Clear The Deck and Paint
March, April and May were sensational, in the sense of the sensations of Spring. It was a climate change, early Spring. All the elements were there for a series of higher nature paintings. The inspiration came with the season, to dive deeply into purely spontaneous expression. I had to acknowledge the great shake down of the planet with compassion for the confused life surviving outdoors. Then, clear the deck and paint.
This deck, off the back of a cottage kitchen nestled into a garden settled into a rocky green community. Days slowly growing longer, oils and acrylics and water base oils building up surfaces on canvas. Whites and violets peeking up through mud, flickering silver and gold hobby paint catching glimpses of light. Cold wet warm cold sun trying drying timing. Cold dry warm wet air on my skin and in my lungs.
What a happy house my brother and I shared. Peter is a comedian with a warm and generous heart. Not everyone is simpatico with a painter at work. Myself, being a distracted, messy creator of toxic concoctions, working in the paste.
Modern man created a safe visual world that women keep clean. A keep your hands off distance from ooze. No touchy, no feely, no feelings. No wonder a painter is an enigma. All this, well, paint. With pigments and oil and mediums and abandon without color boundaries. Color on clothes and doorframes, table, floor and face and hands. And oh,
the rapture at that first chance glance in a mirror at a yellow slash across a cheekbone from the glaze that completed a painting with the sure feeling of an independent identity.
Now, look at painting, modern man. Ancient forces are oozing out of control. The irony is, so messy to execute and so exquisite to behold. Painting is the oldest visual tool of creativity and is messy. Life is messy, a painter and friend, Lauren, is fond of pointing out. And like life, the art of painting can’t be cleaned up or written out of existence.
The art of painting has been hailed or dismissed at the whim of twentieth century critics. Intellectual art criticism is an arena of philosophy based on an acquired knowledge of applied semantics. But, the map is not the territory. Formally educated or self taught linguists in on going debates, even writing criticisms on one another’s critiques, thrive within their own circle. The rest of us are on te sidelines as the mighty pens clash. Words are a powerful creative medium to be considered as such.
At the cutting edge, the life’s blood of art of the twenty first century is mutual respect for the potential of any and all mediums. Words, technology, recycled trash or paint are not mutually exclusive. Art is not a succession of fads. Art is an evolving, inclusive
iconography of spirit, reflecting a changing culture.
The ancient and honorable craft of painting has evolved and flourished through the millenniums to this day. I am just one life, with many cherished ancestors, in the heritage of dedication to the art of paint.
