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Posts Tagged ‘West End Gallery’

I was recently looking at this painting, Twin Lakes, that is part of  my current show at the West End Gallery when my perception of it quickly changed and came into sharper focus.

It was painted as a simple organic growth of  lines and forms, little thought given to what it might have to say.  It was allowed to form almost completely of its own volition.  But looking at it this morning I was struck by the polarity in it.  The  Red Tree  here was composed of two separate trees, two equal halves, and the image itself seemed to me to suddenly resemble a yin-yang symbol .  The road dividing the pieces roughly in halves acts as the border between the light and dark parts of the symbol.   The title twin lakes are representative of the two smaller inner circles within the symbol that symbolize the interaction of the energies of the two sides.  The darkness in the light and vice-versa.  The feminine in the masculine and so on.

Or, in a different reading, the twin lakes here represent the two sides a set of scales.  Either way, as part of a yin-yang symbol or as scales, they represent balance between our opposing sides.  We are complex creatures, comprised of multiple conflicting  passions that can easily throw us off kilter if we stray too far off balance.  Maintaining a sense of equilibrium is imperative in our quest for a peaceful and satisfying existence.

Funny how a seemingly simple landscape suddenly becomes an existential  metaphor.

Or not.  Depends on how you see it…

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Well, another opening has passed.  The West End Gallery show went well the other night, thanks to everyone who came out.  I couldn’t be more appreciative for people taking time to visit and look at my work.  It makes  all the time and effort feel worthwhile.

The show hangs together really well with a great deal of color and warmth cast from the walls.  One piece that drew a lot of comments is the painting shown here, a 16″ by 20″ canvas called Air of Mystery.  It has a real presence on the wall with its strong color and purple fingers of cloud reaching across the moon/sun that sheds light on the patchwork fields on the distant hills.  A blood red field that makes up the foreground adds to the mysterious feel of the piece.

I don’t really know what it means yet and, for the time being, I’m content with that.  I’m going to take a few minutes to relax this morning, drink my coffee, read the newspaper then do a little painting.  A good Sunday morning and I feel like I’m reflecting light which happens to be the title of a Sam Phillips song from several years back that always makes me stop and listen when it comes up on my playlist. Maybe it’s that line: Now that I’ve worn out the world/ I’m on my knees in fascination.  It has it’s own melodic air of mystery. It’s from an album, A Boot and a Shoe, produced by her then husband T-Bone Burnett,  that I like very much.  Here it is:

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GC Myers- Collected Memories

Tonight marks the opening of my annual show at the West End Gallery, this year titled In Rhythm.  There is an opening  reception tonight running from 5-7:30 which is a pretty casual affair, open to everyone.  So if you’re in the Corning area, please stop in and see this year’s show which hangs until August 31.

I’ve written here many times about the feelings that arise around the times of show openings.  The anxiety and fears of failure.  But, as I’ve also pointed out, this is my 33rd or 34th solo show and the anxiety has evolved over the years.  It used to be a pure sense of failure, of not creating work that was both compelling and sellable.   But experience has taught me that if the work satisfies and excites me personally, it will in most cases do the same for others.  The anxiety now comes from the weeks before the show when I am still forming the body of the show and am not quite sure how it will come together as a whole.  Not sure if it will indeed satisfy and excite me, the threat of failure still hangs in the air.

But once I have a grip on the show, can see that I’ve done everything in my power to make each piece special and alive in some way, the anxiety eases.  At that point, I know that I’ve done all that I can as far as those aspects that  I can control.   I am content and the work is now ready to go out into the world on its own.

And that’s where I am with this show.  I am very happy with this group of work and feel that there’s a real sense of  strength and completeness in it, each piece seeming to relate in some way to the others while still standing out individually.  One of my goals for my work.

So, anxiety is  alleviated,  the show is hung and my only job now is to answer any questions that are asked at tonight’s reception.   If you happen to be in Corning tonight, stop in, sip a little wine while you’re looking things over and say hello.

 

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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

–William Shakespeare

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Interesting line from the Bard.  Awareness of what we are is a good thing but we should not be satisfied.  We can always be better, be more than we are now.

 More tolerant and understanding of the plight of others.  More patient. More generous.  More kind.  More peaceful.  More willing to listen, to learn.  More loving.

Just better.

That’s what I see in this piece, Knowingness, an 18″ by 26″ painting that is part of my show opening tomorrow at the West End Gallery.  It’s about knowing what you are and, while being at peace with this knowledge, realizes there is always the possibility of being more.

 It may be the beginning of real wisdom.

I can’t say for sure.  I don’t think I’m at that point yet but, with this painting serving as a reminder,  remain hopeful.

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One man’s dusk is another man’s dawn.

There’s a bit of philosophical pondering in this piece, a 12″ by 34″ painting on paper that is included in my show at the West End Gallery that opens this Friday.  Maybe it’s in the deep yellows that run through it or in the way the sun sits on the horizon or in the way the Red Tree seems to be considering that sun.  Or maybe it’s all of these things.  Whatever the case, it makes me think.

The title suggests the great circle of life, one ending becoming the start of another.  In this piece. the sun going down in one place is that same sun rising in another.  Darkness gives way to light and light to dark.  It is symbolic of a  never ending  cycle in which we all play a part.

There’s something reassuring in that rise and fall of the sun, a constant by which oversees our lives.    It’s no wonder that the sun is worshipped as a god in a number of cultures.  It provides in the way of a god, giving us warmth, light and a life source for the foods we eat.  It never leaves  for long, always reappearing.

So, light comes, light goes.  Sunrise, sunset.  We live in the rhythm of this sun, days and lives constantly turning over.  When you think about it, it’s not such a bad thing.  I can live with it.

Actually, I have no choice…

 

 

 

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Of all our possessions, wisdom alone is immortal.

–Isocrates

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This is another new painting from my upcoming show, In Rhythm, at the West End Gallery that opens this coming Friday.  Titled All We Have, this 8″ by 12 ” painting on paper has numerous meanings for me,  mainly focusing on the only things we ever  truly possess — our love, wisdom, memory and the precious time we have on this earth.  I could easily give up all of my personal possessions but to lose any of these other things would stagger me  much more greatly as they are the things that give my life meaning and worth.

I see this represented in this painting, from the obvious symbolism of the intertwined trees for love to the field rows which act here as a symbol for the passing of time .  Even the colors of the sky have meaning in this piece for me, the purplish hues having a weightiness that reminds me of thought and wisdom.  Or. at least, what I take to be wisdom.

I’m not sure I’m really qualified to identify wisdom at this point.  Maybe some day.

But I do like this piece and what I see in it.  Perhaps, like the wisdom I desire, it is an aspiration for the only possessions that are truly worth the work…

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Early Sunday morning.  The West End Gallery show is delivered and with the studio feeling almost empty now, I take a small breath of relief.  Outside, it’s dark and shadowy as a soft rain falls, bringing the parched earth that same breath of relief.  Kind of a hazy, unfocused morning.  I think I’ll take this time to relax just a bit before plunging back into the  new work that waits for me.

For a gray morning, here’s a song, Hey Joe,  that is best known for the version done by the inimitable Jimi Hendrix.  I thought I would try to take the morning in a brighter direction so I’ll show it as done in a more upbeat  bluegrassy fashion by Tim O’Brien.  He has a way of  giving songs a different twist that I find appealing.  His version of Bob Dylan’s  Subterranean Homesick Blues is a great example with it’s mandolin and hambone handslaps.  On Hey Joe, O’Brien is joined by Jerry Douglas, the  master of the dobro.  Together, they make a dark song seem less ominous.

Good way to start a dark Sunday.

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I have completed my show, In Rhythm, for the West End Gallery and will deliver it today in advance of the opening next Friday.  While it’s a big relief to finish a show and have it in the gallery, there is always a pang of loss in seeing works that mean a lot to me personally move out into the wider world.  Some are paintings that resonated with me immediately, almost from the first lick of paint hit the surface.  Those are the instinctual, native pieces that just emerge without a struggle and seem to have their own perfectly natural rhythm.

Others are paintings that show their meaning long after they are completed  Such is this painting shown here, Ribbon and Memory, a 12″ by 16″ piece on paper.  When I was done with this and was searching for a title I wondered what it might mean.  It still seemed to be a mystery even though I liked it very much without knowing its meaning.

I knew that the Red Chair often represents memory for me so I felt that the title would have something to do with memory.  And the path that runs through the foreground seemed more like a ribbon than an actual road so I immediately tied the two words together for the title.  Done. Enough said.

But early this morning I looked again at this piece and I more fully saw a meaning in it for myself, one still rooted in the title words but with more depth.  I have a friend whose wife has early-onset Alzheimer’s and it has turned their lives upside down as they try to cope with the changes and stresses that it brings.  Their struggles are in my thoughts quite often.  So when I saw this painting this morning it suddenly seemed plainly obvious to me that this could represent their situation.  The Red Chair is the wife, the Red Tree is the husband and the Red Roofed House is early memory of home and family.  The path, the ribbon, is that remaining memory that still tenuously connects her with this past that has began to recede into the distance.

The Red Tree, the husband shown here in a heroic stance, is apart from her and everything else, alone in his struggle to stay connected with that ribbon and to oversee her welfare.  The Red Chair, the wife, is also alone, facing  a solo journey forward with little connection to her past, separated here by the water.

I have to reiterate that this is my personal meaning that I see in this piece.  You may see it in a completely different way with your own personal meaning.  As it should be.  But for me, seeing this painting this morning with this new perspective made it seem  deeper and more precious than just a day earlier.  One that gives that pang of loss that I spoke of above.

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I have painted several pieces over the past few years based on the mythic tale of Baucis and Philemon, taken from the Metamorphoses from the Roman poet Ovid.  I have described the story here several times of the visit  to a village by Zeus and Mercury, disguised as beggars.  They are roughly tuned away from every door in the village until they come to the home of the poor elderly couple, Baucis and Philemon, where they are welcomed with warmth and gracious hospitality despite the  poverty of their household.  Sparing the couple as he destroys the village in his wrath, Zeus then grants them any wish they might desire.

They choose to be allowed to stay together for eternity.  When they pass away simultaneously years later, they are resurrected as two separate trees that grow from the same trunk, united forever.  It’s a lovely fable and one of my favorites.  I have always chose to depict this story simply, with two trees, one red and one green, intertwined together.

I call  this painted version The Gift of Zeus.  It is a n 18″ by 18″ canvas that is headed to the West End Gallery for my annual solo show there which opens next Friday, July 20.  There’s a crispness in this piece that I find very appealing as well as interesting contrasts and subtleties in the sky, which may not show up well in the photo here, that give this piece a dramatic edge that catches my eye each time I pass by it in the studio.

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I call this new painting Viva!   It’s a 24″ by 24″ canvas that is part of my upcoming exhibition, In Rhythm, which opens on July 20  at the West End Gallery in Corning.  In Spanish, Viva! is Long Live! or simply Live!  Both definitions fit this piece well, especially when used in exclamation.  This is a piece that exclaims.

Not a piece for the timid.

It has a glowing presence in the studio as though it is alive, the vibrant reds and oranges seeming to have their own pulse.  There is a great intensity in the colors here, a quality that can sometimes get out of hand quickly.  But the harmony between the color intensities in this piece really holds it together and gives it a placid quality that belies the strength and heat of the colors.

The way I see this painting is that the Red Tree is reaching upward from its perch, connecting with the energy contained in that  sky, as though there is source of power, both physical and spiritual at once, swirling overhead.  It has a feeling of the joy in simply being alive in the now, as though  this single moment contains all eternity- past, present and future.  A celebration.  Fiesta.

Viva!

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