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Posts Tagged ‘West End Gallery’

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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The Juncture

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on January 30, 2026| 4 Comments »

The Juncture— At West End Gallery

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing which stands in the way… As a man is, so he sees.

–William Blake (1757–1827), 1799 letter to Dr. John Trusler

Ot it could be a red thing, right?

I would like to think that Blake would be okay with red trees. He was someone who definitely marched to his own drum in his time, never compromising his artistic vision to suit anyone other than himself. He willingly paid the price for choosing to maintain the integrity of his work, dying a pauper.

Such choices are not the sole province of artists. We all face similar choices in our lives about love, family, friends, work, and so on. Our lives are built on the decisions we make when faced with such choices. Some of our choices have huge and obvious consequences but even the smallest decision has some bearing on where we eventually end up and who we become.

To me, this new small painting, The Juncture, represents such a choice.  The path brings us to a fork in the road. We can see a bit ahead where one path will lead us. It seems safer and even bends back towards us. The other veers off and over the mound, giving away few hints to where it might take us. One is safe and one entails the risk of the unknown.

There is no telling if it will end up being a big or small choice. You often don’t know at the time you decide. Choices can sometimes hide or mask their eventual importance and, as a result, we end up taking them too lightly I think that’s why we make so many decisions.

Some may see the Red Tree here as just something to rush by, much like those who according to Blake see trees as something merely standing in the way. In my mind, the Red Tree here is advocating for taking that risk, for pushing ahead to the new unknown. I see it as a knowing guide, letting you know that it can see further ahead than you and that it can be okay– if you commit fully to that path.

That unknown path is not for the squeamish or those require absolute comfort and security. The unknown path has other rewards.

William Blake understood this.

This is a simply constructed painting but its colors the relationship of its forms make it seem bigger and more complex. It makes it feel like makes a statement even though it is smaller and spare in detail.

Well, that’s how I see it but, of course, I am more than a little biased.

This piece, 6″ by 8″ on canvas, is included in the Little Gems exhibit at the West End Gallery, opening one week from today, on Friday February 6.

Here’s a song from Ray LaMontaigne that may or may not mesh with the other part so this post. Actually, it just came up on my playlist as I finished that last paragraph. It’s a song that I have liked for a while and it felt right in the moment. Even its title feels right– Highway to the Sun. And its chorus below could easily be applied to this painting, representing why one might decide to take that unknown path.

I just wanna wake upUnderneath that open skyJust wanna feel something realBefore I die

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Be Ignited, Or Be Gone

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on January 29, 2026| 4 Comments »

Burning Bright— Now at West End Gallery

Meditation is old and honorable, so why should I
not sit, every morning of my life, on the hillside,
looking into the shining world? Because, properly
attended to, delight, as well as havoc, is suggestion.
Can one be passionate about the just, the
ideal, the sublime, and the holy, and yet commit
to no labor in its cause? I don’t think so.

All summations have a beginning, all effect has a
story, all kindness begins with the sown seed.
Thought buds toward radiance. The gospel of
light is the crossroads of — indolence, or action.

Be ignited, or be gone.

—Mary Oliver, What I Have Learned So Far (1999)

Be ignited, or be gone,,,

For me, this means that our dreams and desires require action. Our wishes and words have the power to manifest themself but only if we follow through and make it so.

The fire might be ignited in our mind, but it must be tended and stoked for it to come to full flame. Otherwise, it flickers and dies eventually.

Tend your fire. Let it burn bright.

The idea of letting your flame burn bright for all to see is easy to say but is a difficult task for most folks. There’s a risk involved that is daunting to most. First and foremost is failure. The fear that your dream’s flame could be forever extinguished keeps most folks from ever lighting it. It seems easier and safer to just keep the possibility of it alive in your mind.

But that is like taking the potential blaze held in a pack of matches and throwing them in a drawer where they will soon be forgotten.

They are your matches, your fire. They want to burn. Let them burn bright.

I thought this Mary Oliver poem was a good match for the new painting above, Burning Bright. Though it is slightly bigger than a Little Gem at 10″ by 10″ on wood panel, it made its way to the West End Gallery ahead of their annual Little Gems exhibit opening next Friday, February 6.

This feels somewhat incomplete and I am sure I could edit this better or add more context but, hey, you get what you pay for here. It might not be much, but it keeps my flame alive.

Let’s have a song to fill out the triad. Here’s the great Leonard Cohen with a live performance from 2008 of his Who By Fire. I feel warmer already on this cold morning.

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The Choir Disbands Thursday

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on November 11, 2025| 3 Comments »

The Passing Parade— At the West End Gallery

One never finishes learning about art. There are always new things to discover. Great works of art seem to look different every time one stands before them. They seem to be as inexhaustible and unpredictable as real human beings.

–Ernst Gombrich, The Story of Art (1978)

I think the passage above from art historian Ernst Gombrich (1909-2001) is an apt flourish to this reminder that my solo exhibit, Guiding Light, at the West End Gallery comes to its conclusion at the end of the day this Thursday, November 13. There are three days to arrange to see the show.

I believe Gombrich’s statement applies here because as he says, art looks different every time one stands before it. And I think when a show is hung it creates a unique atmosphere created by the dynamics of the individual pieces in relation to one another, the space, and the viewer. It makes viewing any painting in an exhibit, as well as the exhibit as a whole, a unique experience for the viewer.

Maybe I am out of place in saying this, but I felt that this show at the West End Gallery was one of those unique experiences with its own atmosphere. Each piece stands out in their individuality but is reinforced by the work surrounding it.

Like strong individual voices gathered in a choir.

Hope you get a chance to catch the show before the choir disbands and the singers go solo.

Here’s a favorite song from the Talking Heads and David Byrne performed during his American Utopia tour of 2018. This is This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody).

The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground, head in the sky
It’s okay, I know nothing’s wrong, nothing

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Que Sera, Sera

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on November 4, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Heart is Free— At West End Gallery

At Epidaurus, in the stillness, in the great peace that came over me, I heard the heart of the world beat. I know what the cure is: it is to give up, to relinquish, to surrender, so that our little hearts may beat in unison with the great heart of the world.

–Henry Miller, The Colossus of Maroussi (1941)

Que sera, sera.

Whatever will be, will be.

There’s a certain fatalistic aspect to this well-worn phrase that seems questionable in troubled times. On its face it seems to be saying that we should just accept things as they come. Don’t worry, be happy to quote another popular song.

Again, if that is the case, it seems like poor advice in dangerous times such as those through which we are now travelling.

But I don’t think the phrase or song can be taken at such face value. I don’t think it is saying that we should just accept whatever is put on our plate or that we should simply acquiesce to those who seek to subjugate us.

It doesn’t say that we should end resistance to that which offends all sense of decency.

No, in my eyes, it says that we should release our sense of dread and fear, that we should trust that the light of our better angels, with all the help we can muster, will push away the darkness. It says that the future is never fully written even though there are those who might wish you to believe it is already deeply engraved with their dark visions for the future.

It says to me that you have to set aside fear and panic and to replace it with resolve and calmness that allows you to trust that the future will still be filled with light.

I see it as a more proactive song than the title may seem. You may not be able to control the future, but you can nudge it so long as you don’t fall prey to the paralysis created by fear and worry. The only thing we need to relinquish is fear and the only thing we should hold tightly to is our love and compassion.

Whatever will be, will be but remember that you still have a say it what it will be.

That reminds me– it’s election day across the country. Vote for the future you want.

This post came about as a result of recently stumbling on a version of this song, which is, of course, the beloved trademark of Doris Day, from Sly and the Family Stone, recorded in 1973. I had never heard this version before and it sent me thinking.

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Art’s Revelation

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on October 30, 2025| 2 Comments »

First Peace— At West End Gallery

The great quality of true art is that it rediscovers, grasps and reveals to us that reality far from where we live, from which we get farther and farther away as the conventional knowledge we substitute for it becomes thicker and more impermeable.

–Marcel Proust, The Maxims of Marcel Proust (ed. 1948)

Proust certainly knew what he was talking about when it comes to the reality of one’s inner landscape. In his case, it is a place populated with layers of memory. The memories described in his monumental seven-volume Remembrance of Things Past are both voluntary and involuntary, those triggered and animated in his inner world by a sensory prompt– a taste, smell, sight, or sound– occurring in the outer real world.

His maxim above clearly states what I have been trying to say with my work for years now. And that is that art reveals realities that we often fail to observe. As he points out, it is a reality that has been barricaded from us by the common perceptions of what makes up reality that have been built up over the years. We have become so entrenched in only dwelling in that reality that we have lost the ability to sense and appreciate the other, that being one’s inner reality and its connection to an even greater outer reality.

My hope as an artist is that my work serves as a device or a prompt for the viewer to find their way to their own inner world, to see things from a viewpoint inside themselves rather than from their usual position in the outer world. And maybe that is what true art is, a device or tool that exists beyond its surface.

Proust mentioned this in the final volume of Remembrance of Things Past, writing how the reader (or in my case, the viewer) uses the work as instrument in which they can better see themselves.:

In reality every reader is, while he is reading, the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument which he offers to the reader to enable him to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have perceived in himself.

In that way, a piece of art becomes something more than mere wall coverings or ear or mind candy. It becomes a portal to another reality, another dimension, in which we are inhabitants whether we know it or not. It’s kind of miraculous to see this in action, to see someone engage with a piece of art that instantly reveals something of themselves of which they were either unaware or were blindly seeking.

I’ve been fortunate to witness this several times over the years and it may well be the primary motivator for my work now. 

Well, that was not expected when I started this post this morning. Hope it makes sense in an hour or a day from now. Maybe we will talk about this on Saturday at the Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery.

Maybe not. Who knows which way the wind will blow on Saturday?

The Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery begins at 11 AM and lasts about an hour, ending with the drawing for the painting, Dare to Know, shown at the bottom of this page. The Gallery Talk and the drawing for the painting are free and open to all. You must be in attendance to win prize. Seating is limited so I would suggest you arrive early to claim your seat and settle in. We can chat or you can take in the exhibit. Doors Open at 10:30 AM.

Here’s a favorite song, Killing the Blues. It is best known as performed by John Prine which to me is the gold standard. I hesitated in playing this version that I like very much from Alison Krauss and Robert Plant since I have played it here before. I thought it was recently but, after checking, discovered that I had shared it last in 2011. I guess a 14-year gap between plays is acceptable.

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Lullaby

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 29, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Dusk of Time- At West End Gallery

In my solitude I sing to myself a sweet lullaby, as sweet as my mother used to sing to me.

–Albert Cohen, The Book of My Mother (1954)

Today’s post is kind of like a poker hand. I have a pair of Cohens and a wild card in the form of a new painting. The first of the two Cohens is Albert Cohen who is noted as “a Greek-born Romaniote Jewish Swiss novelist who wrote in French.” Born in 1895, he is considered a French writer though he lived most of his life in Switzerland, dying in 1981.

The other Cohen here is the late great Leonard Cohen. I am sharing a song from late in his long career, Lullaby, from 2012. His deep voice and the song’s easy pace and rhythm have a most soothing feeling for me. 

The painting is Dusk of Time from my current solo show hanging at the West End Gallery. I find a soothing feeling in this piece that matches up well with the Cohen song.

Hey, I just fell asleep while looking and listening. I guess they do work well as a lullaby. 

There you are. Three of a kind. That’s usually a winning hand. If I had only come up with a fourth Cohen–that would have been unbeatable! I was going to try to slip in something from the theatrical giant George M. Cohan and maybe slur over the fact it is Cohan with an A rather than Cohen with an E but decided against it. That might be viewed as being a bit underhanded.

Oh, what the hell. Here’s something from George M. Cohen. Oops. That should be Cohan:

Whatever you do, kid—always serve it with a little dressing.

I will use that slightly deceitful fourth Cohen as the transition into the Gallery Talk that will be taking place on Saturday at the West End Gallery. It begins at 11 AM and lasts about an hour, ending with the drawing for the painting, Dare to Know, shown at the bottom of this page. And that’s not all. Taking the advice from that fourth Cohen, er, Cohan, it will be served with a little dressing.

Hope you can make it to the West End Gallery on Saturday for the Gallery Talk. I have plenty of dressing all ready to go…

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The Wise Perceive

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 28, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Wisdom Beyond Words– At West End Gallery

But the Wise Perceive Things About to Happen

“For the gods perceive future things,
ordinary people things in the present, but
the wise perceive things about to happen.”

–Philostratos, Life of Apollonios of Tyana, viii, 7.

Ordinary people know what’s happening now,
the gods know future things
because they alone are totally enlightened.
Of what’s to come the wise perceive
things about to happen.

Sometimes during moments of intense study
their hearing’s troubled: the hidden sound
of things approaching reaches them,
and they listen reverently, while in the street outside
the people hear nothing whatsoever.

–C.P. Cavafy (1915)

I have mentioned C.P. Cavafy a few times here in the past. In 2021 I wrote the following in a post about one of his more famous poems, Waiting For the Barbarians:

Been reading some verse lately from Constantine P. Cavafy, the great Greek poet who lived from 1863 until 1933. He lived his entire life in Alexandria, Egypt and his work often captured the sensual and exotic cosmopolitan feel of that time and place. Readers of Lawrence Durrell and his Alexandria Quartet, in which Cavafy appears as a character, will know what I mean.

Though Cavafy was known for his poetry among the Greek community in Alexandria he spent most of his life working as civil servant. He didn’t actively seek widespread acclaim, turning down opportunities to have his work published while often opting to print broadsheets of his poetry that were distributed to only a few friends. His work didn’t realize wider acclaim until later in his life (and afterwards) when his friend, novelist E.M.Forster, wrote about his work, describing him as a Greek gentleman in a straw hat, standing absolutely motionless at a slight angle to the universe.

I love that description from Forster: standing absolutely motionless at a slight angle to the universe. I am not exactly sure what Forster meant but part of me thinks I know exactly what he is saying.

He sees Cavafy as both part and apart from the world around him. Seen and unseen. Engaged and disengaged.

My perception could well be the result of my own experience of having often felt both part and apart from all things. Not knowing anything but my own experience, I assumed that many others felt exactly the same. But over time, I realized that while there were many others, it wasn’t as many as I had thought.

I don’t know why this was the case. Maybe it’s simply easier to choose one or the other. Choosing and seeing oneself as part of things allows one to be absorbed into the crowd, to take on the voice and thought of the crowd. It requires so much less effort than thinking or speaking in your own voice. And it feels safer in the protection of the crowd.

When you stand apart, you are vulnerable and dependent upon your own wits, senses, and perceptions. There is a sense of danger in this, knowing that whether you stand or fall depends on your own choices and actions.

But with that comes a sense of freedom. You speak your own words and hear clearly beyond the din of the crowd. You think and decide on your own. 

You become the tree, still part of the forest yet standing apart.

And maybe that is what Forster was implying with his slight angle to the universe. 

I don’t know and I am not sure that this makes one whit of sense to anyone. Probably doesn’t. I don’t mind though. I have often not made sense in many things. Maybe I am standing a little off level myself.

Hey, here’s a lovely piece from Yo-Yo Ma. It’s Gabriel’s Oboe by Ennio Morricone from his soundtrack to the film, The Mission.

REMINDER

MY ANNUAL GALLERY TALK

AT THE WEST END GALLERY

TAKES PLACE

THIS COMING SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 2025. BEGINNING AT 11 AM

SEATING IS LIMITED. THE DOORS OPEN AT 10:30 AM. IT IS SUGEESTED THAT YOU ARRIVE EARLY.

YOU COULD WIN A PAINTING!

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Follow the River

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 24, 2025| 3 Comments »

Follow the River— At West End Gallery

 

Look down the long valley and there stands a mountain
That someone has said is the end of the world.
Then what of this river that having arisen
Must find where to pour itself into and empty?
I never saw so much swift water run cloudless.
Oh, I have been often too anxious for rivers
To leave it to them to get out of their valleys.
The truth is the river flows into the canyon
Of Ceasing-to-Question-What-Doesn’t-Concern-Us,
As sooner or later we have to cease somewhere.
No place to get lost like too far in the distance.
It may be a mercy the dark closes round us
So broodingly soon in every direction.

–Robert Frost, Too Anxious for Rivers (1947)

The canyon of Ceasing-to-Question-What-Doesn’t-Concern-Us…

This line (and the title) caught my eye when I first came across this Robert Frost poem, Too Anxious for Rivers. I thought the first half the poem shown above (the full poem is included at the bottom of the page) was a fine companion to the painting at the top, Follow the River.  Both have an existential theme and feel.

I could see this river flowing into that particular canyon. There is something about that slash of that particular blue cutting through the center of the painting that speaks to me, something that calms me. I guess that is a good thing, as I, much like the title states, am sometimes too anxious for rivers. Too anxious to simply float along with the current.

So much energy wasted struggling against the rhythm and force of the river when I should be letting it guide me, rather than trying to make it deliver me where it refuses to go. 

The river will deliver you on its own terms and schedule.

This painting, Follow the River, is 30″ by 15″ on canvas. It is included in my current exhibit, Guiding Light, at the West End Gallery. The show is hanging until November 13.

Next Saturday, November 1 I will be giving a Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery, beginning at 11 AM. Today or tomorrow, I will be choosing the painting that will be given away in a drawing at the end of the talk to someone in attendance. As always, the Gallery Talk is free and open to everyone. I will be announcing the prize painting in the next few days so keep an eye out here.

Here’s a song, River Man, from Nick Drake. Nick Drake recorded three albums from 1969 to 1972 that never really found an audience at the time. Tragically, he died from an overdose of antidepressants in 1974 at the age of 26. In the years since, his work has gained that audience that eluded him during his short lifetime and has a cult following. I find this song particularly haunting.

And soothing like the flow of a river.

Look down the long valley and there stands a mountain
That someone has said is the end of the world.
Then what of this river that having arisen
Must find where to pour itself into and empty?
I never saw so much swift water run cloudless.
Oh, I have been often too anxious for rivers
To leave it to them to get out of their valleys.
The truth is the river flows into the canyon
Of Ceasing-to-Question-What-Doesn’t-Concern-Us,
As sooner or later we have to cease somewhere.
No place to get lost like too far in the distance.
It may be a mercy the dark closes round us
So broodingly soon in every direction.
The world as we know is an elephant’s howdah;
The elephant stands on the back of a turtle;
The turtle in turn on a rock in the ocean.
And how much longer a story has science
Before she must put out the light on the children
And tell them the rest of the story is dreaming?
“You children may dream it and tell it tomorrow.”
Time was we were molten, time was we were vapor.
What set us on fire and what set us revolving,
Lucretius the Epicurean might tell us
‘Twas something we knew all about to begin with
And needn’t have fared into space like his master
To find ‘twas the effort, the essay of love.

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