The Rico Act

47 things I've learned in 47 years

I'm in the doldrums. Winter lingers and the placid sea merely offers buoyancy; no direction. I'm feeling introspective and so here it goes, in no particular order of significance....

You can always change your mind. The road to change may not come easy, but there is no path from which you cannot diverge.
Life is about relationships. Maintain them with the utmost care.
Always be willing to step outside your comfort zone. The greatest moments of your life result from the unexpected detour, the choice you wanted to say no to but didn't.
Buy the ticket, take the ride. See your decisions through and deal with the consequences.
Things happen for a reason; sometimes that reason is piss-poor judgement, bad luck or lack of perspective. Learn from these moments and move on.
Follow your bliss.
Trust your visions.
No one can give you answers, but seek out people whom you believe can anyway. You'll probably end up calling each other friends for life.
Every problem hides a kernel of wisdom. Break it apart. Use a hammer if you need to, but discover whatever it is you're supposed to learn from it.
Sometimes we act, sometimes we are acted upon. There are equal merits to either condition.
Treat every person you meet with respect and dignity and you will meet god many times over.
Everyone should have one shitty job in their life. A job where you serve people and are made to feel invisible. There is a clarity from this experience that nothing else offers.
Your relationship with money is just that; decide whether it is a long or short term, honest, caring, abusive or destructive, and act accordingly. If you don't like the results, learn to have a different relationship.
Buy the best shoes you can afford and care for them.
Become a snob about one thing, but don't be obnoxious about it.
Do something you will never be great at; this is called a hobby. It should be fun and utterly pointless.
Always take a job to learn before you take a job to earn.
Learn more about money than your accountant.
Be in better shape than your doctor.
Your body is the greatest gift you'll ever receive, treat it well.
Life is an endurance sport, not a sprint. Watch your friends and peers revolve on the wheel of fortune and you will understand this. Stick around, it doesn't get easier but you get better at it.
Dress your age, but dress well; how you act is up to you, but own where you are in life.
Go to New York. Often.
Ride roller coasters.
Finger paint with your kids and make a mess. You'll remember why it's fun.
Drive a stick shift.
Keep a journal. You don't have to write every day, but you should write at least one entry a week.
Get a really nice pen.
Drink water. Lots of water.
Exercise as often as you can, no one is too busy to take care of themselves.
Travel for good friends, good conversation and good experiences.
If your best friend calls and needs you to come, go without hesitation.
Do not buy into other people's emotional states or drama.
Read great books. Seriously. Even if it takes you a year to read a great novel, you join a society once you do. You understand metaphors and you get references. This simple act makes you smarter and opens doors in ways you cannot conceive.
Have a drink with your father-in-law and listen to him.
Bad things happen to most people. What defines us is how we respond to these moments.
Discuss religion and politics if you must, but turn the conversation toward BBQ or college football in the South and you should be ready for fist-to-cuffs.
See great art in person. Art is meant to be experienced live.
Cultivate yourself. Ignorance is a treatable condition.
Take walks. Don't take your phone, don't wear headphones, don't do it for exercise, just take a damn walk; preferably in the woods, but anyplace outside will do.
Get out of bed when you wake up. The snooze button is for losers. My first hour of the day is an amazing personal time where I collect my thoughts and put on my skin for what lies ahead. I'd rather get up in the dark than get a little extra sleep and try to catch up with myself for the rest of the day. I always feel there is something profound about seeing the sun rise.
Learn to cook. You will never be without friends.
Cultivate one noticeable flaw, but otherwise be your best.
Make a bucket list and start checking it off.
Eat local food; no matter where you go.
Love with abandon, live with purpose.
The journey is the destination.

rain and oil

study for Prometheus, oil stick on paper, 2014

My drawing practice has recently returned, largely in part to being frozen out of my studio and my wife's aggressive rehearsal schedule. I draw in negative; the images I get down are flipped in my mind's eye. The whites are black and blacks white. I've tried working on black paper, but over the holidays I started using paint sticks in various shades of black and I've been very happy with the process.

I get images from everywhere, and lately I've been appropriating photographs from the various Tumblr feeds I check-in on daily. I confess that I've become addicted to Tumblr, I like the idea of scrolling through hundreds of images with little or no text. It's a feast for a visually-oriented person like me.

I'm taking a break from the stations series to paint another painting or two. It's not like anyone is busting down my studio door demanding the work for a show anyway, so I am happy to go at my own pace and wander in and out of the series at will. Maybe I also need a psychological break from the all-black fields, who knows?

That's the way art goes, I think. Changing one thing makes something else occur to me. Then I'll go explore that new idea. I've said it many times, but work comes from work. Painters paint, actors act, musicians play music. There are enough waiters and waitresses in the world; do what you have to do to keep your dream alive, but don't buy into the means as the end. Anyone can keep working if they are successful. Those of us who work without concern for recognition or money and keep at it are a different breed. I've been fortunate with getting my work into the world and even selling it. But I do it because, try as I might some times, I cannot not do it.

Today is a work holiday and I'm off to the studio to smoke a cigar and enjoy the rain.

what we see

7th station, in progress, studio

I've been invited to participate in a group show curated by an incredible artist and acquaintance at U Dayton (I'm big in Ohio, ladies and gentlemen, what can I say?). The assignment was simple, but it's gotten me thinking about appropriation and images and seeing. Painting, and really all art-making I can think of, involves an altered perception. Not the kind you get from substances, but an altered sense of looking/listening/experiencing a thing. It's taken me decades to fully grasp that I see the world fundamentally differently than most people; that I experience the world around me profoundly differently. So if I take an image and rotate it and reverse it and filter it, it becomes a thing it was not before. My active experience and interaction alters the thing itself, and thus forever changes the perceptions of others as well.

It's said that we don't really know what art is, but we know it when we see it. I'd add to that Jerry Saltz's famous quip, "art can be for anybody, it's just not for everybody." The viewer has a responsibility in encountering art. I really don't think a painting is done until someone has seen it. For me, seeing people see the work gives me closure. I'm not responsible for what they take away, but I'm very interested in what they bring.

If you think about it, every one of us is alone in the universe. We are experiencing life and our surroundings in a unique and solitary way. "Blue" to me isn't necessarily blue to you, and so on. Artists train themselves to trust this. We invite it in and use it, and we attempt to bring those perceptions to a table of universality through the personal. I think artists are sharing people. It makes it especially hard for us to understand those who do not share.

Over time, I've developed a way of using my medium to facilitate what I see and communicate it to others. I eschew the common notion of inspiration, but truth be told I walk around in a constant state of being inspired by everything. I'll stop and take pictures of clouds, or puddles because I find them remarkable. All that looking has brought about a way of seeing; or is it the other way around?

I'm long overdue for a trip to NYC. Good conversation is hard to find in this town.

the fourth station

Apparizione della Madre (fourth station) [in progress],

acrylic and oil on canvas, 72" x 72", Rico '14

The weekends seem shorter, the winter drags on. I work with constraints (mostly time) but increasingly without limits. I'm fairly far along on four paintings now, and I saw them all hung for the first time in the studio today. They are strong, and there is a long way to do.

A quiet night fades into a busy week. More stretchers to build -always we begin, again.

condemnation

condanna (first station) [in progress], acrylic and oil on canvas

72" x 72", Rico '14

A good night last night, the cold winds made it a closed door session. There are times when I feel that I am so utterly far removed from everyone and everything; that this tiny town may as well be an island or Mars. Working alone has taught me self-reliance and to trust in my visions. I am in my place of uncertainty. Each painting is a sustained effort, a surprise, and provides me brief satisfaction when I'm able to pull it off as I had imagined it.

The black paintings are incredibly difficult to document. What looks grey in the photo above is a matte black. As one moves through the room and views these paintings from different angles, the composition recedes and emerges and fades. These pieces are painted with a space in mind, and when I have two or three more under my belt, I will begin that process.

I've worked heavily from sketchbooks for this series. I have an arc of story through the composition of each painting. I know what they look like in my mind now.

the first failure

il primo fallimento (third station)

acrylic and oil on canvas, 72" x 72", Rico '14

There's a favorite cultural myth that we cling to above all others; that man pulls himself up by his own bootstraps in isolation from the world around him and achieves greatness/wealth/fame by merit and hard work alone. The claimed rewards proof, -irrefutable, that he alone is deserving of the overflowing cup from which he now drinks deeply. We worship celebrity for this very reason; celebrity being both our gods and everyman. It plays into the very same mythos as the impoverished, inner city youth who rises to professional fame and wealth in sports through hours of dedication and practice against all odds. We need to believe in meritocracy if only to keep us from losing hope in our fragile puritan ethos and desperate belief in fairness. In reality there are far fewer slices of pie than can ever be enough for all of us, and most; no matter how talented or brilliant or dedicated they may be, will never rise from obscurity.

So we lost an amazing actor yesterday; an artist. There will be many talking heads paraded across everyone's television screens and op-ed columns saying why we should mourn or why we should pity or condemn. There were, no doubt, sermons. There will be "serious" talk about addiction and help for addicts, the victims of their own hedonism or escapism fueled by the overwhelming pressures of their fortune; good or ill. Many people who have never so much as smoked a joint will decry the wretched cultural scourge of illegal drugs; equating heroin with abusing Adderall, blaming rap culture and immigrants and of course, Obama.

Can we instead take a breath for a moment and recognize that a man is dead? People die every day, each death is tragic; each has some back story that, unlike the high-profile death of a celebrity, will never be told. To some degree, most of us will die with our pants at our ankles (metaphorical speaking). Death doesn't wait until it's convenient. Death is the price for life, and everyone pays the same fee when the check comes to the table. I'm far more inclined to view the death of a six-day-old baby as tragic than someone my age who couldn't wrestle his demons to the ground, but the real truth about addiction is that the users are seldom the victims anyway; the victims are almost always the families. Those left behind. It is those people who deserve respect, privacy in their mourning, and compassion. The dead don't care what we have to say about them, or when we grow tired of speaking of them at all.

I've seen friends go down the rabbit holes of crack and heroin. It's ugly and deeply saddening, and there is a moment, right before they go under when you're still reaching for them and trying to do everything you can to pull them out. In the very next moment you realize they will pull you under too, and you salvage what you can, step back and hope they make it; and promise yourself you'll be there when they do. Sometimes you can be. But not every time.

The christian's prophet said, "let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Implicit in that statement is that no stones be thrown at all, because who among us is blameless? Who among us hasn't failed? We may have the presence of mind to not shoot horse, but that doesn't mean we won't die behind the wheel for any number of equally-preventable and similarly banal reasons. It doesn't mean we are superior. It only means we had the opportunities to make different choices, and somehow, maybe even in spite of ourselves, we acted on those opportunities. I won't claim innocence when it comes to drugs. I'm fortunate to have a peculiar immunity toward addiction to some substances that others try once and it seals their fate. Lucky me; but it owes far more to biochemistry than moral fortitude let me tell you. And while heroin is a peculiar journey during which at one point everyone knows how it will likely end, when you're in it, it may not seem so clear and rational and clean. I've overcome some demons, so have many good friends. But others, equally dear, are not here today, and that doesn't make them weak or bad people so much as it makes them human and frail and more like me than I can sometimes own up to to care to admit.

As I think about the stations of the cross, what intrigues me is that it is the story of a man who knew how his story was going to play out. He could have opted out at any time, walked away, lived a long life or (if you buy their theology) simply stepped off this mortal plane and onto another. The most human thing in the world to do is to avoid pain. The compelling arc of story is that he faced his fate with eyes wide open and in so doing provided an example of how each of us can do so as well. Some are born to discover new worlds, create research that will forever change the world we live in, be great artists, composers, actors or world leaders. Some are born to be great parents, courageous teachers, or simply play the supporting role in other people's lives while never seeing the spotlight themselves. Whatever our path, whatever it is that we were born for, whatever gifts we have been born with, we must grab that destiny and run with it. Live it for all that it's worth and squeeze every ounce of sweat, blood, spit and sex out of it until we collapse in a lumped, bruised heap at death's door. I believe we are born to live, even if we cannot escape death. The when and perhaps the how of dying isn't up to us; but we make our own terms when it comes to how we live.

These paintings are an existential journey for me. I don't have any answers; I'm too busy asking questions.

one winter more

one winter more before the northward crossing,

acrylic and oil on canvas, 2014 Rico

The process of painting passes through dozens of paintings. For every mark, from the very first one, the pictorial space is shaped and changed. The artist practices a detached discernment, but must free himself from judgement. Openness and awareness must be preserved; the act of seeing is paramount.

Things occur in the process. Work comes from work. The simple change from white to black has profoundly changed my perceptions and interactions with the canvas. As I prepare to take this concept large, I'm reminded that I purposely constricted myself in square canvases. The square is inflexible. It is also pure and, surprisingly, spiritual. I'm reminded of Malevich, from whom I now have a much deeper appreciation. Indeed the association with the icon is asserting itself in this work, and that was by design but unexpected in terms of effectiveness.

A quick break and then back to lay down another layer of acrylic so that I can hit these with oil tomorrow. This modest 10" x 10" canvas retains the large scale. I'll dive into the 6' x 6' canvases with abandon.

reflections

The sun has just risen over the Atlantic and tide is rolling in. We took a last-minute beach adventure; much-needed after the harsh re-entry into routine after the long holidays. What remains of the week is a frenzied roster of events and tasks; that peculiar state of daily life as parents and professionals. I'll enjoy the drive back once we're clear of the 70 miles of incessant billboard vulgarity which defines so many beaches. I hope for light traffic and blue skies.

...And later, reflections of the sun in the ripples of the pool as my little mermaids dive and glide beneath the surface. Skills honed last summer as we dutifully put in our daily hours poolside in Florida. They grow each day now, shooting up like sprouts after heavy rains.

Reflections on the year past and the weeks ahead, each year accelerating with my daughters ever closer to a day when they will move away and begin their own lives. If I do my job well, they will do so with confidence and wonder; and yet it breaks my heart to think of that day. Therein lies the rub of parenthood itself.

Reflections on the windy sea as Helios makes his ascent. Choppy waves move fast to shore and the artist's mind is lost in contemplating line and surface, form and fluidity. In a few short days I'll return to Spartanburg for the opening reception of the show. It still feels surreal and distant. A friend said she was coming and it made me realize that I had forgotten there would be people I knew there Friday night. Solitary is the practice and the Way. So much so it is surprising when it is peopled.

Wave wash sound of water caressing sand. I'll sit in my library tonight and feel recharged; our spontaneous escapade much needed after the harsh re-entry into daily routine from our long holiday break. Over two weeks back into it and we are all struggling still. I question why; perhaps too often. I suppose I wonder what purpose these Industrial Age structures of school and work actually serve any more. We are operating on 19th century paradigms which are long-since obsolete. Like the provincial sensibilities which make abstract art a hard sell even 100 years into the uniquely American story of it, as a nation we all-too-often mistake nostalgia and narrow mindedness for tradition.

some nights

I visited the Abstract Invitational exhibit last night. Seeing my work in that space felt very gratifying and very humbling. I was struck by how different the exhibition looked at SAM as opposed to the Elizabeth Harper gallery where it previously hung. The museum, -the Chapman Cultural Center as a whole, is top shelf. The citizens of Spartanburg should be proud; they are poised to enter into the global discussion of art with this space.

Any doubts about my seriousness as a painter are obliterated with this show. Any questions as to the significance of my work are laid to rest. I brought it, and no one can ever take away the moment I had with the show last night.

I'll be back a week from today for the official opening of the exhibit and I'll give a brief artist's talk. I'm glad I've now been in the space and seen the show, it makes the opening easier. I met some nice people last night, hopefully I'll meet more next week. I'm hopeful some of my friends from far away may surprise me and fly in, but the support online has been overwhelming as it is, and I know SC is not a destination for many who haven't been here.

It's before dawn and the house is still and in the darkness I drink my coffee and type these words and I'm still trying to understand that last night was not a dream. These little (and not so little) validations keep me going, for I know the road will never end for me.

floods

The rains came and my roof leaked, soaking most of the Eastern wall. The paintings in progress appear be OK, seasoned as they are from extreme temperatures and varying humidity. Sometimes the primitive nature of the studio gives me pause, but I love working in there when the temperatures climb and in the hot, still nights.

I will see the show for the first time this Thursday. As part of Spartanburg's Art Walk, I hope there will be some traffic. I'm curious to see how it will be received, though not having seen the show in the space, it will be an experience for me as well.

The black paintings are promising. I was able to experiment with some 10" square canvases and the results are powerful. It's hard to get a handle on what it will look like big, but I feel very positive thus far. I was able to get down another coat of gesso on the 4 in play, and the surfaces are coming along nicely. I know I'm onto something. I don't recall every feeling this way about emerging work in the studio.

higher ground

I met the writer D A Adams for coffee this afternoon on his way through town. We have been friends for half our lives, having met in a poetry workshop in college. He's one of those lifelong friends that whenever we meet the time and distance immediately fade. Our intense conversations always leave me transformed and questioning. Coffee turned into 4 hours without either of us noticing. Of him I can say many things, but suffice to say he is a gentleman and a professional. His writing transcends genre and speaks to me personally and profoundly about the human condition.

Today also begins the unfortunate anniversary of the birth, short life, and death of another close friend's child. The mother's blog and Facebook posts are often gut-wrenching and brutally real in a way that makes them extremely difficult to read and nearly impossible to respond to. Years after, the pain remains ever-present for them, and while one tries to be good friend, there comes a point of realizing there's nothing one can do. I'll never feel what they feel; at least I hope with every fibre of my being that I will not, and this by its very acknowledgement creates a chasm so vast that there is only blackness and the seeming hollowness of kindness to offer. I feel for them and I think of Ellie through the years and I wish they did not feel alone in their pain and that I could somehow reach through it.

The black paintings are about our humanity. Seeing and interpreting the last day of Christ within the context of epic poetry, epic story, made me appreciate it anew. I'm still not religious, nor will I ever be again, but the story speaks to me. When I saw my first crude efforts I immediately understood how heavy the works will eventually be. Even those 2 paintings hit me like a Mack truck to the chest; but they were not what I wanted, so I destroyed them. Whatever spiritual or transformative paintings I may or may not have painted to-date are nothing compared to these. These are something else entirely. I see it in my head and I cannot rest. They will not leave me alone.

So maybe the pain I cannot find the strength to speak to in the case of my friends' child is somehow a part of this. Maybe the eternal conversation between good friends is more than the simple act of reunion and is, instead, a regenerative spiritual process; a rebirth. Our inadequate distinctions between joy and agony seem to only limit a true experience of either. Those moments when we allow ourselves to feel deeply and without limits are the moments when our souls awaken from the horrific slumber of daily life. So I celebrate the writings of a grieving mother even as I sometimes recoil from them. I embrace the unending love and connection of a friend as I am aware we may not see each other for months or even years. Our feelings are somehow better when they are inappropriately laid bare, and naked, and present, because we dilute them in our everyday grind. And on those same lines if art (or Art) doesn't somehow connect with and engage that, then it is not, nor can it ever be art. It is, to paraphrase the prophet, an empty sound; like cheap tin.

anew

I spent my last day of 2013 in the studio. Tonight I will drink with good friends and ring in the New Year, safe and stationary for the evening. Through the magic of the internet, I won't be anywhere near a computer or smartphone when this posts, but I wish everyone a happy 2014.

I'll walk into the studio in the new year ready to do battle. I know the way ahead, it is clear to me now.

In just over 2 weeks the SAM show will open, and I will see my work hanging in an art museum for the very first time. I hope this bodes well for the new year, we painters are a suspicious lot. I remember meeting a fairly famous sculptor back in the Spring at an opening at June Kelly who, finding himself surrounded by a motley crew of painters remarked that painters have to take the hard way. For sculptors, he said, if it works we go with it. But you painters have to struggle. If it comes easy you always reject it.

I suppose that's true. Knifing those two paintings yesterday was the only option. I could look at it as 3 months work down the drain or I could see it for what it is; 3 months worth of practice and setting my own bar. What emerges from destruction is often better than what was before. In my case, I've never denied the link between creation and destruction. Indeed, my process is often violent and chaotic to reach the pictures I paint.

I'm glad 2013 is over. I'm not one for the past. Today is the greatest day of my life. This is the greatest time. My daughters' age now is my favorite age they have been, and this has always been the case. I can't look ahead too far into the new year. I have my plots and plans, but in the end I will be where I need to be. I feel the work is about to go somewhere really powerful and so I want for nothing.

I have a feeling that this series will be accomplished much more quickly than I originally thought. I can't wait to watch it come together.