inhabit here is created by the attitude and actions of each of us.

We shape our world. A peaceful world is created by peaceful people. Tranquility begets tranquility.

The hatred, dishonesty, and greed of people creates a world filled with the same.

I submit the world as it currently stands into evidence.

This painting represents a best-case scenario, of course. The idea that we can eradicate hatred, greed, or any of the other darker parts of ourselves is pretty much a pipedream. But we need to keep such scenarios in our mind if only to remind us of the world we hope to create–a place of peace and harmony that makes us wish to linger here a bit longer before moving on to reunite with the entanglement of forever. 

I think this piece serves that function well. It has a very centered feel for me, if that makes sense to you. I wish it were here right now so that I might dwell in it for just a bit longer before looking at this morning’s news of the outer world’s disharmony and dysfunction.

At least I have the image of it to remind me of where I want to be and that I have a responsibility, as does everyone else, in doing my part to create that place of peace.

Amen.



I am sharing a song to go along with this post. Yesterday, the great Sly Stone (born Sylvester Stewart) passed away at the age of 82. His music was built with the strength and unity of all people in mind. I have written here in the past that the world would be a far better place if his songs were played out in the streets around the clock. Below is his classic song, Everyday People. The first line in the song– Sometimes I’m right and I can be wrong/ My own beliefs are in my song— fits in well with the theme of my show. A later line–I am no better and neither are you/ We are the same, whatever we do– reinforces that theme

Welcome back to the entanglement, Mr. Stone. Pax Omnis…



Pax Omnis is 16″ by 40″ on canvas and is now at the Principle Gallery, for my 26th annual solo show, this year called Entanglement, which opens this coming Friday, June 13. The paintings for the show are now in the gallery and are available for previews. The show will be up on the walls of the gallery by tomorrow, Wednesday.

I will be attending the Opening Reception for the show that runs on Friday from 6-8:30 PM. I look forward to chatting with you.

And the following day, next Saturday, June 14, I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the galleryThe demo, my first there, should run from 11 AM until 1 PM or thereabouts. Hope you can make it.



Hulu documentary on Sly

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The Floating World— Now at Principle Gallery



Living only for the moment, turning our full attention to the pleasures of the moon, the snow, the cherry blossoms and the maples, singing songs, drinking wine and diverting ourselves in just floating, floating; caring not a whit for the poverty staring us in the face, refusing to be disheartened, like a gourd floating along with the river current: this is what we call ukiyo.

–Asai Ryōi, Tales of the Floating World (1661)



Back in the studio this morning. The paintings for my new show, Entanglement, have been safely delivered to the Principle Gallery and will soon to be on its walls in time for Friday’s opening. All that’s left for my part with the show is to write several blogposts this week before making my way back down to Alexandria on Friday. And figure out how to proceed with the Painting Demonstration that follows on Saturday.

A relatively easy week. Well, if I could just shake the anticipatory anxiety that comes with such shows as I wait to see if my hard work will create sparks within others or if what I see in it is but an illusion only visible to myself.

But it’s out of my hands now and I will just do what I can. Maybe I should adhere to the words above from the novelist Asai Ryōi who wrote in the early Edo Period of Japan (1660’s) about the ukiyo or Floating World.

You may have seen the term ukiyo-e in reference to the beautiful Japanese woodblock prints, of which I am a big fan and have shared many on this blog over the years. These prints were first produced at a time when there was a strict class system in Japan with the merchants being low on that particular totem pole. In a time of prosperity, these merchants attained great wealth but were unable to move beyond their low rank in the class system, so they began to show off their wealth through lavish lifestyles and conspicuous consumption, including attaining what little art was available to them, which is where these prints found their way into their culture. 

This lifestyle of earthly pleasures– brothels and excesses in food and drink were all part of it— was described by the word ukiyo which meant for them this transient world in which one should live for the moment, taking in all that this world has to offer. Grab for the gusto, in other words.

Their use of the word derived from the same word in the Buddhist religion which meant the Floating World, which referred to the earthly plane of death and rebirth from which Buddhists sought release. The Buddhist use of the word encouraged using the time spent in this earthly plane in ways that would be of use when one is finally released from it into the ethereal and eternal planes of being. Living the ukiyo lifestyle as it was seen in Edo Period of Japan might actually hinder one from release from this plane of existence.

Though I love the Japanese ukiyo-e prints depicting scenes of the earthly pleasures of that era, it’s this Buddhist definition that I feel better suits the new painting shown at the top, The Floating World. That thought was not in mind when I painted it but it soon became evident that, for me, those small islands represented our tenuous and temporary existence here. The basketlike weave or entanglement of the sky represents our ultimate destination, a return to our place in the harmony and rhythm of that universal energy. 

Our true home, if you will. 

Our time here is short and fleeting. Ultimately, we are but tourists, visitors, and sightseers in this world. It is what we take home with us when our visit here is done that matters.

That’s my reading for this painting. Actually, when I look at this painting, I find myself barely noticing the islands, instead losing myself in the entanglement. I find it very calming and reassuring.

It does exactly what I need it to do for me. For you? I can’t say.



The Floating World is 20″ by 20″ on canvas and is now at the Principle Gallery, for my annual solo show, this year called Entanglement, opens this coming Friday, June 13. As I wrote, the work for the show is now in the gallery and is available for previews.

I will be attending the Opening Reception for the show that runs on Friday from 6-8:30 PM. I look forward to chatting with you.

And the following day, next Saturday, June 14, I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the galleryThe demo, my first there, should run from 11 AM until 1 PM or thereabouts. Hope you can make it.

 

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NIghtFlare– At Principle Gallery


If we cherish the virtues and the principles of our fathers, Heaven will assist us to carry on the work of human liberty and human happiness. Auspicious omens cheer us. Great examples are before us. Our own firmament now shines brightly upon our path.

–Daniel Webster, Eulogy for John Adams and Thomaas Jefferson, 1826



All the work for my solo show at the Principle Gallery, Entanglement, is complete. Well, the painting and preparation part of it. Today, I pack it all up for delivery tomorrow down in Alexandria. This means a final few moments with each piece before they become whatever it is they are destined to become for someone other than me.

Most of the paintings have taken on distinct meanings for me, personal readings of the paintings that elicit certain emotional responses in me. Once it sets itself in my mind in a certain way that is how I normally continue to see that painting forever.

They define themselves to me.

But sometimes there are pieces that remain an enigma. They raise emotional responses but in a way that makes whatever meaning they hold feel like a mystery. I often find them deeply appealing but can’t quite figure out what they are saying to me.

This new painting from the show, NightFlare, is such a painting. If you asked me what it is saying I would most likely turn the question around on you. Your answer would be as valid as my own.

Even so, I am deeply attracted to this painting with its calmness and warmth.  It feels soothing but in a mysterious way, as though that moon with its strange corona bears an omen for us– represented by the Red Tree and the house that stands like sentinel–but with an assurance that the future will work itself out, that things will be okay in the end.

Maybe that’s wishful thinking for the times we’re enduring. Maybe it is one of the auspicious omens sent to cheer us on, as Daniel Webster alluded to in the passage above from his 1826 eulogy for Adams and Jefferson. As you might recall, both died on July 4th of that year, on the 50th anniversary of our Independence Day. 

Auspicious omens cheering us on?

I would like to think so but really don’t know about that or the true meaning of this painting. It remains a mystery, an enigma. All I know of this piece is how it makes me feel.

And that is enough for me. For now. Forever.



NightFlare is 36″ by 12″ on canvas. It is included in my 26th annual solo exhibit at the Principle Gallery, Entanglement, that opens this coming Friday, June 13. I will be attending the Opening Reception for the show that runs from 6-8:30 PM. 

And one week from today, next Saturday, June 14, I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the galleryThe demo, my first there, should run from 11 AM until 1 PM or thereabouts.

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Song of the Heliotropes– At Principle Gallery, June 13



In the world of the dreamer there was solitude: all the exaltations and joys came in the moment of preparation for living. They took place in solitude. But with action came anxiety, and the sense of insuperable effort made to match the dream, and with it came weariness, discouragement, and the flight into solitude again. And then in solitude, in the opium den of remembrance, the possibility of pleasure again.

–Anaïs Nin, Children of the Albatross (1947)



I was searching for something to begin this post and came across the passage above from Anaïs Nin. It gave me pause for a moment as it so well described the cycle that I seem to repeat time and time again in preparing for my shows, such as my Entanglement exhibit that opens next week at the Principle Gallery.

The work is created from dreams and solitude, as she points out. As the works gather and come together there is a building excitement and joy within me as I ponder sharing the work with the world outside my den of solitude. But, as Nin observes, this building excitement brings with it an increased sense of anxiety, one built on a fear of failure or of having become irrelevant as an artist. This, along with the grinding effort that takes place in finishing all the tasks required to make the work presentable, produces a deep weariness. It is both a physical and mental exhaustion. 

Then the show opens and inevitably there comes afterward, with even the most successful shows, a great letdown–the discouragement that Nin mentions. I find myself second-guessing my choices for the show, completely overlooking the successes and high points, instead focusing on things that I could have or should have done. There is seldom, if ever, a period of what you might call basking in any sort of glory.

But as miserable as that sounds, I am soon back to my dreams and solitude– my opium den of remembrance– high on the possibility that comes with a new show.

It’s a cycle that’s been repeated for well over 25 years and around 70 shows. Outside of my marriage and the knowledge that the sun will rise and fall each day, it’s the most dependable thing in my life. 

I am at the bone-weary state right now but the excitement from the work and its creation remains. Take the painting at the top, Song of the Heliotropes, for example. It’s a piece that feels like music to me, one that brings me a lot of joy. It’s the kind of joy that makes the harder aspects of the cycle tolerable.

The Red Trees remind me of flowers being pulled upward by the energy and light of the sun and sky. For my botanical friends out there, I do realize they are not actually the flowers called Heliotropes. I am instead referring to heliotropism, the act of growing toward the sun that takes place in many plants and flowers. I tend to think we all experience heliotropism of some sort, always moving towards some sort of light.

Perhaps in a way we are all Heliotropes. For this painting, I am saying that is the case. 

There’s more that I could say about Song of the Heliotropes, an 18″ by 24″ painting on canvas, but if you want to hear it, you’ll have to ask me about it at the Opening Reception on Friday, June 13 at the Principle Gallery which runs from 6-8:30 PM. This painting and all the other work for this show will be delivered to the gallery on Sunday and will be available for previews, though the show will not be hung until later in the week.

The day after the show’s opening, on Saturday, June 14, I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the gallery. The demo, my first there, should run from 11 AM until 1 PM or thereabouts.

Here’s a well-known classical piece that immediately comes to mind when I look at this piece. It’s from composer Léo Delibes from his 1883 tragic opera, Lakmé. This is the Flower Duet. This performance is from soprano Sabine Devieilhe  and mezzo-soprano Marianne Crebassa. Most of you will recognize this about a minute or so into this video. That is certainly the part of the song that comes to mind with this painting. Just lovely.



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Quiet Revelation– At Principle Gallery June 13, 2025



When the brain is completely quiet, it is empty. It is only through emptiness that anything can be perceived. You need space, you need emptiness to observe. To observe you, I must have space between you and me, and then there is seeing. So, a mind that is crippled with sorrow, with problems, with its vanities, with its urge to fulfill, and frustrated, caught in nationalism – you know, all the petty, little things of life – such a brain has no space. It is not empty, and therefore it is utterly incapable of observing. And when a mind that is being petty and shallow says, ‘I must explore,’ it has no meaning. It must explore itself, not whether there is something beyond itself. So when the brain is completely quiet, empty – and that demands astonishing awareness, attention – that is the beginning of meditation. Then it can see, listen, observe. Then it will find out if there is something beyond the measure that man has made to discover reality.

–Jiddu Krishnamurti (1895-1986), From Public Talk 10 in Saanen, Switzerland July 1963 



Quiet the brain. Empty the brain.

Such a difficult task that feels like it should be easy, given how much space is actually occupied up there. Don’t be offended– I was talking about my brain. Not yours. Well, maybe a little about your brain.

I don’t know.

A big part of my work has to do with finding this sort of quietness, of stilling a mind reeling from the ceaseless bombardment of stimulus that this modern world serves up. My search is often futile with only short interludes of true quietude. Perhaps, as the philosopher Krishnamurti points out, by consciously searching– a product of a brain filled with the petty and trivial– I was actually preventing myself from actually observing the quiet that is always present.

I’ve been somewhat aware of this, often saying that my work is at its best when the brain is taken out of the equation, when I just let things happen on an instinctual or organic level. Getting there is much like the quieting or the emptying of the brain that Krishnamurti describes. A difficult task.

This new painting, Quiet Revelation, reminds me of the appearance of one of these rare moments of quietude. For me, the Red Tree here seems to have been able to block out the clang and furious rumble of this world, elevating to a point where it can observe the reality and harmony of the animating force that is just beyond our measure.

This energy source of which everything is comprised is the theme for my upcoming show, Entanglement, at the Principle Gallery. I see this piece with its quiet harmony, as a fine example of coming across that meditative stillness which is being sought, a feeling I experienced for a time while painting this piece.

And that’s always a gift. All I could ask for in my work.



Quiet Revelation is a larger painting, at 36″ by 36″ on canvas. It is part of my annual solo exhibit — this year marks my 26th show at the Principle– of new paintings, 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.

The day after the show’s opening, on Saturday, June 14, I will also be giving a Painting Demonstration at the gallery. The demo, my first there, should run from 11 AM until 1 PM or thereaboutsHope you can make it either or both events.

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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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