1st Gear

It has been a slow road off of the recent crisis. The crisis is a crossroads; if I paint this infrequent my art life may go nowhere and then necessarily become extinct, traded for a more stable family friendly career. I haven’t been painting much lately as a result. I think one way out of this crisis is choosing to make more time for it, a proper amount. I have tonight, but an obstacle or two has already been presented. I have a prior obligation I am reluctant to attend and I have no energy. These are mere obstacles and for now I am resolute.

I have entered into a fine conversation or two recently and perhaps I will post those later. One deals with my art in particular and I found it an interesting take. It was opined that my work is interesting and of notable quality, but “empty”, my emotional content that is. On some level, I agree. Now, for those that know my work and have been exposed to my thinking, it can be agreed that this is quasi-intentional. It is intentional in that my priorities are for painting ideas and notions, not emotional moments and flowers or even pain. I paint ideas and concepts almost philosophically and have actively resisted too much specific emotional baggage. Though this is what I have done, “empty” is no achievement, regardless of where on the totem pole I place the importance of emotion.

That said, my ‘everyman’ forms serve a great purpose. I do not wish to personalize my forms so much that they overpower the theme. Often it is the very idea that individuals are lost in the modern media, replaced by numbers and sensation that drive the ideas behind my paintings. I want to focus on the greater concept of how we are changing as a people, as a world, as a species, with every new development in the conditions of our evolving human condition. When I painted In the Mines, I painted the whole of the lost souls and what it means to risk going underground and being left there in a commercial world. I painted the dark light of man’s last moments, pre-buried. I didn’t paint Jim’s ordeal or Jane’s sacrifice; I painted the ultimate sacrifice for all of us. The same goes for the painting representing the tragedy at the World Trade Center Towers, In the Towers. It represents all of those lost, the fear in all of us, the futility, the capitulation and quiet resignation in the face of the foreground avatar. Bodies twist in that one, as much from the idea of such fantastic carnage as it represents how little we knew of what it must have been like up there and how they would never know what would happen in the years after down here. It is unknown. Putting a specific emotional and realistic face into that dialogue would seem too one sided, like starting an argument with an absolute and refusing to budge your ground.














As mentioned however, “empty” is no triumph and I admit, I could stand to include this element in a more thorough way with my forms. Granted, ‘empty’ may not even be the right word, it may be too harsh (maybe not?), but the viewer trusts me to make the whole argument and I believe I can trust them to engage the whole idea of my intent without stopping on agreement or disagreement of how I use emotion in my paintings. So, I will soon endeavor to better frame my arguments, not neglecting parts of our being for the sake of sterile understanding of the truth.

Clutch

I started a new composition. Sorry Stacy, yours is in my field of view still, just not on the easel. I am in a mild crisis however, so if there are extenuating circumstances, these are they.

How could I ever not do this? By that, I mean paint. I think I imagined last night, for the first time, not having access to [painting/creative endeavors] and it depressed me on a fundamental level. Not because it was sad or because I would not be able to do something that made me happy. It wouldn't be that simple. The depressing insinuation has everything to do with imagining forfeiting who I have always been, who I am today, and whom I always thought I would be.

This new painting, though in the initial stages, shows me painting will never go away. If I were to give all of this up to make those around me more happy I would only accomplish the opposite by becoming a negative force in their lives. If I had to be someone else out of capitulation, what good is that for anyone? What does that teach? What lesson is that? I know. It is a lesson on how not to live. It would be a lesson in failure and regret and forfeiture. Noble lessons some may say(the French?), but I say that those lessons come along the way regardless, in moments of thinness and moments of cowardice or self doubt.

Painting should be thick, brave, and confident. A painting should not be just a picture, it should be an idea. It should be a journey, an exploration, and an experiment. It should be something unresolved in the beginning. It should be a trial and a discovery and something worked out, like life. These criteria should make this new composition interesting.

I am a painter because I am not otherwise.

Shift

This could be chemical or this could be bad wine at midnight. This could be fatigue, but this could be real. Often in reflection or thought I come across a new spin on an idea. I practice at this. It takes that, practice. It's tough looking at something differently or anew on demand. It is also important to attempt to view everything from as many angles as one can.

Life is a train ride. Sometimes however, you really need to get off or get on top of this train to get a view not as much for the scenery, but of the vehicle. I still like this metaphor, though my perspective has come to believe that life and choice is nowhere near as linear as train tracks. It's more like the old board game Trouble, where each decision or move is predicated by a push of the hemispherical pop up die toss thing. As in life, direct intention and action couples with randomized interference at the interface of life to determine your fork in the road and inevitably your fate, only in life, the die may have infinite sides and a few other features. But I digress.

Tonight a perspective flashed before me that had no immediate rebuke. There was no automatic refute in my head. There would have been if the idea were as false as it should be, but apparently there is room for consideration. This idea may require a climb to the top of the train and a look around. The flash was this; against all life experience and against all desire and makeup of me, perhaps in the not-so-distant future, I may have to give up painting. Why? I do not live for just me anymore. As minimal as I have allowed painting to become, it may not be enough. It brings in nothing for anyone but me, though I am it. From my daily demands it just seems there is less and less room. And yes I am aware this implies that on a daily basis there is less and less room for me in my own life.

The more I write about this the worse the feeling gets. I don't want to avoid that, but I don't want to buy into something that feels as blackhole-ish as self deprecation. I had the thought for the first time in my life and I felt dread instead of reassurance, that's all.

I may feel fight worthy tomorrow.