THE GAZE

In medieval times, it was thought that not only did eyes receive light they emitted spiritual energy. Spiritual lighthouses. One looks into the eyes of the true love. A beam of purity strikes the soon-to-be-beloved. Thus smitten, love blossoms. “The eyes are the window of the soul. We accept this as true....  we can see into a person by looking into their eyes. I go with the first theory... a light shines from within. We show the world who we are. My friend Jordan has powerful, sad, soulful  eyes. He has seen too much but he is not afraid to show the world his dark understanding. When you see the darkness but allow it to sink into shadow the light becomes transparent...luminous... numinous. My painting is finally a painting about the gaze. I gaze at the painting... a painting of those sad, mesmerizing dark eyes of my friend... gazing back. I paint the gaze. Can you hold the gaze? It is in that holding of the gaze that all art, all love lies.

LONE WOLF

The cure for loneliness is solitude. The lone wolf on the edge of the cliff chanting at the moon.... that is an image of who I am & who I have always been. When tragedy happens... the sudden death of a beautiful girlfriend... the death by suicide of a troubled son... finding that someone you trusted & loved has committed a horrible crime... one finds oneself alone, isolated. That is when the dark becomes unbearable. Then, miraculous,  the moon rises over the open sea. Once, I knew a Welsh girl named Olwyn. She told me her name meant ‘the path the moon takes over the open water’. The dark clouds glow with silver. Scintillation. The surface of the sea scintillates. I don’t know if wolves sing the blues. I wish I could sing the blues. Can beauty cure us of our sadness?

BUT A DREAM

Pull slow, pull slow on the sounding line.

Tiller man taps the tabla seven eight nine.

The lady of silks in the bow is blind.

But-a, but-a dream, row & row

The river merry flows… it’s time to go

You know me now… you know you know

Elbow to elbow in the river hall

Do you recall, do you recall?

White water... the roar of the fall

I slipped you a letter in moonlight sliver,

Beneath the cellar door -  an invitation of whisper

Potatoes white… grew eyes that winter.

It floats in the lilies it floats in the mist.

Old red slipper from the foot you kissed.

Do you do the rumba, do you do the twist?

But-a, but-a dream, row & row

The river merry flows… it’s time to go

You know me now… you know you know

Elbow to elbow in the river hall

Do you recall, do you recall?

White water the roar of the fall

Throw your pebble at the vortex wheel.

The glassy flow it draws the slender keel.

Round & round the darkling teal.

I have come to collect what’s due.

The ivory boat, the night, the falling dew.

Step lightly on the ribs,,, the sails set true.

INSERTS

 

Can a two dimensional object have three dimensional properties? The triptych TREE has three constructed inserts... one at the heart of the tree & one in each of the desert wings. The initial concept was to have an eraser in the centre & two objects in the eyes of the desert. First thought: a set of car keys in one & a miniature Easter Island head in the other. The solution arrived at is better. Shiva dancing presents the ineradicable process of creation & destruction that crystalizes the super nova of our universe. You have to love the green oxidized surface  of the statuette. The only red in the entire painting is the red of the BIC lighters... plastic fantastic destruction... cheap, modern & disposable like the world we inhabit. The map behind the lighters are the streets of Saskatoon... one small city in the termite heap we call home. I have strung the bowstring tight to the point of snapping. Can you dig it? Sproing.

THE FACE OF THE CREATOR

When you imagine the Face what do you see? I admire the cultures who out of humility decline to put the Name down or have no pictures or statues. The history of my civilization is a history of images. Most of the images are at core an image of the Divine. What is the face of the Divine? Like all poetry we create a version... a template... & some versions are closer than other the image we are made in. Shiva dancing in the flames...the Nataraj... the cosmic dancer who performs his divine dance to destroy a weary universe to make way for the new. That is an image I return to  over & over. The solstice is here. The world did not end once again. The sun returns to dark Saskatchewan. The son of man is born anew. Engulfed by destruction the creation continues. Shiva still dancin’ in them flames.

EVE OF DESTRUCTION 20/12/2012

20/12/2012. The dreadful has already happened. It is always the eve of destruction. Being is always seduced by non-being. Pull the curtains on the floor of the glass bottom boat. Peer into the deep blue of the deep blue. The dreadful has already happened. We are living late in the era of Leonard Cohen, our great prophet... our Rabbi... our teacher. “There is a crack in everything... that’s how the light gets in”. I heard Leonard singing the other night. He knows he is already dead. He sings from a place beyond this temporal world... beyond the eve of destruction. The dreadful has already happened. If you live your life like you are already beyond the eve of destruction... like you are already dead, the living is easy. Remember the Phoenix. Remember the crucifixion. The dreadful has already happened. The bird of paradise rises from the ashes.

TEXTURE

Art works in the perception of the texture from which the art is constructed. Music is rhythm... melody...harmony... one sound following the next. Poetry is words... images... one sound following the next. Sculpture is bronze.. marble ... wood.... “Oh, Please let me touch that cold stainless steel!”   Painting is... painting is the glory of colour upon colour. As a painter I look to what colours... what surfaces I can place on the surface... the tabla rasa of my canvas to delight the eye... my eye... your eye.  The Divinity of the Universe created Nature... its 63 laws. Then the volcano of possibilty erupted.... textures upon textures. Surfaces upon surfaces. No human meaning... just the beauty... the simplicity of textures to be perceived. Fall in love with the textures of this Universe.... they are God’s skin.