The source of creation

Our brains serve us, as organs do, its a tool, its a functional piece of our biology. Then there’s the mind, the custodian of all things arising in thought and beyond that. At its most basic, its a file clerk, a data-entry specialist. It organizes files and folders, stores them and retrieves them. These folders are given names, or images, or smells, or the otherwise tacit as their tags, their tab headers (whatever form of reference might work best). Your memory stores things like that. And your brain is fast. We all do that, store and retrieve, and we all know how to open folders, Opening up folders is easy, it needs to be done so that their information can be processed.

The trick is finding them.

This is going to be a tough one to cover, and due to its demands, it won’t be written off the cuff, “write it once and write it right,” like my shorter bits. I’ve been asked a few times over the years where my work is coming from, and a recent studio visit had the question came up again. So, with this, I figure its as good a time and place to answer that question publicly, since I’m always getting updates in regards to that issue.

Imagination is the most obvious answer to the question of how, or where, or what, but the term imagination, in commonspeak, is a diminishing label, and only superficially correct because most of us, me included, can’t really define that thing we call imagination. Imagination as a term is like the term “holy spirit,” they are both terms used for unknowns. Ask anyone, even those who study things such as the holy spirit, what this spirit is, and you’ll be lucky to hear an explanatory, coherent, consistent, and understandable answer. Ask someone what imagination is, and it will be the same.

So, for me, using this file and folder metaphor is as good as any other, and to answer that question asking where my images, my paintings come from, they come from this filing system. Where these files in that system actually come from, I can only begin to address, but that requires a metaphysical touch, and this one isn’t to be about that one. Suffice it to say that I do like we all do, I need something, I see its folder, I open it, and I process it. The folder can be hard to find, or it might be right, like a slap, in my face. It might be a single subject, or it may be a complex scene.

I have to say my “imagination” is a cornucopious (I know… that’s not a real word) and beastly void. Its a font of knowledge, of fun and play. If some fleeting image, any concept, any idea, really shakes my tree, and I’m quick enough, I might just grab a hold of the thing. It can even be that something comes in with demands, actually wanting attention. Neither case brings any guarantee that a subject becomes a painting. They’re simply flying around in front of god and everyone, rushing here, there, and everywhere — so to do my part, I’ve left it up to me to take notice of these things, and there’s so many of them, and I’m not so fast.

So, I’m painting these subjects, telling their stories. I don’t write the stories, I’m given them by attending to them, by exploring them. Ultimately, since I don’t make them up, these images, these stories, must pre-exist me, I just paint what I see. I didn’t put those stories there, and, evidently, they are already there. They’re much like myth – they are fabric to our being, existing whether we see them or not. Its a logic much like this – If we didn’t exist before we were born, then we can obviously exist after not existing, so if we cease to exist again, we can obviously exist again, since things can exist after not existing. And so it is with story.

These stories, they’re forgotten memories, at least on my part. As memories go, or as they are, they can be short bits, a fleeting moment of an odor tags an experience for your recall, which can in turn, “remind” you of of another time, another place. These things come packaged with a lot, and come like the proverbial onion, in layers. I just peel away at it – I like to know whats under the surface.

Everything is filled with story – that’s life. Its an infinitely unfolding fractal kind of thing, or, its a McKenna thing. Maybe its a Wilson thing, though not so much a Leary thing. A Kesey thing it could be, maybe. It is, however, most definitely a psychedelic thing that requires no dosing. The power of mind, its magical.

Above are two of my current series of paintings, with five in total, which I’m tentatively calling “Running and Returning – the Land of Eleven Suns.” These are are five consecutive canvasses, and presented in a panoramic, circular format, each one connected to its neighbor, with the last, seen above, connecting to the first. In total, side by side, it’s 7.5 meters (25 feet) long, Each piece is 5 feet long (1.5 meters), what you see above is only 10 feet of the 25 on just two of the canvases.. They’re stepping out of the ugly stage, maybe, barely just, and are finally at the point where I can show you this particular other-worldly realm.

The work really has only just begun. The scene, the stage, is roughly built, but it now needs populating with the beings and creatures that live in this wild, bizarre and savage place (its not so different than ours, I’m sure).

Some of the locals here you’ll recognize from other scenes I’ve painted, other paintings. These characters, they’re simply living just another day in another morphic world, seizing another moment, playing another act in their play, and we’re part of that play, we’re step-in characters, with cameo by credit listed. Anyway, I’ll also be adding plenty of as yet unknown, previously unseen, local parkland dwellers woven into this story, which will including the direct, the convoluted, and other warped posturings and positionings. Its going to be an involved, self-referential thing, both from the painting’s perspective, and the viewer’s.

I guess its a meta-thing.

Just a note of gratitude

Thanks to all of you who read what I have to share! Thank you to those who have only recently joined me, and a special thanks to those of you who have been with me for, oh, so long, seeing all my ups and downs, all my false starts, and all my faltered intentions while I’ve been trying to figure out how to share what I have to share. You’ve all been there for me, I hope I can be there for you.

Be sure, also, to visit my shop where I have canvasses, limited-edition block prints, and prints available at all sizes, for all gifting occasions, and fit to all budgets.

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