Fill Your Paintbox [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night…

[A Midsummer NIght’s Dream by William Shakespeare. Act 2, scene 1]

I played Oberon for the Walden Theatre Company at the Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts when I was way too young to play the role. I said the words and, although I did my research, I only had an abstract grasp of wild thyme and luscious woodbine. I had no depth of understanding of relationship and the mischief it invokes.

Now, those things are visceral. I know them to my core.

Luscious woodbine climbs and covers the fence beside our driveway. The leaves turn to fire in the fall, and when they drop, they reveal the blue berries, toxic to humans but delicious to birds. In a few days, the berries disappear. Woodbine symbolizes the bond of love since it entwines and embraces trees and other plants. And fences. The locals call it Virginia Creeper.

I was witness to the great actor, Jim Edmondson, play Lear for the first time. He was astonishing. After the performance, he said, “I don’t have enough colors in my paint box yet to play this role.” I sometimes wonder, as he aged, if he found the colors he felt he lacked. The intimate depth of understanding of growing old, of losing power, of being shelved. Loss upon loss. Leaves turn to fire and fall. All that remains is the vine.

I’m growing to understand the paradox of life: none of us has enough colors in our paint box when we are young and moving through the complexity. The colors are cumulative. How many times have I said, “Man, if I only knew then what I know now.”

“I know a bank where the wild thyme blows…” Yes. I do. At last.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WOODBINE

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See What You See [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

In the 1960’s it was called a mantra. Today, we’d call it branding: “What you see is what you see.” The mantra-brand for minimalist art. Rather than capturing an image or referencing an emotion, the minimalist desired to expose forms and materials in the pursuit of essence.

Artists are not separate from the times in which they live. The minimalist movement arose following the second world war. These artists were young men and women who, early in their lives, experienced the reality of fascism; a rhetoric of purity masking mass murder. A promise of the return to greatness with the actuality of thuggery fueled by pathological lies. The promise of greatness has never aimed so low or been more feeble.

Is it any wonder that the young artists of that time desired to expose forms and materials. To pull off the mask of the promiser and expose the essence of the message? They understood the necessity, the real human cost, of investing in an empty illusion. A delusion of past greatness that never existed in the first place. Anger is easy to exploit. Division is easy to create. Gaslight illuminates a path to nowhere.

As history tries to repeat itself and thuggery at home and worldwide is on the rise, perhaps a return to minimalism is the antidote we require. Turn off the noise. Expose the form and the materials used. Circle back to the minimalist mantra: what you see is what you see.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MINIMALISM

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Mix Harmonious [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Harmony in color. The place where the language of music finds a home in the visual arts. Synesthesia.

Harmonious color arrangements, like harmonious sound arrangements, must share at least one common “note.” Mix a little yellow into each color on the palette and the colors will work like chords. They’ll be compatible. Pleasing.

It’s probably obvious in my paintings. I’ve never really studied color. I use what pleases my eye (like a musician who plays by ear). Now, I want to know. It’s counter-intuitive; after decades of painting I to want to understand the basics. I want to know what I know and discover what I don’t know. I suspect what I don’t know is monumental.

Long ago, Mike sent me a color study that DeMarcus did when he was in art school. The image is of a cactus. At the base of the painting is the palette that he selected. He framed this piece and kept it on his wall over the course of his very long life and artistic career. It must of been a reminder: don’t forget the basics. It hangs in my studio though, for me, it carries a different reminder: don’t forget your lineage.

Dropping into an episode of Home Town recently, I laughed aloud when Erin Napier said that the only useful thing she learned in art school was the color wheel. I am, as is true of every artist that has been at work for decades, finding my way back to the simple basics.

When I was a kid, pre-internet, I had a cardboard color wheel with a rotating “locator” window meant to help a budding artist know what-color-goes-with-what-color. I didn’t pay much attention to it. It felt like study and I was impatient. I needed to make messes. I didn’t appreciate it at the time but I knew intuitively that I needed to move around to learn. I made swatches for days. I made some terrifically ugly color combinations. I painted some perfectly awful paintings. I still do.

The bubble-of-learning is moving from my body and slowly – ever so slowly – floating up to meet my brain. And, in this contentious world, I’ve decided that the best place to start is with harmony. Harmony in color. A little intentional recognition of sameness to create some pleasing compatibility.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MAUVE AND OLIVE

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Watch Them Play [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I’m not sure if the colors are especially exceptional this year or if I am simply more conscious of them. Either way, every time I step out the door I am gobsmacked by the vibrant hues and color-tones.

An earlier version of me would have been compelled to recreate the color-pop on a canvas. Now I am content to stand still in appreciation. To drink it in. The colors change each day. They change with the light. Grey skies make the color sing. When the sun is low in the sky, the plumes on the grasses are electric.

For fun I downloaded “color tips” from Art2Life. He’s terrific. One of his tips is to make one color the hero of the composition. So, I’ve found myself – in mid-gobsmack – asking “Which color in this autumn symphony is the current hero?” And, to my great delight, there is always a standout, a color hero that commands my eye. And, to my even greater delight, when I return later to the exact location, there is an entirely different hero; the previous hero has no problem moving into a supporting role.

Light flickers. The sun arcs across the sky. The heroes share the stage without an ounce of competition. Theirs is an infinite game. I am so grateful that I am here to watch the colors play.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GRASSES

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Color It Orange [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

I’ve read that orange inspires creativity and provides a lift to people’s moods. I saw the orange-effect in action on the trail. The moment she saw the sun illuminating the orange leaves, she gasped, giggled and raced toward them with her camera. “Look!” she exclaimed. “They’re glowing!”

She wasn’t exaggerating. They were glowing. Brilliant and warm. They looked like sacred flame dancing on the end of the branch.

Yesterday I wrote about gratitude. Intentional gratitude as opposed to the spontaneous variety, though these days, the intentional and spontaneous are blending together like watercolor on wet paper. Sunset yellow and red mixing together to make mind-blowing orange against purple sky. Mood lifts. Creativity sparks.

I’ve come to view all art forms as expressions of gratitude. Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow.” I believe soul growth is the purpose of art and one cannot grow their soul without also experiencing intense gratitude.

Standing on the trail, watching the enthusiasm of Kerri’s flame-orange-photo-shoot, I decided the color of soul growth is most likely orange. She couldn’t see it, but the sun streaming through the leaves bathed her in vibrant shades of orange, making her part of the sacred-flame-dance.

Martha Graham would have loved this moment. “Soul growth,” she would have whispered enthusiastically, jumping to join Kerri in the ancient dance.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ORANGE

support it. like it. share it. comment on it. dance with it. color it. we appreciate it.

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Scratch The Soil [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

For some reason this photograph reminds me of Andrew Wyeth’s great painting, Christina’s World. The landscapes are not remotely the same. His Christina pulls herself through dry grasses on the coast of Maine. Kerri’s photo is of a cornfield in Wisconsin. But there’s something similar about the spirit. Maybe it’s the starkness? I feel it in my belly, an inner quality to the outer image.

There is something willful about corn. In the cliff houses of the Anasazi, archeologists found corn. We take it for granted. Since we can purchase butter lettuce grown hydroponically we forget that there was a time when cultivating food was a new experience. A new relationship with the mystery. It’s the reason people worshipped the corn. It’s like an old joke: it’s not the corn, stupid, the worship was with the relationship to the mystery. It’s never about the form. It’s always about the relationship. A lesson we moderns have yet to learn. The joke continues to be on us.

It’s the same lesson that every artist learns and relearns. It’s not about the painting, the final image. Andrew Wyeth’s painting was not about Christina. It is his reach into the mystery. He must have touched something because his painting opens the mystery to us.

Standing before a blank canvas is like the Anasazi scratching open the soil, the wonder of the seed. The planting of the corn. The promise of nourishment.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CORN

like. share. support. comment. it’s like scratching the soil. we appreciate it

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Meet Your Destiny [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I appreciate phrases like “As luck would have it.” The personification of Luck. It comforts me to imagine what Luck might look like. Somedays he dons a bowler hat and cane and wiggles his eyebrows when questioned. Sometimes Luck is a lady in an evening gown and Doc Martins; a swirling contradiction who laughs at our predictions.

And then there’s “Meet your destiny.” A place. A location in space and time. A spot on the road that you probably did not intend to visit..but there you are. A person as a destination. I feel that way about Kenosha, Wisconsin. Not in my wildest imagination did I think I would live anywhere in the midwest, especially a place called Kenosha. And then, as luck would have it, I met my destiny.

My destiny and I both love the fall. It is our favorite time of year. We like to take long walks. We lift snakes off the trail with sticks so bikes don’t run over them. We stop and stare back at the deer. We count the turtles that we spy. Yesterday there was a train of turtles sunning themselves on a single small rock. Four in a row. A hawk flew overhead. A heron high-stepped through the shallows. She stood guard over a fuzzy black caterpillar so the approaching hikers would see it. We laughed heartily as she stayed with the critter until it disappeared into the tall grasses. Caterpillar crossing guard.

I was not around when Kerri was on the road performing. I’ve seen her run rehearsals and play for services. I was her roadie for a house concert or two. I treasure the night she played the piano on an empty stage, in an empty theatre. It was enormous. It was heartbreaking. I’ve sat with her in her studio many nights while she played for me songs that are not yet recorded.

Time flies. Time as a bird or a plane. A rushing current of air.

As Luck would have it, Kerri stumbled onto some video from 1996. The release concert for her 2nd and 3rd albums. What a gift to see even a few minutes of her performance. Twenty five minutes of footage, early in her career. One thing was abundantly clear as I watched. She was doing exactly what she is on this earth to do. It’s visible. I could see it. Sitting at her piano, easy and sure, she was meeting her destiny.

I watched her watch the footage. Reaching back to move forward. Time flies. As luck would have it. A twist of fate. In the fall of our lives, she turned and gazed hard at the horizon.

Kerri’s music is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUN THROUGH AUTUMN TREES

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Circle Back Again [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I could have sworn a famous John Singer Sargent painting featured hibiscus. He painted poppies and roses. There is his famous Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose. Google isn’t helping me very much – or, today, I have very little patience.

The truth is I want to dig out my old art books and have a full analog experience. I want to turn pages and smell the ink and the dust. It’s a cold wet day. Dark. I want to sit in my studio rocking chair and revisit the version-of-me that used to sit for hours studying the paintings of masters. I have traveled full circle. I am back to believing that I know nothing. I am a beginner again.

In Scotland, a long time ago, John Singer Sargent’s portrait of Lady Agnew stopped me in my tracks. I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to encounter. Rounding a corner I saw the portrait hanging at the end of the hall. The brushstrokes were easy and free. Get close to it and you’ll discover there is no wasted motion. The paint speaks. It’s not a large portrait yet I felt it as a gut punch. Had I not been blocking the view of others, I would have stood before it all day. I left the museum certain that I knew nothing at all.

I’ve learned to appreciate these phases of not-knowing. They are not necessarily comfortable. Yearning never is. There’s nothing like empty space in your chest and a lump in your throat to set in motion a walk toward the next horizon. What’s over there?

On the trail yesterday I re-remembered the-one-thing, the one-essential-ingredient that makes a walk toward the horizon and away from the safety-of-the-known an adventure: under no circumstances must I take myself too seriously. Do not eat the ego-illusion that my work must or will change the world. It won’t. The world does not need changing. It only needs to be experienced. And I only need to express what I find as I circle back, sharing what I discover.

underpainting for what’s next

Visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about Hibiscus

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buymeacoffee is an online “tip jar” where you can support the continued work of the artists you value.

See The Unseen [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

20’s collections are surprising and always thought-provoking. For instance, he has a rich collection of images from the world that he calls “It’s good enough.” Jobs done poorly. The least amount of effort necessary to address a big job. Solutions that merely shift the problem. Beneath his series is a potent observation: this is what the world looks like when no one cares. Good enough. He is an artist of subtle yet powerful statements.

Another series that always makes me laugh is his “found faces” series. Electric outlets, manhole covers, utility plates, door knobs, that, once seen, gaze back at the viewer and can never be unseen. Now, it’s become a group sport. Kerri will stop suddenly, saying, “Oh! A face for 20’s series!” She adds to his collection. He adds to her collections.

It’s what artists are supposed to do for each other and the world. Open each others eyes to the whimsy and worth that surrounds us. To make the unseen seen, the familiar new.

Recently, at a coffeehouse near Madison, I heard the scuffle. Kerri and 20 both saw the face in the door and leapt to capture it. “Did you see it, too?” they simultaneously chimed, snapping away, bobbing around each other to capture the found face.

They are like siblings, a brother and sister competing to get the first photo. Laughing and jabbing ribs. My job is to sit back and appreciate the beauty of being surrounded by so many artists’ eyes – wide open and helping each other – and me – see and fully experience this surprising and mysterious world.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOUND FACES

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Color It Vivid [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

These two beauties are Black Swallowtail butterflies in the making. Caterpillars that look as if some artist applied yellow and green paint pens, decorating their black bodies with line and dot. The pop of vibrant color drew our eyes and brought us to our knees to investigate. “Unbelievable!”

I felt the same way the day we saw the orchids at The Chicago Botanic Gardens. The shock and variance of vivid color challenged my dedication to the notion that mother earth paints exclusively in earth tones. She does not. Her palette extends from neon to neutral, her color combinations are as enthusiastic as they are subtle.

I am aware that the further I walk down this life-road, the more I see – or am able to see – the feisty mix of color calling from the hummingbird and cardinal, the caterpillar and coneflower, the sunset and sea foam. I know they’ve always been there. I’ve always appreciated them in a passing way. Now, they catch me in their color-nets and hold me captive. My eyes are willing prisoners. “Unbelievable,” is my patent sigh and I find myself grateful beyond words that I have access to a world that spins color beyond my tiny expectation, my limited belief.

read Kerri’s blogpost on COLORFUL CATERPILLARS

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