The Left Hand Path, Visitations and Wonders

drop cloth (for the Forest and the Sea series), 2009-2011

I had a studio visit today, which prompted a much-needed cleaning and re-organizing of the studio.  The visit went very well and some of my work will be featured in some new condo models in Greenville's West End district next month.  I'm happy to work with this firm and I'm pleased that the work will be seen.  Sales would be great, but they will happen or they won't.

In cleaning and rearranging I propped a section of an old painting wall against the back wall of my studio.  I found it interesting, so I took a picture of it.  I've always wanted to see an exhibition of artists' drop cloths and painting surfaces and work surfaces.  Personally I think it would be fascinating.  It begs the question of what is art, and how does intent shape aesthetics?  

So, I shot more and I mounted a little online exhibition of my own.  If we're friends on Facebook, you can view it here.  

What I found in looking at my own periphery, my "left hand path" if you will, was a vernacular of my own painting language.  It was strange for me to see the work beneath the work and realize that it still carries some of the same phrases and gestures.  I've been sick with a lot of time on my hands this week, so perhaps this resonates more with me than with anyone else.

With digital photography/documentation, we as artists have the ability to rotate, invert, manipulate and "see" our work like never before.  This is a powerful tool.

If you believe there's nothing out there to see

I was almost 3 years old when Neil Armstrong took his small step/giant leap.  I have vague memories of the early space program; flickering images from the tube television, a trip to the National Air and Space Museum as a boy, later a shuttle launch as a teenager.  Like a lot boys, I loved rockets and jet planes and Star Trek and space...I have always loved space.

To have set foot on another planetary body, what must that be like?  How can the rest of your life compare?  Did he, at that moment, understand Moses, Muhammad, Elijah, Buddha?  Removed from the empirical reality and thrust into the fantastic, a shaman's journey which simply doesn't translate to those who can only trust the ground beneath their feet; what do you do after that?

There are those born with the exploring spirit.  I don't think it's in everyone's DNA, not at all.  The searching spirit becomes many things, but the static, comfortable, accepting, unquestioning life is simply not an option for these souls.  There's no point to that existence.  One man's small step changed the course of our culture, and gave courage to all the astronauts and ceiling-smashers and rule-breakers since; myself included.

When I started painting, really committing myself to painting, words like spiritual and the Sublime would get you tossed out of dinner parties unless you were disparaging them.  But when I look at the painting of JMW Turner, or Rothko, I immediately get that sensation I that get from looking through a telescope, or seeing images from the space station, or from Mars, or staring out into the ocean; that we, you and I, are insignificant and tiny and our lives and so-called problems are little more than space dust to the infinite.

All I want to do is create portals to that place.  That peaceful insignificance.  There's no room for hate, or ego or agenda there.  We can only be carried away.  I think in that moment, that absolute surrender, we find the greatest part of ourselves; the part that -in fact- doesn't even belong to us, but is a part of everyone and everything.  It's what makes us human.  It isn't a chemical compound, or a genetic puzzle piece, or anything that can be quantified or analyzed or reduced or argued about.  Our essence is our shared experience; our loss of Selves in which we find ourselves.  That's why I paint.  That is what art has the power to show us.

louder than words

I've been internalizing a great many questions as of late; what is art?  what is it that I do?  what images and themes re-occur throughout my oeuvre?  does art matter?

I've always believed in going to work.  That showing up in the studio and getting your hands dirty provides the proper and fertile state of mind for inspiration, and that painters paint, sculptors sculpt, writers write, and so on.  I believe we are defined by actions, not ideas or concepts; though I appreciate the visionaries in this world.  True visionaries make their visions real, however; with sweat and blood and sometimes their very lives.  Actions speak.

In the studio, often I'll start down a path and on my way I'll notice little trails -overgrown and thorny and mostly-hidden from the casual glance.  Sometimes these lead me to amazing places, sometimes they are distractions, but always the journey is worth it.  Making work makes me think about work and this drives the creative process into new directions.

My girls started 1st grade today.  Bittersweet, to be sure, but mostly a happy time.  They grow older (as do I) and they are slowly growing up and inspiring me and helping me grow and love and create and thrive and evolve.

Most of my time in the studio is spent prepping canvases.  I paint quickly and decisively; I always have.  I don't labor over paintings once I begin, but I fetishize the prepping.  I love beginnings and I love possibility.  I've said many times before that one day I will paint the most amazing painting that will be but a single mark on surface.  Simplicity and power in one authoritative stroke.  All else seems to be leading to that moment.

move

The second two black paintings are ready to accept the oil paint.  The past few weeks have been madness at the day job, and I feel that particular area of my life is about to undergo radical change.  Every man has his breaking point, where "lucky to have a job" no longer provides the motivation nor holds the power to take what is being dished out.

I heard from an old friend who recently moved from Italy to Germany, and thought of how I grew up -in the military, moving around every few years.  It was a good way to grow up; though at times I hated it, as children (especially adolescents and teenagers) are want to do.  I've never stayed in one place too long until here, and while my life is rich in ways I could have never imagined, I feel the road always calling.  I crave change and the act of stepping into the unknown.

Tomorrow night I'll start hitting it, and by the weekend may even be ready to get down; we'll see.  I gave a studio tour today to a friend whose been asking for months to come, and last week Donna of A Perfect Gray graced the studio for her annual visit.

When I think about the journey of the past 8 months, and see how I took this idea from a dream to these large works, it feels good.  I read a quote a few days ago that has really helped me through a stressful weekend, "before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, make sure you're not surrounded by assholes."  True indeed.  It reminds me that one can always choose; you can always change your mind.  The road might not be easy, in fact it may really suck.  But worthwhile change is worth whatever you go through to get to.  I hope I have the strength to capitalize on the possibilities that are coming my way.

ocean size

Whiskey at this late hour, reflecting and being; the sweat of labor still cools my skin.  In the warehouse studio there is no judgement or noise or frustration.  There is the living; uncompetitive and poignant.  I lose myself in the working, opening up to the autonomy of each painting and discovering.

I white mark on surface, so pure and amazing and I think of the blackness of Caravaggio and keep working, striving toward the deep, the deep.

Wish I was ocean size

They cannot move you

No one tries

There's illumination in this black paint and mark-making.  And now there's whiskey, sweet and warm and the day fades into another.  The time in the studio is pure; like love, like time spent with daughters or walking along the Bosporus, or standing on the edge of volcano in Guatemala.  Life.  Living.  The act of living is moving ever towards dying...and it makes me smile tonight as I paint in my head and see what these will be.  Cool night kissed the rafters and rained down goodness and there is seeing.  Much seeing and some doing.  A good night.