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Posts Tagged ‘Red Tree’

Only Now

This is a very new painting, a 24″ by 30 canvas that I call Only Now.  I fee lthat  this is a piece that very much is representative of my larger body of work.  It has my easily recognizable Red Tree, fields of deep colors in the foreground and the white of the gesso underneath breaking through the paint above to create trails and the far horizon. 

 But it also carries, at least in how I view it,  the emotional tone that I think best represents my work.  A sense of being calmly in the moment, taking in the stillness of the paused now.  That sense of being in the now is from where the title emerges.  I see the tree personified as being paused and taking the richness of all that is around it at the moment, not spending too much time worrying about what is in the future, represented here by the paler distant fields and hills at the horizon, or the past, which is somewhere back along the white trail that breaks into the lower portion of the picture plane. 

No past or future in that instance, only the now.

I think the cool clarity of the color here, particularly in the graded tones of the sky, really gives this piece a sense of the ethereal that really enhances the message of the now.   Looking at this painting as it rests on the easel now, it takes me far away to a palce of great inner calm.  It’s not a feeling that I often sense in my own life.  Probably most of us don’t feel that often enough.  But this piece seems to give me a sort of roadmap to this  place of calm.  Or at least it gives me the knowledge that it can exist, if only in the mind.

And that is all I can ask.

 

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I’ve been continuing this recent series of  patterned  landscapes, most on paper,  in the studio the past few weeks, falling into a very nice rhythm as I proceed.  This is a recent completion, an 18″ by 25″ image on paper, that has the Red Tree as the central figure in a quiet but bright composition.  The patterned fields of the landscape, like many of the paintings in this series, takes up about half of the composition, solidly built as a foundation to hold up the breaking sky above.

I’m still thinking about what to call this piece.  There is a sense of the idyllic in the scene, hunkered away safely from the intruding fingers of the greater world.  I suppose that’s why I find this work so satisfying as I paint.  There’s a comforting aspect in this work for me.  Soothing. Pacifying.

There’s also a simplicity in it but I would not call it naive.  I have a feeling that while this is an idealization and the landscape portrays the comfortable and safe, there is also an awareness of the world outside.  As though the Red Tree is cognizant of its good fortune in being rooted in this tranquil place.  Perhaps that should be its title- Good Fortune.

Let me think on that…

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GC Myers - The Past Returns

 

It’s the first day of May and I’m entering the stretch run in my preparations for my upcoming June show at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria.  The body of work is starting to take real shape and I’m getting a feel for how it will hang together during the show.  Themes emerge.

This year, I am devoting part of the show to work that is a return to my earlier work, painted in more transparent layers and more subdued tones of color. 

The piece shown here is indicative of this work.  I call this piece The Past Returns and it is 18″ by 18″ on treated cotton rag paper.  This piece to me is very much an homage to the first Red Tree paintings in color and form. 

This piece even has the visible spew line at the upper left corner where the liquid paint sometimes breaks free as I’m working it and rushes out of the picture plane.  I remember an older gentleman approaching me at an early show and pointing out this feature on my painting.  He told me how much he liked the spew lines, a term I had never heard.  He explained that he had worked in a foundry and that was their term for the excess metal that broke free of the mold.  I liked that and have called them spew lines since then.  I haven’t shown spew lines for some time, choosing to scrub and paint them out.  But seeing this one brought back the feeling of those earlier pieces and gave it an organic feel, exposing more of the process.  It had to stay.

Sometimes the past returns and it is a good thing…

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I call this recently finished piece Between Worlds.  It’s a 12″ by 24″ canvas and contains several of the elements I often use in my work.  The omnipresent red tree.  The simple red roofed house without window or door.  The patterned patchwork of the fields.  The curling path leading into the landscape.

I like the feel of this piece.  I find a great calmness and comfort in the colors of the sky even though it appears to be composed of chaos in the form of the short, choppy strokes used.  The fields below have a greater formality and order, a different sort of calmness than the sky above.  This is what brought the title to mind.

I see the orderliness of the fields and the the chaos of the sky as one might view the two side of the brain.  The sky is the creative side; the fields the logical, more rational side.  The sky is intuitive, emotional.  The fields are based in empiricism, fact.  The house denotes  the security of residing in this orderly landscape, of living in a world of fact and logic.

The tree, however, lives in both worlds.  It is rooted in the earth, the soil of logic yet grows toward the free-moving sky.  Unlike the straight and stoic lines of the house, the tree is organic and reactive as it grows, always adjusting to support itself and growing towards that which nurtures.

It is between worlds.

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9909-234  Wind of History smallThis is a new painting that is titled Wind of History, part of my next solo show at the West End Gallery.  The show, Dispatches, begins next Friday, July 24, with an opening running from 5-7:30 PM.

This is a very striking piece, one that demands immediate attention.  It has a lot of different aspects that all contribute to the overall impact.  It has a very graphic quality in the strong color and the way the multiple  layers below stack together.  There’s also great visual interest in the sky’s texture, which may not show very well in the image here.  The stones below the surface echo the light of the sun (or is it a moon?) in this sky. 

Adding to this is the motion in the trees with the central figure, the Red Tree, astride a hillock.  There is motion in the strata below as well which gives the impression of them being a part of a wave under the ground’s surface.  The Red Tree seems to ride this wave.

There’s a lot about this piece that I like.  For me, the Archaeology-like paintings are more about abstraction that the final painting’s representation.  By that, I mean, when I start a piece like this I have little or no idea where it’s going.  The piece builds from the bottom, in the layers.  As I paint them, there is little thought to what will be above.  It’s, as I said, very abstract at this point, all about color and shape and how each bit relates to the other.  One layer dictates how the next will form.  It’s an interesting time in the painting of the piece.

I think all of the elements in this painting come together very well, creating a unity that I think translates really well.  It has a powerful feel, at least in my eyes.  I hope it comes across to others as well.

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Principle Gallery Show 2009This is a new piece that I recently completed.  It’s one of the  pieces that will be included in my upcoming show at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA which opens June 12.  This will be my tenth show at the Principle and we are calling this show Redtree Redux: Ten Years Along, which echoes the title of my first show there in 2000, Redtree.          

This piece, still untitled, really strikes me at the moment.  It’s kind of where where I envisioned my work going when I was still working on that first show ten years back.  It has the quiet I want my work to have along with a dramatic contrast as seen in the sky.  There is a path that enters the picture plane and seems to end or disappear, enigmatically.  I find myself liking that little question that is raised by the path.

There’s also an austerity in the landscape that speaks to me and gives me that feeling of being awash in the air and light of a wide open space.  The absence of other trees or structures gives the central figure added prominence.  

I am still taking in this painting and still figuring out what I’m seeing in it beyond the immediate visceral impact.  It’s this reading-the-tea-leaves moment that I really enjoy most in the process.  When I’m starting a piece I’m not sure what’s going to emerge and as it proceeds there are still moments when the painting’s final appearance and feel  are still subject to decisions to come.  But when it has reached that feeling of completion, that point when I sense a certain rightness, it has left my hands or mind and takes on a new dimension of its own, having its own momentum and life.  It’s at this point that I get to look at it with different eyes and in that there is a certain fulfillment and satisfaction.  

So I’ll periodically look at this piece over the weeks ahead and continue to absorb it before it leaves my hands for what will probably be the final time in June.  And that’s okay because I will have received what I need from it in that time and it will better serve someone else in a new environment, hopefully giving them the same feelings that struck me.

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Setting a Path

9908-172-finding-answersFor ten years I walked up the road through the woods to my old studio.  It was a logging road from the two or so times the forest had been harvested over several decades and ran along a run-off creek that dries up most summers.  There were two visible tracks from the tires of vehicles that had climbed the gentle rise over the years and as the years passed, another track formed between them.

This was the path I walked several times a day, up and down the hill.  At first I thought nothing of it.  It was simply a path.  But over the years I began to notice things about it. I could walk the path in the absolute black of night with no problem, each step falling in a natural way directly to this path.   If I tried to walk off the path it seemed unnatural and required a degree of attention to my stride so I wouldn’t stumble.

I came to realize that my trail was the path of least resistance.  It was the path that carried me with the least effort.  Each step fell naturally in place, accounting for the slightest change in the topography and had the same effect as water flowing down a creek.

I began to notice that the trails formed by deer and other animals were  the same.  When I followed them, they would move slightly in one direction or the other, just when your stride wanted to shift naturally and simply from gravity.  There was the same sense of rightness I talk about in my painting.  They never veer drastically, always in smooth, subtle curves.  They would always  run along the grade as though were the elevation lines on a topographical map.  Following them required little effort or thought.

Going off the path was a different matter.  It took thought, concentration and effort.  There were new obstacles to overcome.  Branches that crossed the path, blocking your view ahead and slapped the side of your head.  Downed trees that had to be climbed over.  Roots that rose through the dirt and tripped you.  It was real work.

I guess herein lies the point.  If I wanted to go where others had went before me, I could follow their trail. This would be the simple and logical way.  But if I wanted to go to a different place, one that was fresher and less visited, I might have to set my own path.  It wouldn’t be easy.  It would require more effort, more thought and the risk of not finding my way.  But if I forged ahead and found my way, there would be a new, hard won  discovery and the sense of accomplishment that comes with it.

I could blather on a little more but I think my little lesson learned from the land (nice alliteration, eh?) has come to an end.  We all choose our paths.  Some take the easier trail.  Some blaze new trails.  And some go into the woods and never come out…

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Legendary HeartThis is a painting from a few years back that always sticks in my memory.  There are many things I like about this piece, many things which I think make it notable but the part that sticks most with me is its title. It’s  Legendary Heart.

I suppose the title visually came from the shape of the tree’s crown or maybe it was something in the atmosphere of the piece that suggested the name.  I’m not sure exactly except to say that I have always seen something quite heroic in this piece.

What do I mean by that?  What is heroic?

Oh, it’s easy to define heroism in terms of combat or competition, the obvious examples for displays of courage and bravery.   Soldiers racing forward through a hail of bullets to capture an enemy, a fireman climbing into a burning building to rescue a child or even a competitor fighting through injury to bring their team victory– all are truly heroic.

To me however, this piece speaks to the root form of heroism,  the element that defines all heroism, from the most glorious to the most mundane  everyday variety that often  goes unnoticed.  

I’m talking about self-sacrifice.

Heroism is the giving of  yourself to and for others.  Whether it’s a soldier or rescuer risking their safety so that others may be saved, a parent putting aside their own self interests for the benefit of their children or person who sacrifices their time  and  fortune for the betterment of those who truly need their help– all are heroic in terms of self-sacrifice.  Heroism is not about amassing accolades or wealth.  It’s about amassing a wealth of spirit and that that can only be achieved, paradoxically, through giving, not taking.  It’s about shedding the greed and meanness of spirit that dwells deep within us, side by side with our sense of charity and courage, in some cases pushing aside these better traits and overtaking our characters.  We are living in a time where this has happened all too often.

The heroic is in compassion and empathy, not in domination of any sort.  It is in having the courage to let the better parts of our character shine.  

We could all use a little of this courage.  I think many of us are always on a sort of hero’s journey, trying to find this bit of good while fighting back our baser demons.  Occasionally, even momentarily, it appears to us and we feel nourished, strengthened  enough to continue forward.

That’s what I see when I look at this painting.  Oh, it’s a striking image but it’s the message that I glean from it that makes it stand out and whenever I see this painting, on a computer screen or in my mind, I am reminded to keep moving forward.

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Edward Hopper NighthawksWhenever I see an Edward Hopper painting I feel a bond with him, as though he were a kindred spirit in a world full of alienation.  There is always a great sense of distance in his paintings.

Aloofness.  A disengagement of sorts from the wider world.  Even in his cityscapes, one feels as though they are miles away from anyone else.

I suppose this disengagement may be the reason I and many others choose to communicate in paint.  With few exceptions, I have seldom felt inclusion in many groups of people,  always feeling a bit like an outsider.  And while I have actually become comfortable in this position, always bearing a sort of suspicion toward groups or cliques, the need to be heard drives my painting.  

Even in a world of alienation, one wants to have their say.

In my paintings, I sometimes see this aloofness in my red tree and the way it is often portrayed as a single figure in a large space.  Sometimes the pieces reflect a celebration of the self and self-reliance but sometimes there is this sense of a Hopper-like alienation.  The solitary character just wanting to be heard.

I don’t see this as being a sad portrayal.  There’s much more I could say on this but I think that’s enough for the moment.  Here’s a song from the great Hank Williams that kind of speaks to this subject.  It’s Lost Highway, a song that is, for me, one of the most transcendent songs Hank ever recorded, a song with a spirit that feels new and alive even today, even with its early ’50’s production values.

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And the World Goes On

And the World Goes OnThis is a piece from a few years back, And the World Goes On, that always strikes me when I come across it in  my files.  It has all the elements that I’m looking for in my own work-  strong saturated color, evident texture, a sense of rhythm and flow.

It has some of my favorite icons.  It uses the red tree, of course, but it is two entwined trees, something that most see in my paintings as symbolic of love or partnership.  It also has the filed rows in the foreground, a symbol for either  the value of labor or the flow of time, depending on where the viewer stands in their own life.

Of course, it could just be a couple of red trees in a field.

And that’s okay…

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