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Posts Tagged ‘West End Gallery’

If Two Trees Fall in a Forest…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on February 14, 2026| Leave a Comment »

All Embracing– At West End Gallery

There must be some other possibility than death or lifelong penance … some meeting, some intersection of lines; and some cowardly, hopeful geometer in my brain tells me it is the angle at which two lines prop each other up, the leaning-together from the vertical which produces the false arch. For lack of a keystone, the false arch may be as much as one can expect in this life. Only the very lucky discover the keystone.

― Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose (1971)

The lines above from the 1972 Pulitzer Prize winning novel, Angle of Repose, from the late Wallace Stegner really jumped out at me this morning. To be honest, I haven’t read the book so can’t speak to its context. I read a summary that described its theme, described by its title, as a metaphor for finding balance between personal ambition and contentment. His description of this concept being like two vertical lines tipping together so that they meet and prop each other up to create a self-supporting false arch just seemed like the perfect imagery for today, Valentine’s Day.

Love, like every lasting relationship including the inner one we maintain between our hopes and reality, depends on this arch. I hesitate to use the word “false” though I understand it is in reference to the distinction between “true” and “false” arches.

“True” arches are carefully designed and slowly built, having angled stones and a keystone at its apex that sturdily binds it all together. It is built to last.  “False” arches that may have the appearance and serve the same purpose are more organic, not really designed or constructed so much as they just happen, often haphazardly and by sheer coincidence of time, place, and circumstance.

Two trees falling against one another in the forest, for example.

Or maybe even two trees that grow together and eventually seem almost as one, a la the trees in my Baucis and Philemon based paintings such as the example at the top.

I’ve been part of such a false arch for a very, very long time. As a result, Valentine’s Day takes on a different look for me. Though it still maintains a romantic aspect, it is now more about a deeper recognition and appreciation of all the many aspects that make up that tree that somehow fell my way all so many years ago to create the false arch that has somehow, often against all odds, survived.

Actually, I should say when my tree came to rest against the strength that is her tree.

Without that support, I would most certainly have fallen all the way to the forest floor.

Many times. I have always existed as a pretty precarious tree, after all. Even in my sapling days.

As the Stegner lines above point out, this type of false arch might be as much as one can expect in this life. I certainly couldn’t ask for anything more.

Here’s one of my favorite Rickie Lee Jones songs, one that seems fit for this day and post. This is We Belong Together, from her 1981 album, Pirates. Though this album was critically acclaimed when it came out, I don’t know how it has aged through the years or how it is viewed by a younger audience nowadays. I have always thought it as a classic, with its striking cover photo from the great French photographer Brassai who has been featured here before, and the many songs that have stuck with me for forty-five years now.

There’s an angle of repose in there somewhere…

This post ran several years ago. I rewrote it a bit, adding and subtracting here and there, but its sentiment holds true for this Valentine’s Day in this forest.

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A Good Kick in the Teeth

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on February 12, 2026| 1 Comment »

Dawn’s Return–At West End Gallery

 

All the adversity I’ve had in my life, all my troubles and obstacles, have strengthened me… You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.

–Walt Disney, The Story of Walt Disney (1957)

 

As someone who has had their teeth knocked out several times, literally and figuratively, I might want to disagree with Walt Disney here. But I get the gist of what he is saying. It is actually something that I have believed for a long time now, that we are strengthened by the obstacles and setbacks we face.

Once you know that you can bounce back from adversity it becomes easier to tackle whatever the next roadblock might be.

I am not going into a long spiel on the subject this morning. In the wake of yesterday’s Congressional hearing with the Attorney General, I was originally going to write about what is taking place in the country. It would have been long and angry.

But I just couldn’t do it this morning. Wanted to keep my blood pressure down a bit this morning. Writing a post about the many terrible things that are simultaneously taking place here would definitely shoot it sky high.

I would most likely end up looking like a Disney character whose head turns into a red-faced tea kettle with steam streaming out both ears.

Trying to stay away from getting into specifics that might trigger this tea kettle effect, I will point out that this current situation is our collective stumbling block right now.

It is a large and treacherous mountain placed in our path to the promise so many of us once saw and still see for this country. To get to the other side will require, as is the case when encountering any obstacle, a summoning of our collective strength and willpower.

It’s going to be difficult, but it is not an impossible task. Almost all obstacles can be overcome with diligence. tenacity, and well-considered action.

We’re going to lose a few teeth along the way. But take it from someone who knows, it will be worth the sacrifice in order to get over that mountain. It will make getting to the other side all the sweeter.

Here’s a song that very much sums up this thought. Here’s a rousing version of the gospel classic Lord Don’t Move That Mountain that was popularized by the great Mahalia Jackson in the late 1950’s. This is a performance from Jacob Lusk, who I featured recently with song performed with Moby, with Jools Holland on piano. I am throwing in Jacob’s great and fun version of Bennie and the Jets at the bottom for good measure. It took place at the 2024 Gershwin Prize for Popular Song concert honoring Elton John and Bernie Taupin.

The painting at the top, Dawn’s Return, doesn’t easily fit in here this morning. I just see a lot of things in it for myself and wanted to share it again.

Maybe its dawn is on the other side of the mountain?

Maybe.

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Right Place Wrong Time?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on February 11, 2026| 1 Comment »

Harmony in Blue and Green— At West End Gallery

 

Excellence is an art won by training and habituation: we do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but we rather have these because we have acted rightly; ‘these virtues are formed in man by his doing the actions‘; we are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit: ‘the good of man is a working of the soul in the way of excellence in a complete life… for as it is not one swallow or one fine day that makes a spring, so it is not one day or a short time that makes a man blessed and happy’.

–Will Durant, The Story of Philosophy (1926)

 

I recently came across the passage at the top from the esteemed historian/philosopher Will Durant. I was taken by hos words which very much aligned with one part of yesterday’s post that stated that we become what we say and do. Durant stressed the repetition required to create habit in our virtue and excellence.

Good stuff. Practical and applicable to most people. And the practice of becoming and being an artist. I’ve often felt that one of my strengths is my willingness– or perhaps it’s compulsion– to work. I would like to believe that this habit I have created shows itself in some small degree of excellence.

While reading the article that contained this passage from Durant, I noticed there was an attached note pointing out that the passage’s quoted phrase ‘these virtues are formed in man by his doing the actions were taken from the Nicomachean Ethics written by Aristotle around 350 B.C.E. I decided to investigate a bit further to see the context of Aristotle’s words. This further digging is now part of my writing habit. Not sure any excellence has come of it yet.

I was interested in what Aristotle wrote on this subject. My concise reading of the chapter containing the phrase above is that all art has a level of goodness contained within itself. This applies even if it is performed or created by those lacking goodness and virtue. The character of the work only becomes virtuous when the work is created with conscious intent by a virtuous artist of firm and unchanging character.

This made me wonder if the qualities that I sense in my work were the inherent goodness already present in it or did they reflect my character and whatever goodness I might have contributed to the work? Were my feelings I experienced from seeing the work I created actually part of the work? Or was any character and virtue the work possessed its alone?

This created quite a quandary in my mind. It made me think of a conversation I had with a good friend recently where I was briefly talking about the new work created in this past year, of which the piece at the top is an example. I was describing to my friend the disappointment I felt in the general reception to this work. I said that I saw something in the work from this time that felt as though it might one day be important and definitive in the larger context of my work.

Well, if there ever is such a thing as the larger context of my work. That’s out of my hands.

But I felt that this work was created with great intent and was truly reflective of my character and beliefs. It had a passion in it that was instantly apparent to me. It deserved to be created and seen.

Of course, that is my personal opinion. That can often be too close or biased in judging one’s own work. Maybe the passion and depth I sensed didn’t come through in the inherent goodness of the work? Or perhaps that which I perceived then as goodness and virtue is not that exactly? Maybe much less?

Or maybe what I was seeing was real and present in the work but was appearing in the wrong time and place?

I don’t know and may never know. That’s something you have to accept as an artist. You never know how your work, no matter how passionate you are about it, will be received. Now or in the future. You create on your own faith and belief in what you do, over and over again, with the hope that, as Durant points out, excellence will one day be achieved through this habituation.

You just do what you do and let the chips fall where they may. Now and in the future.

As I said, maybe the work was in the right place at the wrong time. Here’s the late and ever flamboyant Dr. John with a song that hits this nail on the head. This is a performance from the Midnight Special in 1973 of his Right Place Wrong Time with the Doc in full Night Tripper regalia.

A blast from the past. Well, my past, at least. You got your own past to work from, kids.

Now get out of here before I turn surly.

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No purpose but what we made…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on February 10, 2026| 1 Comment »

The Restless Seeker– At West End Gallery

No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.

— This is what was bequeathed us, Gregory Orr (b. 1947)

 

I posted the poem and its accompanying animation, shown at the bottom of the page, about five years ago. It was written by American poet Gregory Orr and the two lines above from it made me think about the nature of both meaning and purpose, both things that I discuss here on a fairly regular basis. I don’t know why it seems like such an important subject to me.

Maybe I am trying to find justification for my own existence and the work I do? Let’s leave that for another day and move on.

We often speak of finding meaning and purpose in our lives but is it something to be found? It seems as though that it would be a difficult task to find something when you have no idea what you’re seeking.

Perhaps the seeking truly begins when we form an image or loose definition, even if it is on a subconscious level, of what values we would want to appear as part of the meaning and purpose of our life, should we ever stumble upon it. Once there is this vague conception in our mind of our desired purpose, maybe we then begin to create it.

Maybe what we believe is seeking is actually more or less gathering those bit and pieces of whatever makes up our individual meaning and purpose then assembling them in a form that comes near in its representation of that vague conception deep in our mind.

Using the painting at the top, The Restless Seeker, as an analogy, perhaps the boat does not represent a search for purpose or meaning. Maybe the boat itself is purpose and meaning, something I have constructed in order to navigate my way through this life?

As always, I can’t say for sure. But it sounds good at the moment.

The idea that our thoughts and desires form what we become is not a new idea, of course. It harkens back at least to the Buddha when he is believed to have stated:

The thought manifests as the word;

The word manifests as the deed;

The deed develops into habit;

And habit hardens into character;

So watch the thought and its ways with care,

And let it spring from love

Born out of concern for all beings…

As the shadow follows the body,

As we think, so we become.

Or to put it more concisely: Garbage in, garbage out.

As I wrote above, we structure our desired purpose on our own values. They might be traits we have observed and admired in others. Or on the set of morals and ethics we have developed, some handed down to us from our upbringing, and some obtained through our earliest experiences.

Perhaps some are even things we find lacking in ourselves and in the world around us?

I don’t know. Obviously.

It’s a difficult thing on which to put a single definition, especially before six in the morning. Even more difficult since every life has its own distinct meaning and purpose. My purpose and meaning is not yours and vice versa.

One size does not fit all.

As it should be.

I am just blabbing on in all directions at this point. Maybe that’s my purpose? Sounds about right…

Let’s end this with the poem and animated reading from Gregory Orr.

This is what was bequeathed us

This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.

No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.

No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.

No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.

That, and the beloved’s clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.

–Gregory Orr (b. 1947)

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Pimples

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Moment of Pride— At West End Gallery

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.
It is easy to display a wound, the proud scars of combat. It is hard to show a pimple.

–Leonard Cohen, The Favorite Game (1963)

I am not sure why I chose this passage from a Leonard Cohen novel to pair with this painting, Moment of Pride. Maybe it is because I just discovered, even though I have been a fan of his music for a very long time now, that Cohen had been a poet and novelist for ten years before finding his way into the world of music.

During that time in the 1950s up through the mid 60’s, he experienced a variety of ups and downs with varying degrees of success, as is the case with any artist. But he did have quite a bit of acclaim. In fact, in 1966, a critic for the Boston Globe in a review for his novel Beautiful Losers compared him favorably with James Joyce. There was even a 1965 film, Ladies and Gentlemen… Mr. Leonard Cohen, produced by the National Film Board of Canada on the work and life of the author/poet, a couple of years before he set out for what was to be a legendary career as a singer/songwriter.

I was kind of surprised that I didn’t know this upon discovering it this morning. Adds a layer of interest to what was already an interesting and unique figure in the world of music. Coincidentally, a song of his just came on the station I listen to each morning.

But it was his words on a pimple that struck me and how we proudly display our wounds and scars but try our best to conceal our natural flaws., often viewing them with shame, fearing that we will be somehow judged on them. This observation resonated me personally, as it probably does for most of you, as well.

Been there. Done that.

As with everything, I immediately equated it with my work. After all, I do think of each piece as having a life of its own and like all living things, each has its fair share of imperfections. When I first began to paint, I viewed these little flaws in much the same way that each of us does our flaws, trying to hide them. To somehow deny that they were present and part of the painting.

But time taught me that these little flaws and glitches were the thing that made them unique, that gave them depth of flavor, to use a culinary term. After a while I began to celebrate these pimples in my work. Don’t get me wrong here. I don’t try to create them nor are they planned beforehand. It’s just that I know that sometimes burst through the surface, like pimples do, but do nothing to detract from what is beautiful in the painting.

If anything, they validate its humanity.

How this applies to this painting is kind of circumspect. Oh, it has little flaws throughout. I am sure I can find plenty if I want to concentrate on them. I like this piece as it is, no matter how many little blips I could find.

How it came about might apply. I don’t know, maybe it doesn’t. No matter. Consider this a pimple in this blog, okay? A couple of years ago, some friends and their daughter stopped in and I gave them a quick tour of the studio, something I seldom do. While they were here, I gave them a quick demo of my wet painting style. I opened the container of some sepia ink and its stench filled the space.

There’s a longer story about the ink but the short one is that I have been working off of a number of 5-gallon pails of ink for about the last 17 years now. Some have organic elements that cause them to almost ferment in the buckets. The black and sepia are most susceptible to this. When I open these buckets there is often a skim of mold on the top of the ink and along with it, a pungent stink that hits you in the face like a punch.

It’s not quite so bad when I open the smaller containers in which I keep the ink for use on my painting table but it still bites pretty hard sometimes. On this occasion it was enough that it caused their teenage daughter to immediately run from the room in revulsion. Laughing a bit, I proceeded to paint the top block of color as Ebba, the daughter, watched from a considerable distance. It started with sepia which I then diluted. I then removed most of the sepia and replaced it with a red that I washed down to the shade you see.

That ended the demo for that day. I set this little block of color aside for a long time, always chuckling at Ebba’s response to the smell of the sepia whenever I would pull it out to consider it. I didn’t know if it would ever be another other than an anecdote.

But there was some latent potential in it that spoke to me. Something well beyond a mere anecdote, though that is part of it now. I think it was the idea that the many elements that go into creating beauty often seem less than beautiful in themselves.

That is where the title, Moment of Pride, came from. The fact that it takes effort and stink, sweat and sometimes blood, to create something that transcends its parts and its inherent flaws is a point of pride for me. I sometimes stand in front of a piece, unshaven and unwashed in grubby, paint-covered clothes with the stench of acrid paint in the air and feel a sense of awe for what I am seeing. I sometimes wonder how something possessing even a small degree of such beauty can come from such a person as I. How can such a thing seem to dispel all my flaws, hide all my pimples?

I don’t really know. And to be honest, I don’t really care. So long as it keeps me with that small sense of pride and awe, I will live and die a happy man. Pimples and all.

Amen.

This piece, by the way, is included in the Little Gems show opening tonight at the West End Gallery. The Opening Reception is from 5-7 PM.

I guess we should have a Leonard Cohen song, right?  The natural pick is Anthem, a song that I have shared here a few times. Let’s go with that. This is a live version from 2008 which opens with Cohen speaking the song’s famous lyrics which applies to this post: Ring the bells that still can ring / Forget your perfect offering / There is a crack, a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in

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Wondering Why

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on February 5, 2026| Leave a Comment »

Blue Moon Rising– At West End Gallery

I have no doubts that our thinking goes on for the most part without use of signs (words) and beyond that to a considerable degree unconsciously. For how, otherwise, should it happen that sometimes we “wonder” quite spontaneously about some experience? This “wondering” seems to occur when an experience comes into conflict with a world of concepts which is already sufficiently fixed in us. Whenever such a conflict is experienced hard and intensively it reacts back upon our thought world in a decisive way. The development of this thought world is in a certain sense a continuous flight from “wonder.”

A wonder of such nature I experienced as a child of 4 or 5 years, when my father showed me a compass. That this needle behaved in such a determined way did not at all fit into the nature of events, which could find a place in the unconscious world of concepts (effect connected with direct “touch”). I can still remember—or at least believe I can remember—that this experience made a deep and lasting impression upon me. Something deeply hidden had to be behind things. What man sees before him from infancy causes no reaction of this kind; he is not surprised over the falling of bodies, concerning wind and rain, nor concerning the moon or about the fact that the moon does not fall down, nor concerning the differences between living and non-living matter.

–Albert Einstein, Autobiographical Notes (1949)

This passage from Albert Einstein seemed to fit well with what I see in this new painting, Blue Moon Rising, as well as an observation that has been on my mind for some time. It is about our sense of wonder. Or should I say, our sometimes lack of wonder.

Einstein writes about some events in his early life that upset his view of the world in some way, that went against what he felt he knew and believed at that point. Instead of simply accepting this new view, it instead awakened a sense of wonder in him. He goes on to say that without this sense of wonder, we begin to accept whatever appears before our eyes without thought or question.

It’s the equivalent of sleepwalking through life. The great wonder of this world and our place in it is simply taken for granted and largely ignored. Unseeing and unquestioning, we become inured to both the beauty and ugliness of this world. We lose the ability to be emotionally connected to the world around us, to feel, to love, to care for others.

It is our sense of wonder that is the basis for all compassion and grace. And it is a lack of this that creates all ignorance and cruelty.

Asking a question out of wonderment often has a unifying effect for us to whatever or whoever the question is directed. It sometimes feels that we have become a society based on statements of belief that are devoid of that sense of wonder. It feels like we don’t ask many questions of others nowadays. We say what we think we need to say and just accept what others say or present to us. No sense of wonder about the other person is ever created and, as a result, our connection to them is tenuous at best.

I see this scenario in this painting, Blue Moon Rising. I see it as the Red Tree observing the unusual Blue Moon rising. It alone questions the why of it all while its neighbors in the houses around it remain locked away. Unseeing and unquestioning. The colors in the Blue Moon and the Red Tree, for me, symbolize the connection created by the Red Tree’s observation and wonderment. The very questioning of why the rising moon is blue creates a connection to it.

Of course, that is only how I see it. Like all art, you will see it in your own way, with all that you bring to it.

Hopefully, you will bring your own sense of wonder.

Here’s a song from the Red Clay Strays that is kind of about this sense of wondering, except in a very specific way. Called Wondering Why, it’s about wondering why someone loves us in the way they do. Given all our faults, that’s a good question.

 Blue Moon Rising (6″by 12″ on canvas) is included in the Little Gems show at the West End Gallery that has an Opening Reception tomorrow, Friday, February 6, running from 5-7 PM.

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Odd Bodkins Blue Sky…

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on February 3, 2026| 2 Comments »

Odd Bodkins Blue Sky– At West End Gallery

And where are the dreams I dreamed
In the days of my youth?
They took me to illusion when they
Promised me the truth
And what do sleepers need to make them listen,
Why do they need more proof?
This is a strange, this is a strange affair

—Richard Thompson, Strange Affair (1978)

This is another of the small early paintings that I have released from their captivity. This one carries a memorable title, Odd Bodkins Blue Sky. which in itself indicates that it is a favorite of mine. It was painted in August of 1994 and it is being shown at the West End Gallery as part of the annual Little Gems show that opens on Friday.

It’s a piece that has always elicits an approving reaction those many times I’ve looked at it over the years. It makes me both happy and slightly regretful. I get a lot of joy from the painting itself but there’s just something in it that makes me wonder what might have been if I had followed the path that it promised me.

And it seemed to promise a lot.

It has a sort of organic abstraction that gives only hints of a narrative. It gives no answers but instead raises many questions. What is that red patch in the upper foreground? Are those clumps of grass? Is this even a landscape or something else altogether? What is the significance of the blocks of blue and violet making up the sky?

I, of course, can’t answer these questions for anyone but myself. And I am not sure I can fully answer them for myself. This enigmatic quality think that is part of this piece’s appeals for me.

Another part of that I am particularly drawn to is the organic feel of its forms and lines. It has the feel of a living thing, if that makes any sense. One part of it that gives me great pleasure comes in the line between the two green forms that make up the foreground. You might not be able to see this unless you zoom in to the image, but there are little flecks of white from the underlying paper. I don’t know why they give me such joy but they do. It’s a tiny aspect of this painting but for me, it makes the whole piece resonate.

It’s a strange little piece in many ways. And that is also part of its appeal.

A special child whose oddness is its gift to the world.

Odd bodkins, by the way, is an old English exclamation that comes from the Middle Ages. It was a way of swearing without actually blaspheming. If you yell Gosh darn it! after you hit your thumb with a hammer now, you might have yelled Odd bodkins! if you did the same thing in England a thousand years ago. How this applies to this painting, I have not a clue except that it kind of points out its strangeness.

Speaking of strange things, here’s a favorite song that, much to my surprise, I discover that I haven’t shared since early 2016. This is the great Richard Thompson song, Strange Affair, performed beautifully by June Tabor, accompanied by another of my favorites, Martin Simpson, on guitar. Tabor’s smoky voice makes this a memorable interpretation.

 

A quick note: The Opening Reception for the Little Gems show at the West End Gallery is this Friday, February 6, from 5-7 PM.

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A Look Back: Into the Valley

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on February 2, 2026| 1 Comment »

 

 

Into the Valley (1995) – At West End Gallery

There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.

–Charles Dickens, David Copperfield (1850)

 The painting at the top is another early piece that is going to be included in the Little Gems exhibit opening at the West End Gallery this coming Friday, February 6. This painting, Into the Valley, has a direct connection to the Little Gems show of 1995, which was the first such exhibit for the gallery as well as the first public showing of my work.

Painted on February 4, 1995, this was the first work produced after I had attended the opening of the show the night before, on February 3. In the painting diary I kept at the time there was no mention of the night before. I was a bit surprised that there was no mention of the opening since it had an immediate effect on me. But after looking at the diary a little more, I wasn’t so surprised. It included mainly simple direct information about each piece such as the date, title, the type of paper used (I was working solely on paper at that point), and some notes on the piece. These notes sometimes pertained to the paints I was using as well as my first impressions of the painting.

Here’s the entry for this painting what will be from 31 years ago in just two days:

Lovely piece, good greens, interesting sky and eye-intriguing shape. I like it, at this moment. Fabriano is exquisite.

It’s a short entry but it gives me a world of pertinent info. Mainly, it tells me that my first impression of it was very positive, but I wasn’t totally confident in my own opinion of it. Some things never change. It was this hesitation in my judgment that probably kept this painting in a box for the past three decades.

My first impression of Into the Valley as I wrote then was right on the money. It is a lovely piece. It does have good greens and its sky is interesting and its shapes are eye-intriguing. And the Fabriano paper that I was just working with for the first time around then was and is exquisite.

Looking at it now, I realize that I made a mistake in not freeing this little guy long ago. I hope that it gets to have a long life of the appreciation it due.

A little side note. I stopped using this painting diary at the end of 1995. My entries for the time after that are regrettably even less informational. But I am thrilled in having these notes for the earliest works. Reading recently, I noticed that I seldom went beyond this terse format in my painting diary.  One interesting except was an entry a few weeks before I painted Into the Valley.

It came on January 17, 1995. I don’t remember much about the painting from this entry except that it was renamed Teasdale which I remember did find a new home later in the year. I don’t think I even have an image of that painting or, if I do, it is lost in a jumble of poorly shot slides from that time.

But the painting is not the interesting thing here for me.

More importantly, this short entry came from the day I took my work stuffed willy nilly into man old blue milk carton out to the West End Gallery. That was the day when all kinds of new horizons opened for me that I hadn’t even dared to imagine before that day. Here’s what I wrote after that meeting with Tom and Linda Gardner at the West End:

A good day… I floated all day. It now seems like such a restrained understatement for what I was feeling on that day and for what it came to mean for my future.

This probably gives you an idea why I have such deep appreciation and fond feelings about the Little Gems show. It is an integral part of my career, the point of departure for my artistic path. Without that day in January back in 1995 and that first opening a few weeks later, I have no idea where I might be now. The only thing I can say for certain is that I could not be any more content wherever I might have ended up.

When I see new artists, especially the younger ones, show for the first time at the West End, or any gallery for that matter, I look at them closely, knowing how excited and hopeful they must be. I can only hope they use the opportunity to find a path forward that is as satisfying for themselves as mine has been for me.

I’ve said it before, but I owe so much to Tom and Linda Gardner for that opportunity, that good day back in January of 1995.  Thank you, Linda. Thank you, Tom. Thanks to you both, I still find myself floating.

The 32nd annual Little Gems opens Friday, February 6, 2026, with an Opening Reception that runs from 5-7:30 PM.  Hope to see you there.

 

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Maintaining Balance

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on February 1, 2026| 6 Comments »

Maintaining Balance— At West End Gallery

Silence has many dimensions. It can be a regression and an escape, a loss of self, or it can be presence, awareness, unification, self-discovery. Negative silence blurs and confuses our identity, and we lapse into daydreams or diffuse anxieties. Positive silence pulls us together and makes us realize who we are, who we might be, and the distance between these two.

–Thomas Merton, Love and Living (1979)

I’ve had this passage from the late Trappist monk/poet/author Thomas Merton rolling around in my head for a while now. Silence and quiet have been themes in my work for a long time for a good reason. I have found peace and understanding at times in silence, in stilling my mind and just trying to be where and what I am at the moment.

It’s a good place to be.

On the other hand, I have also known the negative silences of which Merton writes. There is silence but not emptiness nor stillness–important distinctions. Even in this silence, there are things– worries, fears, regrets, grievances, despairs, etc.– occupying the space and in constant motion. They distract the mind and take its focus off its silence. The mind darts through the mind space from each of these things to the next.

The desired stillness is lost in what seems to be a cacophony of motion.

I don’t know that you can totally eradicate these negative silences. They are insidious, always ready to jump back onstage and do their little silent song and dance. Maybe you can if you’re monk or a total hermit far removed from the world in all ways.

I am neither of those nor are most folks.

I guess the best we can hope for is to keep trying to find silence and stillness when it is most needed. To not fall prey to the lures of the negative silences. To drop the curtain on them when they start their little act.

And to make the most of those times when we find ourselves in that positive silence. To heal. To appreciate. To be.

It’s easy to write this. Much harder to accomplish. I always felt that if I have many more moments in the positive silent space than in the chaotic negative space, I am doing okay. I’ve been doing this delicate balancing act for a long time now and it’s always difficult to maintain. But it has become get easier. As it is with anything, rehearsal, practice, and repetition are the key to getting where you want to go.

I don’t know that this makes any sense this morning to anyone outside the space in my head. I’d be surprised and glad if it does and can only say sorry if it doesn’t. Don’t want to waste your time.

In the spirit of saving time, let’s move on. The image at the top is of a new piece, Maintaining Balance, a 6″ by 12″ painting on canvas. Just a little bigger than a true Little Gem, it is now at the West End Gallery whose Little Gems show opens this coming Friday. I had the Merton passage in mind when I was painting and titling this piece.

For this Sunday Morning Music, I am going with a song originally sung by Dick Van Dyke in the 1968 movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. It was written by the Sherman Brothers who produced more motion picture song scores than any other songwriting team in film history, including the many memorable songs from Mary Poppins and The Jungle Book. This performance is from a favorite of mine, Lisa Hannigan, and British musician Richard Hawley.

Just a lovely stillness and delicacy. Just what’s needed to maintain balance…

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Let Me Be

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on January 31, 2026| 1 Comment »

Let Me Be— Now at West End Gallery

Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.

 -Helen Keller, The World I Live In (1908)

Really tired this morning. I think the hormone therapy is finally catching up with me a bit as my fatigue has increased a lot in the past couple of weeks. Still not terrible, not yet up to the fatigue I suffered last summer with the undiagnosed anaplasmosis. That kicked my butt in several different directions.

Even though I am tired, I already wrote a post this morning. However, it felt too personal, too exposing. That may surprise some of you since I seldom hesitate with openness or transparency. But I think my physical weariness made me a little more protective of my private domain this morning.

Made me want to withdraw a bit.

Which coincidentally and fortuitously might pertain to the new painting at the top. It’s called Let Me Be. It’s a 6″ by 8″ painting on canvas that is part of the Little Gems show that opens this coming Friday at the West End Gallery.

Its title and the feel of wanting to be left alone that I take from it suit me this morning. Well, most of the time actually.

There’s a lot more to say about this painting and what I see and feel in it. It has a lot to say. But this morning I am going to let it speak for itself.

If it speaks to you, great. If not, that’s great as well. I am on my little quiet island. I can’t trouble my mind with such concerns this morning.

Here’s song from Rising Appalachia that fits the feel and tone of the morning for me. This is Silver.

Listen but don’t linger. The boat is leaving to take you back to shore. You better catch it now. Otherwise, you’ll be swimming back. Only room for me here this morning.

Now get on the damn boat.

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