the moment

I'm deep in it, in the moment and feeling that this is my time. I can't describe it or give you reasons why, I just feel it in my soul; I take it as a given. The heat is insane, but if that is what is driving this, then so be it. I feel a sense of crossing over, as if some switch has been flipped inside me and the work is there.

anew

This weekend I will break into case # 4 of the 50 canvases. There are 30 spread around the studio right now and as I hoped a direction is becoming clearer to me. Today has been a good day, and tonight's studio session did not disappoint. Despite the mind-numbing heat in here, I am in the zone. Over the years I have learned to incorporate the reaction of paint to high temperatures into my painting style. I use the melting and nuances of viscosity. Artists adapt.

Time to clean up and go home...

sharing the blogger love

If you ever wonder about the face behind the work (don't know why you would, but...) you can check me out over at my friend Mary Jo's blog, Trust Your Style, for her weekly Eye on Style profile. Be sure to check out her fantastic designs while you're there.

I haven't gotten into the studio much this week, trying to correct that tonight. In the background, I'm still working with a design company in ATL on getting some of my work into homes and non-residential spaces in the area. They've been tremendously positive, and I feel this will be a good partnership.

In about 5 weeks, I'm going to tag-along with my friend George on tour with the CRB. I'm in desperate need of a vacation and feeling Almost Famous myself, so I thought it was both a good excuse to hang out with an old friend and get away from it all. Check out his blog, One Drummer. His writing is as soulful as he is in person, a real class cat and one of my lifelines.

Enough of this blogger love, I'm getting misty.....

heroes often fail

It's raining and there's jazz on the speakers and I'm halfway through my last Cuban cigar and I just laid it down. I'm in here and I'm back. The work is alive and by summer's end I know the evolution will be complete. Next level attained.

from "For Grace, after a party"; Frank O'Hara, 1957

You do not always know what I am feeling.

Last night in the warm spring air while I was

blazing my tirade against someone who doesn't

interest

me, it was love for you that set me

afire,

and isn't it odd? for in rooms full of

strangers my most tender feelings

writhe and

bear the fruit of screaming.

tuesday

The temperature have plummeted into the low 80's. The cicadas are currently winning the battle of the bands against the tree frogs. I'm in the rear gardens, smoking a cigar, drinking very good whiskey and at peace.

The dream is self-sufficiency from art alone. It is possible, I've seen it done; most recently this past weekend visiting a local artist's home/studio. How do I get there from here? The journey has been long. Sometimes I'm tired. I've tried to quit it, live a "normal" life with all the time afforded those in my situation who don't work the second shift in a studio somewhere. It's empty to me. To live there is to live in the void, neither living nor having the courage to die.

I have a laundry list of faults. At my age, who doesn't? I'm prideful, arrogant in an ineffective manner and hopelessly inept at self-promotion. I know the work is kick-ass. I don't need to compare it because it has no comparison, and locker room competition never interested me anyway. I simply want to make something true and sublime and mind-blowing. I want that random someone, -much smarter than I to see what I do and suddenly connect the dots and go out and change the world. That's what my life is for. That is why I am here.

I've been out of the studio for a time, interrupted with life and it's distractions. I'm always questioning why. I'm always holding the work up to the light of day and asking myself if it is to that point. These times away are ultimately positive; they kick my ass and I go back in with everything. The acetic. The voice in the wilderness. I'm even growing the beard to match my internal self at the moment. At least I have my sense of humor.

I hate artist's blogs that don't show any work. I long to be silent and post the work, yet, I find myself needing this outlet and damn the collateral damage if it be so.

I had a date with my daughters today; a movie, some shopping at one of their favorite stores, time together with puzzles and Daddy and maybe forming memories which can be a bedrock to the lives they are embarking upon.

Live without apology.
Family comes first.
Relentlessly pursue your dreams and make them real.
No regrets.
Ever.

glancing back and going forward

Had a studio visit tonight, which I enjoyed. In the process of getting ready, I pulled out a couple of the "Anne Sexton" paintings and having not seen them for some time I realized how much they foretold within my current work. Clearly I was learning to use paint in a very different way, as well as to build deeper and more complex layers within the paintings. A few are damn good paintings, and others I feel can be gone back into. They modulate and breathe and float up on the wall. And while I can exhaust my own knowledge of art history by citing what I consider obvious references, I realize too that I don't see anything like this right now. My longing for my own voice seems to be closer to being realized than I sometime allow myself to think.

In a couple of months, these dogs must hunt. I have to find their audience, no one will do it for me. But what I find in my work, -in the majority of my work, is presence. I don't know how to describe it. They seem living, as though if you put them in a room it would feel at times that someone else was in the room with you. I paint from all different angles of the room; coming in and moving back and walking around and then locking in close. The whole process remains very physical for me in the studio, and perhaps this is what gives them that sense of motion and movement. Someone smarter and more eloquent than me can figure that part out some day.

Of course I left the camera at home tonight...

Forain

Scène d'atelier, oil on canvas, 24" x 14.25", Jean-Louis Forain, c 1910*

I had the opportunity to see an exhibition of the work of Jean-Louis Forain while in Memphis. I was only distantly aware of his work, but once inside I recognized a few of the seminal works. Admittedly, Impressionism is not my favorite period of art but I found much to consider as I walked through.

Ball at the Paris Opera, oil on canvas, 29" x 24", Jean-Louis Forain, c 1885

One thing that struck me about Forain's style is that his paintings often appear (at least to me) as if he grew bored with the process of painting them. They tend to leave off on the edges, creating delightful and often rich abstract moments. Learning about his friendship with Rimbaud and seeing two portraits of the poet done by Forain was an interesting bonus.

I left wondering what art today, if any, makes a similarly exacting commentary on our society, with all its splendor and insidiousness? One aspect of Impressionist-era, and post-impressionist art that has always (forgive me) impressed me is the ability of those artists to cut to beneath the veil of polite society and into the darkness of the human soul. Forain was no exception. I wonder how much of ourselves we really, truly want to see represented in art. As I eluded to in my post on television, I think contemporary people want to see images of themselves as they wish to be or as they somehow feel they should be, but certainly "reality" television would fail miserably if it delivered the goods as powerfully as Manet or Lautrec or Forain. Would we recoil in disgust (as the people of that society did), or are we truly beyond shock?

The Buffet, oil on canvas, 36 5/8" x 58 1/4", Jean-Louis Forain, c 1884

One small addendum to the afore-mentioned post on tv. Full disclosure, I became totally hooked on Mad Men and downloaded the seasons on iTunes. It's one of those iconic shows whose influence on culture will be felt for some time, most importantly for reversing the sartorial damage done by casual Friday in the late 90's. I confess I watched "Work of Art" as well, but found it decidedly normal for the genre and so many empty calories.

*image via Christie's

Cy Twombly

Miriam (August's fire); 52" x 52"

oil and oil pastel on canvas; Rico, 2009

Painting is an ongoing conversation. It is the duty of any painter worth their salt to try and take part in that conversation; so put forth something that can further it, expand it or re-direct it. It should come as no surprise that Cy Twombly was an enormous influence on my work; many a night we conversed in the studio. Not literally, of course. I have similar conversations with JMW Turner, or Goya. This makes them no less noteworthy, no less impacting.

We can't paint like our influences. To try is more often than not a disastrous enterprise. But I think we can respond to them. I think at best we can take them down. But Twombly was singular. His work influenced so many and in so many different ways.

I came in and out of Twombly in my work, and to my mind no more obviously so than with "Miriam (August's fire)". The Forest and Sea paintings were very much a result of seeing Twombly's work as well, though they feel less connected in some ways; less derivative.

There's so much that has been said about his work, and said much better than I can say here. He will be missed.

I have just returned from a long journey to Memphis and long to get back into the studio this week.