In the new June issue of American Art Collector, there’s a nice preview of my upcoming solo show, Native Voice, which is opening June 5 at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA.
It’s a brief overview of the show and my career as well as the significance of the show’s title to me. Most pleasing to me is the fact that the three paintings they chose to display in the article show themselves very well , giving what I think is a good indicator of the look and feel of this show.
Another pleasing aspect is a short paragraph, written by a couple from the Bay Area of California who collect my paintings, which describes their views on the work. As an artist, it’s always interesting to get a view of how people honestly react to what you’re doing. And for myself, it’s great to get affirmation that the belief I have in the reality of the internal world I am trying to express in my work has translated successfully and is coming across as a similar reality to others. That’s very heartening and inspiring to me in the studio.
That being said, it’s time I get back to work. There’s still much work to be done before the show is complete.
Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle.
-Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
************************************
I think the lines above spoken by Lewis Carroll’s Alice fit this new painting very well. In the book, she has has just grown to a very great size and frightened away the White Rabbit which has her suddenly realizing that Wonderland is a very puzzling place. But even more puzzling is how the changing perspectives of herself she encounters in Wonderland have left her questioning her own identity, her own sense of self. The solution to navigating her way through Wonderland is in finding out her own identity.
And that is a truth for almost anybody, anywhere.
And that’s what I see is this painting, a 30″ by 30″ canvas that I call Breakthrough.
The foreground with the cryptic forms of its fields sets the tone for piece with darker tones and tempting colors. The path runs through these labyrinth-like segments toward a sky that has a burst of light from the sun pushing forward, symbolizing the breakthrough alluded to in the title. And at the furthest inward point is the Red Tree. Like Alice, it is attempting to shed the many differing perspectives of itself it has run across to get to this moment, a moment in which it feels it has reached a solution to the puzzle of who or what in the world it truly is.
The path forward is much easier to travel once you have solved that great puzzle, as Alice called it.
This painting is part of my annual solo show, this year titled Native Voice, at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria VA which opens on June 5, 2015.
I call this new painting, an 18″ by 18″ canvas, Epiphany. There’s just something in the way the Red Tree stands against the burst of light in the sky behind it that reminds me of those rare moments of revealed insight, when you realize something that forever changes your perception of the world and perhaps sends you down an unexpected new path.
This was an interesting piece to paint, one that evolved in a different way than most of my work. As it built from the bottom, the sky was painted in a transparent deep yellow wash. IT was okay but it just didn’t have that sense of rightness, didn’t fill the emotional void that was present. So I blacked out the sky and went to my other process of building up the paint which is unusual for me as I seldom mix the two processes except in detail work.
The sky took on a greater role with this incarnation, becoming the engine that moved the piece forward. As I finished the work on the Red Tree, the corona of light around its crown took on an almost religious aspect and the whole thing began to look like a stylized portrait of a saint with a halo and red cloak. And that made the title seem even a bit more appropriate, using a different definition of the word where epiphany is used to describe a manifestation of the divine– a supernatural being.
And maybe that is what all epiphanies are– manifestations of the divine. I have had a moment or two in my life that I view as epiphanies. Whether they truly were is subject to debate– they certainly were personal breakthroughs in perception– but in those moments I certainly felt closer to some sort of divinity than I ever had before. And that’s what I am reminded of in this piece — the blood red of the physical earth and tree becoming one with the ethereal in the light of the sky.
In this new painting, a 10″ by 30″ canvas that I am calling Rooted, the Red Tree steps aside and allows the Red Chair to take centerstage.
The title is an obvious reference to the Red Chair’s most frequent interpretation as a symbol of family and ancestry, with the dark tree that holding them looking in a way like a pedigree chart with branches coming off the main root and branching out. The path that disappears in the distance could be referring to the journey that the family tree took at an earlier time, perhaps emigrating from a distant land.
But for all its symbolism, I feel the strength of this piece is more from a visual fulfillment in the way the tree’s trunk and branches break up the picture plane into little islands of light, as though I am looking down on it from above and the tree transforms into a river with the branches becoming smaller streams feeding into it. Thus, the Red Chairs are not growing away from the earth but are flowing back toward it.
There are a lot of things happening in this modest piece. Even now, looking up at it as it rests on the fireplace here in the studio, I find myself taking in different aspects of it that send my mind in new directions. And I like the fact that it can be simply what it is or can move me into a completely different realm of thought.
Rooted will be part of my show, Native Voice, opening June 5 at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA.
This is a new painting that has been grabbing my eye here in the studio lately. It’s a 16″ by 20″ canvas that I am calling Reflecting for now. It will be included in my solo show, Native Voice, at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria which opens June 5.
The title comes from the light and form of the arc of the foreground that seems to be reflecting the light and form of the moon above. But it is also refers to the posture of the Red Tree as it seems to be gazing into the sky. For me, it has a feeling of great pondering, of both looking outward and inward.
Reflection is, after all, the act of turning one’s thought on itself to discover its true reality, like looking in the mirror and wondering who the hell that person is who is looking back at us. The Red Tree here is a reflection of the moon which itself reflects the greater power of the sun which, in a way, might reflect the ultimate power of the universe. And maybe that is what this is ultimately about– looking for traces of that universal power in our earthly self.
Conquest is one of those words that have grand connotations, often thought of it in terms of strength and domination, of empires and battles between nations and ideologies.But it can have a much smaller, more personal meaning as well, one where it is all about overcoming those things that keep us from becoming the person we ourselves as being.
Fear, for instance.
And that’s the meaning I see for myself in this new 24″ by 30″ painting, Conquest, part of my June show at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria.
It feels as though the Red Tree is in a moment of personal conquest, perhaps even epiphany. It has overcome the struggles of the journey, symbolized by the path and fallen tree as well as the worked rows of the field, to reach a point where it can reflect back on it all, seeing in the clear bright light the realization of earlier, distant hopes.
These moments of conquest may not appear as epic moments for all to see. Personally, the times when I have most felt this feeling have not been grand moments of statement at all. There are few of those moments in most lives. Rather, they are often small and personal- a quiet and sudden recognition that I am at some point that seemed out of reach earlier in the journey.
In that moment, there is instant reflection on what led to this point. The earlier fears that seemed like shackles now appear as harmless boogeymen, mere figments of imagination hidden in the dark. But in the bright light the darkness recedes, revealing new horizons to move toward.
One person’s triumph over their fears is perhaps as large a conquest as that of any empire.
Yesterday’s Gallery Talk at the Kada Gallery went really well. Many,many, many thanks to Kathy, Joe and Morgan at the gallery for providing a comfortable setting and the many folks in attendance for taking time out on a rare sunny Saturday afternoon to spend it with me. They were an absolutely wonderful group –attentive and inquisitive–which made my task much easier, making me feel very welcomed and at ease in front of them.
Hopefully not so much that I over-talked or came across as too full of myself. I always worry about things like that on the ride back home, agonizing over things I said or didn’t say. It comes easy because at that point I am pretty tired of hearing my own voice, tired of pretty much being the public me at that moment.
One thing I forgot to mention which bothered me as I was on my way home was that it was the input that I get from the encouragement and stories shared by the folks that attend these events are such a huge inspiration and the motor that drives my work. I work untold hours alone in my studio and it is their reaction to the work and the fact that they allow me to glimpse briefly into their lives that make them seem almost present at times in my studio. Distant eyes looking over my shoulder.
I shared one recent inspirational story that took place very recently right there at the Kada Gallery. A week or so ago, they received an email inquiry from a lady in Switzerland about a large painting, titled Family Lines with the Red Tree with a Red Chair in its branches. It turns out that she had recently lost her husband to Alzheimer’s and one of their final exchanges was about that very painting, obviously seeing it in online. Her husband said that he was the Red Tree and she was the Red Chair. I have to admit to being made teary-eyed by that. How can something like not stick with me, not find its way into my thoughts when I am alone in the studio?
That story, like so many others shared with me over the years, brings a sense of purpose to the sometimes abstract and introverted act of painting. I can never fully thank these people for the gift in their sharing.
One of the ways I do try thank folks at these talks is by having several giveaways, including an original painting. We had a very good time with it yesterday and the group was so receptive that I thought they deserved another. I had a painting, Color Rising, from a few years back that won by a young lady in her 90’s which leads me to this week’s Sunday music selection. The painting, shown left, was a monochromatic piece, shades of back and gray with just a dash of color. I explained that I do these paintings periodically to just more less refresh my color palette in the period between working on shows and that seeing one of my compositions with the color removed was a bit like hearing a song that you’ve heard a thousand times before done by one person done by somebody else. The song has the same notes, chords, melody and lyrics but it is somehow different, somehow changed.
That brings me to this musical example, a version of the Beatles‘ song In My Life from 1965‘s Rubber Soul album. My god, I can’t believe this song is fifty years old! This version is from the American recordings of Johnny Cash, done in the final months of his life. His age and ailments changed his delivery and imbued the songs with real heart-felt emotion and purity. A powerful group of music. This version of the Beatles’ song is not so different but it has his own personal meaning which makes it his own.
Again, so many thanks to everyone who came yesterday. It was my great pleasure to spend the day with you all. Hope your Sunday is a good one…
I mentioned here earlier that I am giving a Gallery Talk next Saturday at the Kada Gallery in Erie. When I give one of theses talks it is not uncommon for me to bring a small group of new work for the gallery. One of the pieces that is heading to Erie with me is this painting, a 24″ by 20″ canvas that is titled Away From the Chaos.
Actually, I should say that it wastitled Away From the Chaos.
You see, this painting started its life several years ago in a much different form. It was a piece that showed just once for a very short stay in a gallery then moved to the wall of my studio where it has been ever since. It was one of those pieces that seemed to be right in the moment but was just missing that something which kept me from making contact with it. It was like a person who has experienced a stroke and has full cognizance with much to share but just can’t make the person in front of them understand.
And I was that person who couldn’t understand. I could see there was something in it. Life and emotion. But muted and totally restrained. The colors of its sky felt pointy and sharp to me–a sickly yellow that didn’t add depth in the image and gave the whole thing a green pallor that belied what I felt was the emotion behind the painting.
So for years, I would go into the room that held this painting and feel a sickening, uneasy pang whenever my eyes settled on it. It made me sad that it seemed there physically but was so far away.
Finally, a week ago, I could take it no more and decided to either revive it or kill it. The sky transformed in depth and color, becoming warmer and more giving. The fields brightened. The brightness of its color and the roof line of the barn changed as I altered one edge that always felt wrong to me– a small flaw but one that became larger when combined with the others.
And the Red Tree made its way to a central point where it truly became the welcoming symbol that I often see it as. It suddenly felt so much more alive and complete. It could reach out now and communicate to me. And that’s a comforting thing for me.
The old title no longer seemed appropriate. I settled on Making Contact. Now it seems right.
This painting can be seen at the Kada Gallery next Saturday, April 11, where I will be giving a Gallery Talk which begins at 1 PM. If you can make it, please stop in– we will be having a free drawing for one of my original paintings and a few other goodies. I am aiming for an entertaining and , hopefully, an enlightening talk. Hope to see you there.
When I am finishing a picture I hold some God-made object up to it / a rock, a flower, the branch of a tree or my hand / as a kind of final test. If the painting stands up beside a thing man cannot make, the painting is authentic. If there’s a clash between the two, it is bad art.
–Marc Chagall
**************
I haven’t mentioned Marc Chagall here but once over the 6+ years I have been doing this blog and I very seldom list him as one of my influences or even one of my favorite artists. But somehow he always seems to be sitting prominently there at the end of the day, both as a favorite and an influence.
One way in which his influence takes form is in the way in which he created a unique visual vocabulary of symbology within his work. His soaring people, his goats and horses and angels all seem at once mythic yet vaguely reminiscent of our own dreams, part of each of us but hidden deeply within.
They are mysterious but familiar.
And that’s a quality– mysterious and familiar– that I sought for my own symbols: the Red Chair, the Red Tree and the anonymous houses, for examples. That need to paint familiar objects that could take on other aspects of meaning very much came from Chagall’s paintings.
He also exerted his influence in the way in which he painted, distinct and as free-flowing as a signature. It was very much what I would call his Native Voice. Not affected or trying to adhere to any standards, just coming off his brush freely and naturally.
An organic expression of himself. And that is something I have sought since I first began painting– my own native voice, one in which I painted as easily and without thought as I would write my signature.
So to read how Chagall judged his work for authenticity makes me consider how I validate my own work. It’s not that different. I use the term a sense of rightness to describe what I am seeking in the work which is the same sense one gets when you pick up a stone and consider it. Worn through the ages, untouched for the most part by man, it is precisely what it is. It’s form and feel are natural and organic. There is just an inherent rightness to it. I hope for that same sense when I look at my work and I am sure that it is not far from the feeling Chagall sought when he compared his own work to a rock or a flower or his own hand.
People are like stained glass windows: they sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light within.
–Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
***************************
A number of years ago, I came across this quote from Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, the famed psychiatrist who pioneered the study of death and dying and introduced theFive Stages of Griefto us.
Her words really struck a chord, for the human aspect as well as for the parallel I drew from it for painting. Creating paintings that felt as though they were lit from within has long been an aspiration for me and I had never realized that there seemed to be connection between that desire and my personal desire to be a decent and caring person.
But her words kind of put those two things together in my mind. I began to see that my painting was a reflection of my aspirations. That might not seem like much of a revelation but it certainly felt like one when I first read those words. The work felt even more personal to me, more tied to my own character. I felt that if I could continue to work hard at my work I could apply the same sort of effort to being a positively charged person and hopefully the two would someday merge together. I don’t know if that’s good or bad but it became how I perceived what I was doing.
On the painting side, sometimes I hit close to my goal as far as feeling a painting is lit from within. The piece at the top, a new 12″ by 24″ canvas, is such an example. It just feels as though it has that inner glow I am seeking. It is titled, fittingly, Light Within.
The personal side will take a little longer. But this gives me some hope.
In the new June issue of American Art Collector, there’s a nice preview of my upcoming solo show, Native Voice, which is opening June 5 at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA.
Redtree Times 