This quote from the contemporary Indian Yogi Jaggi Vasudev rang very true for me when I first came across it and it seems to fit this painting, Living in All Dimensions, which is another piece from the Home+Land show hanging at the West End Gallery.
It is a painting that appears to be outward in all aspects. It is no shrinking violet. In fact, the violet color of the sky and the other deep colors seem to want to lift off of the deeply textured surface and reach out of the picture to the viewer. There is outward distance in the moon appearing on the horizon and the Red Tree itself seems to be radiating outward.
But for me, this is completely inward in nature. It is about finding a center of calmness and timelessness. It’s about transcending the here and now and discovering that inward dimension that binds us to all other dimensions. A spiritual Oneness.
Well, that’s my take anyway, for what it’s worth. It’s the kind of piece that will no doubt come across differently to many different people, both in a positive and a negative way.
The painting shown above, Release the Past, is a 20″ by 24″ canvas that is part of my current show at the West End Gallery. I was recently thinking about it, trying to discern exactly what it was that I was seeing in this piece, when I pulled up an earlier blogpost that featured the Huxley quote above. It very much was in line with how I aligned this painting, with the figure in the mid-ground seemingly lost in thoughts of the past, with my own experience.
Here’s what I wrote:
I like this quote from Huxley. I have often felt that all of our personal lives fit into some sort of mythic template on which all literature is based and that we often fail to see the connections between the tales of our own lives and those stories which have come down through history in the form of myth and legend. We all live lives that are often filled with tragedy , comedy and drama. Heroic, even. But we seldom perceive them as such, instead thinking of our personal memories as being merely mundane.
And that’s probably as it should be. Life is spent, for the most part, moving forward in small, day-to-day steps with little time left to see the larger pattern of our lives. Who has the time to reflect backwards, to see how our lives fit into the templates of eternity? Very few of us, to be sure. But what if we could take that time to look back fully and see the patterns set in history and to see that our lives own patterns mesh into that pattern, that we are all indeed connected to and part of the same fabric?
Would it make a bit of difference? Would it make us appreciate the fragility and rareness of each individual’s place in this world. make us understand that our own history is the history of all and that our memory binds us to the fabric of history?
This coming Saturday, August 1, I will be giving a Gallery Talk at the West End Gallery in support of my current show, Home+Land, that is hanging there. It starts at 1 PM and, as many of you who regularly read this blog will know, ends with a drawing where one person in attendance will take home a painting of mine.
It’s something I’ve done for several years now at my Gallery Talks and is something that really gives me great pleasure. I’ve always felt so fortunate to have found my current life as a painter that this allows me to express my gratitude in a tangible way. As a result, I try to carefully choose the works that I give away, not wanting to just go the far corner of the closet where I hide those early experiments that make me grimace to look at them now.
No, I want to give away paintings where I feel a pang of loss in giving them away, want them to have some sort of meaning for me so that this is not just an empty gesture. So, for this Saturday’s drawing, I have chosen the painting shown above. It’s called Destiny Boundand is a 16″ by 20″ canvas so it has the size to give it a real presence. It’s a painting that was only shown publicly once for a very short time before I brought it back to the studio. It is sort of an anomaly in my body of work in the way it is framed, using a gold-leafed plein air frame rather than my signature frame. I tried this frame style for a handful of pieces several years ago and decided that I wanted to stay solely with the continuity of my normal frames. This is the one painting that remains in a gold frame and I chose to keep it as I’ve just become used to seeing it that way.
So, even though it has a unique overall appearance for my work, the painting itself is what I consider a great example of what has been called my Dark Work, work that first appeared in the months after 9/11 but has evolved over the years. I am really attracted to overall presence of this painting and the deep colors and line work as well. And the expressiveness of the tree on the right. That tree has always felt like it pays tribute in some way to Thomas Hart Benton with its curves and lines. While it reminds me of some his figures or trees, off the top of my head I can’t cite a particular painting of his that might feature such a tree or figure.
But that connection and the way the tree seems animated jumps out at me whenever I look at this piece. I just plain like this painting. And I am giving it away on Saturday. So, stop in at the West End Gallery on Saturday for what I hope will be an entertaining talk and maybe you can take Destiny Bound home with you. The talk starts at 1 PM and generally lasts about an hour. Hope to see you there.
I think I’ve written here in the past about how the aftermath of a show is for me in the studio. In the week or so after a show opens there is generally a little letdown, the result of a sudden loss of the energy that accumulates from the adrenaline and anxiety in the build up to the opening. I usually mope in a way, floundering around for several days trying to refocus and regain my bearings, to find some point in which to direct my energy.
It’s often a frustrating time even while the show still hangs and does well. I sometimes get a little lost in those moments where the very act of painting becomes absolutely abstract and foreign in nature to me. The purpose that just a week ago seemed so apparent now has dissolved and I find myself questioning everything– my abilities, the purpose and direction of my work and so on. Those particular moments weigh heavily on me.
As I said, it’s a frustrating time. Fortunately, I know from times before that this was coming and will pass. It’s part of the process, part of who I am, If, as Shakespeare says, all the world’s a stage and we’re all merely players, then this is simply part of the makeup of the character I portray in this play. It’s maybe the only role for which I am truly suited by nature and ability.
And maybe that’s the thing I need to remember in these frustrating days; that this is the role that I best play, that this is the role that was written specifically for me.
That kind of ties in with the painting at the top, Center Stage, which is part of the Home+Land show at the West End Gallery. We are all the main characters in our own plays and we need to be be willing to play the part with conviction, to embrace the role that is written for us. When you are on that stage, let your light shine.
And that brings us, in a sneaky manner, to this week’s Sunday morning music. I’m going with one of my favorites, Neko Case, and her rousing version of the children’s gospel classic, This Little Light of Mine. Gets the day started with a kick and blows away those frustrations. So, enjoy, have a great day and let that light shine.
I was scanning the archives for the blog and came across this entry from four years ago, written in the immediate aftermath of that year’s West End Gallery opening. It had the story of a young boy with a rare disease and a message that really touched me then and now. Thought it deserved another run today:
Well, the opening is over and the show continues to hang at the West End Gallery. Good opening. Talked to a lot of really nice people, many new to me. Many thanks to everyone who came out. You made the evening complete and I could not be more grateful.
That said, I was sure glad when the night was over. There comes a point near the end of an opening, especially in the aftermath of constantly promoting it by writing about it here, where I am really tired of talking about me and can’t wait for that moment until I don’t have to say anything to anyone.
So later that night, we came home and decided to quietly watch that night’s Jeopardy, a show I have watched intently since I was a child when Art Fleming was the host in the 60’s. Before it came on, I caught the end of the ABC Evening News and there was a story about their Person of the Week. It was a young boy, Josiah Viera, from central Pennyslvania who suffers from Progeria, an exremely rare (something like only 54 cases in the world) disorder where the child begins prematurely aging, most having a life expectancy of between 8 and 13 years. Josiah, now 7 years old, has the tiny body of a 90 year old, taking cholesterol and arthritis medications. He is 27 inches tall and weighs 15 pounds.
But Josiah doesn’t dwell on the hardships of his condition. Instead he concentrates on his passion, that thing that brings him sheer joy: baseball. He lives for the game, wanting to play it from the minute he wakes until the end of each day. He approached a coach at the local t-ball league in Hegins, PA and told him that he wanted to play in the games. They feared he might not survive more than a single game and indeed, after his first game, Josiah suffered a series of mini strokes and was hospitalized.
But he recovered quickly and his desire for the game was so strong that he was back after three weeks. The news of this little boy and the joy with which he played the game captured the hearts of the local folks and by the last game there were several hundred fans ( not your usual t-ball crowd!) all cheering him on and chanting his name. And as he stands on the bag at first base, which seems like a table under his small body, Josiah smile glows with the sheer and absolute joy of being safe.
Absolute joy. How many of us allow ourselves to feel that? Josiah’s time here is limited, as it is for all of us. Yet his life is not sadder for that knowledge. Instead he has somehow chosen to find joy in those few days, rejoicing in the moment instead of fearing the future or focusing on the life that might have been under different circumstances, things which too many of us allow to take over our lives.
Life is now. His pure joy is a lesson for us all. Life’s too short to not revel in those things that make us happy.
What is your joy and if it’s not the biggest part of your life, why is that so?
Below is the longer version of the story from ESPN on which the ABC story is based. It’s a beautifully done report. Have a great Sunday and again, thank you for everyone who came out Friday night– you brought me a little of that joy that I speak of.
2015 Update: Josiah is now 11 years old and still as much in love with baseball as ever. He is the an honorary bench coach for the State College Spikes, the St. Louis Cardinal’s Class A minor league team located in central Pennsylvania. He plays cards with the players before the game, gives the manager bits of advice on game moves and provides the team with much more than they could ever give him in return. He also went to spring training with the major league St. Louis Cardinal, getting to hobnob and even play a pickup game with their star players. Throughout it all, that joy sparkles and inspires. As one player said after going through a particularly tough game, “When I see that little guy across the clubhouse, I know I’ll be fine.”
There’s a great article from MLB.com that gives all the updates on Josiah. Click here to see it.
Well, the opening for my Home+Land show at the West End Gallery was Friday evening and went very well– just a perfectly wonderful night with plenty of people and lots of conversation. It was a pretty large crowd, especially for a summer opening, but it still was one that met my criteria for a good show: most of the attention was focused on the work on the wall.
I have been to plenty of crowded openings where the work is sometimes an afterthought and all the people there are facing inward in private conversations. For me, a good show is one that is outward focused, one where the eyes oriented to the wall. And even though there was a good number of people, it seemed to me that most were there for the work.
And that really satisfies me in some deep way and for that I would like to thank all of you who took time from your summer schedule to spend a little time to take a look at the work. I could not be more appreciative. And thanks to Linda and Jesse once again for hanging the show in a way that seems to bring it all together in the gallery. Again, I could not be more appreciative.
That said, it’s time for a Sunday morning music and this week I felt like something older and mellow and, for me, the voice of the late and great Sam Cooke can often fill that bill. This is a song he wrote that has been covered by many artists but his version always seems the real thing for me. It’s from 1962 and has very recognizable backing vocals from Lou Rawls. Here’s Bring It on Home to Me.
PS: The painting at the top is from the show and is 12″ by 24″ canvas piece titled Back to the Land.
I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way – things I had no words for.
Georgia O’Keeffe
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My show, Home+Land, opens tonight at the West End Gallery with an opening reception that runs from 5-7:30 PM. The West End was the first place to give me an opportunity to display my work, over twenty years ago, and has served as a home base for my painting in the years since. I’ve written here in the past how different my life might be without that first opportunity.
As a result, I attach special significance to my shows here. Maybe that played a part in my choice of Home+Land as the title for this year’s show.
I’m not sure.
But I do know that, no matter how widely traveled my work is beyond this area, it personally means a lot for me to have my paintings strike a chord with and be appreciated by my friends and neighbors locally– people who often know me in other ways than my being an artist.
And I hope that happens with this particular show. It is a show that I feel explores the idea of home and place in many colors, textures and forms. It is a show that I feel represents my work fully to this point in time and speaks for me in ways that words never could, much in the way Georgia O’Keeffe said her work did in the quote at the top.
It would be easy to sit here and write umpteen words about the two pieces from the show shown here, In the Land of Many Colors at the top and Lake Tranquil below, but they effortlessly say more than I could ever say with all my struggling words. As they should.
So, if you’re in the Corning area tonight, stop in at the West End Gallery for a bit. Have a glass of wine, stroll around the gallery and see the show. I’ll be there to answer any questions you might have and would love to hear your comments.
The deeper the blue becomes, the more strongly it calls man towards the infinite, awakening in him a desire for the pure and, finally, for the supernatural… The brighter it becomes, the more it loses its sound, until it turns into silent stillness and becomes white.
–Wassily Kandinsky
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Certain colors always raise a strong visceral response from me. I think my use of reds and yellows is evidence of this as is my affinity for the color blue, which I’ve discussed here. Maybe Kandinsky hits the mark with his words: it calls man towards the infinite, awakening in him a desire for the pure and, finally, for the supernatural.
I know for myself those are feelings that often are driven forward when I work with the color blue. There is often a contemplative feeling, one that wonders at the unknown, that infinite, that we seek, that comes with the color. I see it in the painting at the top.
Called Blue Awakening, this 18″ by 24″ painting on panel has a simplified and almost naive appearance at first glance. But the blue of the sky set against the pale whiteness of the moon changes the piece from a folksy vignette to one of meditative wonderment. The Red Tree here takes on a glow that speaks of a new understanding or acceptance of its place and purpose in the universe. It represents a true awakening of the spirit for me.
The interesting thing for me is that there is not a tremendous amount of blue in the painting. There are a few tones throughout the lower landscaped half of the painting and much of the sky are tones that move away from blue. But the blue that is there commands the space, creating the overall feeling of the piece. Such is the power of blue.
This painting is, of course, part of my solo show, Home+Land, which is now hanging at the West End Gallery and opens with a reception tomorrow evening from 5-7:30. The show runs from July 17 until September 4, 2015 and there is a Gallery Talk on Saturday, August 1. More info on that in the next couple of weeks.
Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
–Omar Khayyam
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This is another painting from the Home+Land show that opens this coming Friday, July 17, at the West End Gallery. Titled Melding to the Moment, it is a 24″ by 36″ canvas that, for me, pretty much holds the same message as the words above from Omar Khayyam. I see it as about being totally in the moment, in a sort of harmony with all things.
Using This moment is your life… as a rule, it is in finding those moments of contentment and happiness that can define your view of your life. To be able to stop and block out regrets of the past or worries for the future allows one to enjoy the pleasures of the present, that slice of life immediately before you– that small wonder that might be lost when we are immersed in thoughts of what we have done or what we will do.
The song of a bird. The smell of the grass. The way the light comes from behind a cloud or the feel of a warm breeze on your skin. All small things, small moments. But all moments that create the textures of life if we allow ourselves to simply pause and meld to the moment.
At least that’s how I see this piece. It was one that was a long time coming, growing in small fits and starts. I would work on it for a while and would see it going in a direction that didn’t quite suit me in that moment so I would put it aside. Several weeks, perhaps even a couple of months, passed and I would pull it back out and do a bit more and where I thought it was headed was not at all where it was going.
So I waited a bit longer. Finally, a few weeks back I went back and it transformed into the painting that you now see. It is nothing like I originally envisioned it in its earliest stages. It went beyond where I thought it would be and that is always a pleasant surprise.
I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do. I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do.
—Robert A. Heinlein
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Freedom is a word that gets thrown around a lot by politicians and pundits. It is the basis for untold numbers of credos, adages, maxims and bumper stickers. But for all its use, I don’t think many of us give even a single thought to what the word means for ourselves.
I’m not here to try to define the word. I think it has personal meaning for each of us that can’t be easily contained in one single definition. My idea of freedom may not match yours and your freedom may not seem like freedom at all to me. And maybe that’s the main thing in freedom– we are free to define our freedom as we wish.
The only constant is the moral responsibility that we take for our actions, as famed sci-fi author Robert Heinlein lays out so well in the quote above. We can never be free from the responsibility we must take for our actions nor from the repercussions from others in response to our actions. That is one freedom to which we will never be entitled.
The painting at the top is a new painting, a 24″ by 24″ canvas, that is part of my Home+land show that opens this Friday at the West End Gallery. Titled In the Air of Freedom, it represents for me the freedom that I have found in the last twenty years of painting. Painting has given me a means of free expression, a voice to send out into the world, a contentment and purpose that I struggled and failed to find to find in the years before I came to it. It has come to define my own freedom. I see the Red Tree representing that free expression and the fields behind it representing for me the labor and responsibility that accompany it.
As I said, freedom seems like it should be something we can easily put into words but it it turns out to be a much more complex creature. Take a minute and really think about it. How do you define your own freedom? What makes you feel free?
Inward is not a direction. Inward is a dimension.
Redtree Times 