writing with light and psychoanalytic conversation have this in common: both are enhanced by the polarities of existence. both are engaged in what is present and what is missing. each case is informed by the extremities in a system of energy.
darkness is as revealing as light, shadows are as important as highlights. balance and beauty and truth converge into a singularity leading to the illusion of oneness.
my artwork has evolved from impressionism to expressionism. this new method of working in the world of abstraction has expanded my vision. it is the unconscious made conscious by free-association. here meaning and reason have less to do with outcome; and. process is once again central. it has always been for me.
i find beauty in the subjective, that is to say, i find beauty in the creation of sensation through a steady alertness to evolution. everything, including the universe, is always and only moving forward through the spectrum of light and energy. all photography is capturing a single moment in time and space.
This is a basic edit–the lucky shot itself is the best part of this photo. The double sunset is a result of Ice formation in the clouds to the right. The Sun setting to the left illuminated the ice crystals creating the illusion of a double sunset.
The role of illusion in perspective and sight is what makes a particular work of art special because of what Nature provides. I like this type of image because it feels like a cooperation between the universe and my micro-vision.
More than anything, I enjoy the surprise of nature. Even to the point of impermanence, I am delighted to live with the knowledge that all suns set in the end. Some set beautifully, as this one did.
Photo editing and the use of the digital darkroom is becoming more accepted as an aspect of photography. This abstraction was created in pen & ink and pastel. It was then imported to Topaz Labs and Studio and reworked with impression tools. It was originally a portrait with scattered objects. By using simplify to diminish some of the pixels, the above results were obtained.
It was a beautiful end of summer day. Kathy has the Canadian Canoe with a 9.9 engine on the back. We can row or paddle, or for long runs, Kathy uses the engine. The shallow brackish ponds curve around a landscape of the Atlantic on one side and the shoreline of southern Rhode Island on the other side. The image above depicts our family group raking for clams
The 1st of October brings my mind into the new season. Though we spent the afternoon in the water, it was really not warm enough for old bones to enjoy a swim. Though each of us were so adapted to New England, I am sure we might have had we known the day would turn out as warm as it did. My face browned with the passing of the day.
The southern migration of the popular tree swallow was in full swing and they were, we were told, on their way to Essex Cn where they converge to finish their way to the southern destination. In New England, we understand snow-birds differently than the popular version which is to fly, drive and even train to some parts of Florida. These birds were swirling and feeding off the pond all around us. A flock of cormorants also converging were mingling with sea-gulls as we canoe around the ponds and marshes of Ninigret. Native American influence is fading but still visible when you look.
We brought in enough shellfish to have appetizers with dinner, a simple Sunday evening supper as was the custom in Canadian families.
Autumn and aging are at my front door. At first, I had to adapt to the idea, then I realized the adaptations are transitions that require a new kind of deliberate intent. Clamming on a bright, sunny, autumn day with folks you love and trust is a great source of spiritual healing. I am talking about the kind of healing that comes from inhaling the rays of sun, merged with the aroma of the tides and the beauty of the colors the light provides.
Some days, with a bit of luck and a dose of determination, gratitude is in the air.
A border town between North Carolina & Virginia. Circa, 1728. But incorporated only after the revolution–a confederacy of a town. Large tobacco plantation gave way to manufacturing until that moved out of town too. Several centuries of rural poverty, juxtaposed with white owners.
Met Cory a boy of about 17, a waiter at a local music and food, laminated menu type of place.
Very handsome young man, with an identifiable cultural heritage that hangs on in his language. “Yes sir, no sir, right away sir.” An unnatural deference, he even bowed his head as he finished taking my cheeseburger order.
I asked him what he thought I was talking about when I said “the place had a deeply southern feeling.” He knew right away. He had been up north and said he himself noticed that there was a suspicious respect that he paid that ran deep. I remember thinking before I spoke with him that he was a “black boy” and I was an old white guy.
We made a connection. I liked him and I could tell that he liked me.
He smiled wide, brought the check and I tipped him well.
He had moved away from that town but was not sure why he had moved back.
“Do you like living here,” I asked? He made an ambivalent face and said, “I guess so.”
The art of writing and the creative images that convey thought and feeling have been a part of my mind’s eye since I can remember. Fantasy, hope, and illusion combine to create graphic narratives. Words and images convey, they are the hieroglyphics of our modern-day Calligraphy. I have evolved to become a scribe, a note taker, a disseminator of solitary perception. I write in the-good-chance that another will find his way, her own solace through describing my own neuro-pathways through evolution.
I have long felt that love or disdain occur at first sight. What ever it is that we find either beautiful or truthful, can not be dismantled easily. I see below, children at play, and colors that remind me of spring, along with a glow that permeates the air of summer.
Fantasies of love and lust are awakened by sensations of warmth and dampened by visions of coldness. The image below, (My Lake, Watchaug), draws me into a space that I can let myself belong to.
Belonging to is a step toward actualization. It is a comfortable step where we can pause for as long as we like and absorb the nearness of eternity through our understanding of nature’s cycles and nature’s own evolution.
Sunsets are a most serene way of acknowledging the inevitabilities of life which include the end of it. The final step into an eternity of forgetting everything we ever knew forever. In the meantime, Stealing Beauty is an admirable art form…
Leonard Cohen died with his
Mia culpa hanging on a breath of life not
wanting to be extinguished.
Some want it darker is about as dark as it gets while still sustaining a melody, a small rhythm gnawing from the inside to make its way out into the light for one final view, one final airing. I admire his boldness of Character. A brilliant study on Human Darkness composed of life and sung as a troubadour nearly across the entire globe. He has a message that resonates to the wonderfully misfit, the magnificently imperfect humans who manage to find each other in this every expanding chaos of mind and universe.
What a gift of himself he gave to we wandering souls that catch-up here and there, staying 6 feet behind and following an echo from the past. It is a function of my generation. We were brought up to feel appreciation because they knew it could be so much worst. It had been for them and for their parents as well. Sandwiched in between two World Wars of brutal intent and consequence they wanted us to know we had it good.
Here is a listening moment from his very beginning: Suzanne
I can say that I grew up with him. Canadian from Montreal, I had to love him for his heritage. Then the liturgy of the Cadillac Church was so interwoven with the culture that he let it become the landscape from which he picked his brilliant metaphors and symbols.
I can say that I find him to be the joy of darkness, the portal to a complete zen acceptance that allows authenticities to be vulnerable appendages rather than the hanging chads of shame and secrecies.