Concentrating on miniatures seems right to me at this time, but a shift to larger works will be appropriate when I eventually get a solo show somewhere. I’ll enter the best of my current crop of small pieces in the “NOT-2-BIG” exhibition and submit a “miniature miniature” in Sherryl’s event in Yellow Springs. The satisfaction of producing Diamonds in the Rough is a restless call to scale up, and my larger works will probably continue to be more calculated than in the past. I’ll use that approach with my donation to the “Art-full Raffle” this year— something planned and executed specifically for that occasion. This gets to the heart of refining my process, using miniatures as a creative gateway to bigger, more complex ideas that deserve the investment of more time, not to mention a substantial sticker price. The challenge is to arrive at a methodology that fuses a mastery of style and technique with an outlook, a perspective, a “voice,” that delivers more than a sense of spontaneity and aesthetic unity, but a way of conveying something worth saying.
Mar/X Four
March 4th, 2013Mar/X Three
March 3rd, 2013Haven’t even taken three sips of bean brew this morning and my mind is already galloping free. Is the world changing too fast or just caught in a bizarre status quo? The “news” out of DC is unbearable. Is anyone there capable of leadership or problem solving? Naive to even think that’s possible? Can’t tell anymore if things are going haywire or are carefully scripted. Corporations seem prepared to do almost anything in service to the bottom line (even Maker’s Mark tried to water down its Bourbon before a base of dedicated consumers took to pitchforks), and political whores seem willing to stop at nothing to erode what were once enduring freedoms. What is with this throwback to the roots of proto-fascist collectivism in the American body politic? Was the pendulum bound to swing, or is “my America” really slipping away? Perhaps it was an illusion, but I can’t let it go. Is there some way for me to incorporate my concerns into my art? Good question. Collage can be an ideal medium for social commentary, but it needs to be done with careful, nuanced thought. Not sure if I am the best guy to tackle it, or if I even want to, but I know that I should not reject the idea just because it would be more difficult than what I’m currently creating. No doubt that I could bring all the same aesthetic considerations to bear, but it would be a much deeper conceptual challenge. And, sadly, I do fret about producing work that has no market value (probably the most stupid worry in which a creative person can indulge and still purport to call oneself a modern artist).
Mar/X Two
March 2nd, 2013I perceive that in spite of all the cutting, tearing, and pasting of my miniatures work, my hand skills have been suffering. They need a boost; so, more brush, pencil, and pen this month to break the pattern. Nonetheless, I am already feeling a sense of satisfaction with the collage activity so far. Must consciously use it as a impetus for progress in other areas. No mistake about it, the success of this endeavor will be built on making art— having a good time doing it and harnessing the pleasure as a catalyst.
Mar/X One
March 1st, 2013The March Exercise commences with an emphasis on gradient focus and the avoidance of dissipation. Among goals that include completion of the Barrett commission, I shall post a new collage miniature each day for the duration of the month. March gave every indication that it was coming in like a lion with snow flurries most of the day. We shall see if the trend confirms. No leonine effort from me. I intend to pick up my pace and intensity gradually in the manner of “negative splits,” unlike previous rituals. I’m optimistic that it will prove a better process for me.
A tribute . . .
February 16th, 2013(Delivered today at the memorial service for S B Clark, Lexington Avenue Baptist Church, Danville, Kentucky.)
When Dana and I arrived from Ohio nearly 25 years ago, we set about finding a building in downtown Danville. After the memorable experience of our first Kentucky real estate auction, the next thing on our list was to join the Chamber of Commerce. That was the day we met Shirley B. Clark.
She did more than just welcome us. She did more than reassure us that we had chosen an exceptional city. Shirley cultivated in both of us a strong belief that the community needed us as much as we needed Danville. She fanned a flame that would grow and merge with a spirit of community involvement. She had that special capacity, because she knew that the vitality of a community was more than making things happen and getting things done. She understood deeply that the spirit of a community was about people — especially people who believed in achieving something new, whether they got the credit or not, and who thrived on the pleasure of working with others who felt the same way. We saw this in the way she went about her own activities and how she made a catalytic effort on behalf of one organization or project after another — quietly, persistently, with her characteristic unflappable manner, and with her distinctive good cheer.
I’ll always remember her professional introduction to our adopted home town, but I don’t recall a time when I didn’t feel that she was my friend. It was clear from the beginning that she cared about my success as an entrepreneur, as an artist, and as a person who aspired to do well by others and the community. I would not be surprised to learn that she made everyone with whom she collaborated feel the same way.
As the years passed, we locked arms on many volunteer efforts — at the Chamber, for the Band Festival, as members of the Rotary Club, or with what would become, perhaps, our most meaningful shared cause, the Salvation Army. Whenever we put our imaginations and heads together, I came to appreciate even more how much Shirley loved her community, how she could foster that same devotion in others by her example — by how she got results with a steady, practical approach — and by her positive spirit of always trying to do the most good she could in any situation in which she gave of herself.
Shirley and I often shared similar concerns about community issues. Even when the stakes were high, she had a much better way of seeing the amusing side of it all, and this would help me keep things in perspective. I remember lots of comfortable laughter, even if the details have faded, as they usually do.
I remember times, years later, when we would ride back downtown together after a Friday Rotary lunch, discussing current initiatives at the Salvation Army. Then we would sit and talk in my driveway far too long, and, eventually, we’d stop and laugh, because I think we both realized that we’d become pals, and, if left to our own devices, we might gab the afternoon away. Although both of us were clearly out of the loop on weighty matters by then, we enjoyed being together to unravel all the challenges that faced our local economy.
I came to value Shirley’s sound priorities and keen insight, and to respect her as both a caring heart and a very savvy individual. She understood the dynamics of all the types of personalities that make a community tick. She was a marvelously thoughtful person, always full of encouragement, and she had that important trait required of all good ambassadors — diplomacy. In my opinion, her role in paving the way, with executive finesse, for so many constructive accomplishments, is largely unsung. Danville has lost one of its great champions.
Shirley’s regard for our community was rooted in her love of people. We all shall miss her presence. I shall miss her friendship.
Shirley B. Clark
1935 – 2013
It’s only about We if it rhymes with Me
January 21st, 2013
This president— who today begins his second term in office —never has been the leader to competently unify our country. He merely has been clever enough to prevent anyone else from doing so. He has blunted the ambition of his rivals (the Clintonians) and kept his opponents fragmented (the Republicans), without offering serious solutions to grave problems or paving the way for someone who will. His emphasis on “We” must be interpreted in the context of his purposeful rhetoric of condescension, exclusion, and division. The feel-good unity of “We the People” is actually a call for solidarity within his collectivist coalition and a message to those who disagree with his priorities and policies to fall in line or back out of the national conversation.
Not a bad precaution . . .
January 13th, 2013“When the resolution of enslaving America was formed in Great Britain, the British Parliament was advised by an artful man, who was governor of Pennsylvania, to disarm the people; that it was the best and most effectual way to enslave them; but that they should not do it openly, but weaken them, and let them sink gradually …. I ask, who are the militia? They consist now of the whole people, except a few public officers. But I cannot say who will be the militia of the future day. If that paper on the table [the Constitution without a Bill of Rights] gets no alteration, the militia of the future day may not consist of all classes, high and low, and rich and poor.”
— George Mason
In response to a friend who said, “I tire of the suggestion that we need semi-automatic weapons just in case we need to overthrow the government,” I replied:
I respect your view, but think of the countless mothers worldwide who have lost their families in brutal coups and tyrannical oppressions (even during our lifetimes). The idea is not that Americans will need to mount an overthrow. The idea is that the need will never emerge in the first place
because those who framed the Bill of Rights did not find the deterrent a bad precaution, as tiresome as it may seem at times.
Virginian George Mason ultimately did not vote to ratify the U.S. Constitution because it did not include a Bill of Rights. Thus, he sacrificed his place in history as the leading mind that helped shape the invention of American self-government.
Resolved . . .
January 1st, 2013For those who go out of their way to sow seeds of disdain for the customary list of New Year’s resolutions: it’s not about now long it stays viable, or about the resulting success rate, or whether it retains meaning in a culture where overt self-improvement carries a tinge of “fuddy-duddy-ness.” For me it’s about one’s mindset at the cyclical cusp. Is it merely “the thought that counts”? No, it’s more than that. The thought becomes a renewal of self-belief, expressed in line-items of striving. It requires introspection, evaluation, and discernment—hardly fashionable, to be sure. All I know is that they have worked for me at some level, so I’m not sheepish about continuing the practice. I don’t feel the need to broadcast my aims for the year, and listing some of them here hardly constitutes that, since I seriously doubt if a half dozen people still pay any attention to this worn-out log.
• Complete the Barrett portrait.
• Do some form of vision therapy each day.
• Resurrect a more impressive fitness regimen.
• Restore my practice of stretching and meditation.
• Elevate my profile as a collage artist.
• Launch the handmade card biz with Cliff.
• Complete home improvements for an open house.
• Create our first knob-land walking trails at Blue Bank.
• Outperform the market with rules-based trading.
• Produce the first digital version of a Clan Map.
• Boost participation in caring for my mother.
Various & Sundry, part eighty-seven
December 31st, 2012Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be after him?
—Ecclesiastes 3:22
— Year of 2012 workout totals: Swim-13; Bike-48; Powerwalk-3; Run-0; Lift-12; Pilates-0; Yoga-0; Lupus Drills-2
— Meeting my goal of a minimum of 48 bicycle workouts seems to have had a disastrous effect on my swimming this past year—a near reversal of 2011. Does that make any sense? I was able to do my sixty-mile bike + sixty-lap swim on April 30th without a lot of pool preparation, and then the swimming totally fell apart during the summer. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t looking ahead to my annual channel swims in the Les Cheneaux, because I had already decided to skip the trip to Michigan and spend my 30th wedding anniversary with Dana.
— A series of aggravations over the past few months has resulted in daily knee pain as I head into a new year. It’s hard to say how that will affect my fitness routines. I need to find a way around it until healing takes hold. Here are the factors that must have contributed: 1) Hauling nearly a ton of free sand by wheelbarrow from the parking lot construction site across the street to the back yard. 2) Too much time hunting in a stressful, Japanese-type posture with stretched knees. 3) Moving Terie’s stuff from South Carolina. 4) Slipping on a rug and sprawling forward onto my knees. 5) Additional activity that made things worse (instead of rest), such as trimming branches and cleaning the gutters up on the roof, hauling brush to the farm and dumping it, crawling around in the attic to find squirrel holes, plus raking all the autumn leaves. It feels better than it did at first, but a return to normal could take a long time.
— Highlights of the year? Well, now that the disruption has settled and I’m used to a new dog (Ru, the Shih Tzu), it really is nice to have Terie with us, as opposed to the constant worry over her previous circumstances. Mombo’s unexpected improvement over the year is an important development. Best GABBF of all? Perhaps so. Dana and I observed decade-turning birthdays and our milestone anniversary. The 2nd Veep Debate at Centre was huge for our community (plus a great time with James and Susan). My six-oh event was extremely satisfying, as were memorable bicycle outings with Simpson, Hoover, and Hower. I shall always remember 2012 as the Centennial of Collage—the year I formalized my creation of the small collage, started my new blog, The Collage Miniaturist (catalyzed by the “Tribal Monday” sessions with Kathleen), and re-discovered wheat paste as an adhesive. The local trails summit that I helped organized was a key achievement, as well as the “Uncle Bones” graphics for Lucas, even though I disappointed myself with ridiculous delays on projects for GAB and Last Adventure. A wonderful party to follow the Johnson wedding resulted in some of the coolest pictures ever for Dana and me. And, of course, the weekend in November with another Clan wedding and the Ohio trip to install a sign with Dan and Bill was one of the best experiences of any year.
— It’s time to look forward and raise the bar for a new cycle. It may seem as though negatives outnumber the positives, but it’s just a matter of attention. Nurture—Affirm—Forgive—Inhale! There is no permanent status, because each day is a new page with the same challenges and pitfalls, but also the same opportunities for self-investment, accomplishment, practice, and constructive change. Pick one problem each day and heal it in some way. Nothing is beyond me, in and of itself, but, if I let inaction coalesce to a critical mass, it has the potential to crush. Make each day count. Eliminate the obstacles, brick by brick. Nothing new added without processing something over-ripe. Set realistic goals and re-invent the checklist. Believe that all will be fulfilled as never before.
Self-imposed deer hunting marathon
November 20th, 2012Day One — Friday
A spike-head buck came down from Widow’s Knob behind me and took off back into the woods when I turned to get a look. I should have been more patient. Later, a doe came across Safariland from Robin Lick in my direction, and it seemed to be staring directly at me. When it turned slightly, I put the cross-hairs on and fired. She promptly pranced right back down into the thicket by the creek. Did I miss? After a 90-minute search with no blood sighted, I concluded that I had indeed. When I got back to the barnyard I decided to test fire my rifle in the silo field. From about a hundred yards, I didn’t hit the target area at all using the scope, but came within 2 inches of my bulls-eye with iron sights. That explains it. Lesson learned: don’t assume the scope is still zeroed in from the previous season. That evening I found a great spot near the borderline wash on the Brush Creek side of the tree tunnel. The only deer I saw came crashing down the gully at a full run, chased by three dogs. My luck was still cold.
Day Two — Saturday
Back at the wash, I saw one deer of decent size at Bottle Neck, but it was crossing fast enough to prevent a clean shot. That was it for the morning. That evening I was skunked back at Safariland. Tony came driving through with his ATV trailer about dusk, turned around, and left, waving to me. I didn’t wave back. Hey, if you are not going to hunt, then stay out of the Valley when others are waiting to spot a deer. I think he just drives around and drinks if he isn’t hunting.
Day Three — Sunday
I did not see a deer the entire day, and it feels like I have no more good joss in this valley. I set up at daybreak beyond Blue Bank, at the entrance to the long hay field, because Susan told me that multiple deer had been sighted along their lane, even at mid-day. Later in the morning, I worked the area near the collapsed tobacco barn, and went back out after noon for an hour or so, but no luck. It was back to the wash before sundown, the last place I had made a sighting. There is a certain sound of a deer moving through the woodland bed of dry leaves that gets my heart beating faster. It’s different than the sound of a squirrel, which is a series of abrupt rustles, rather than a more continuous brushing, punctuated with tree-branch cracks. That doesn’t mean a squirrel sound won’t occasionally bump the adrenaline; it’s an unconscious response. At one point, a squirrel ran down a fallen tree and nearly ended up at arm’s reach before it saw me. And then it began barking and hissing at me like I’ve never heard before. Well, at least I knew I had reasonably good concealment, but that was it for the session. Darkness was gaining on me, and I doubted a deer would now proceed into such a noisy scolding zone.
Day Four — Monday
At first light I headed back to the location I had mishandled on Friday, since it had offered the most action of the hunt so far. I discovered another good spot to view the expanse of Safariland, but there was no sign of deer all morning. I decided to climb up to the flat of Widow’s Knob. I got to see one deer when I startled it from its resting place, but, as usual, I don’t get a shot opportunity when that happens. I guess I just wanted to see if one was up there again, near where Marty and I once camped, like there was last month, when I was carrying my muzzle-loader. Finished the four-day hunt back at the Realm of Greystone, and was sad to lose the light without a sighting. Well, I’m a “next-time guy.” See you in December.
One of the best family weekends ever!
November 12th, 2012First we shared a unique wedding celebration with Alyx and Kyle, and then it was up to Ohio for a milestone event with Dan and Sherryl at their farm.
Pick up where you left off
November 6th, 2012Quoting Jesus of Nazareth, Abraham Lincoln told America, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”
The election results are clear. Very little has changed, and all the deep division resumes again tomorrow. It looks as though the president has earned a second term with fewer electoral votes than he won the first time, and with a popular-vote margin that falls short of a mandate. Although the man has succeeded in putting together his “pied piper” coalition once again, he is not the unifying leader he claims to be, and, sadly, never was.
Forbidden pleasures of boyhood, part one
October 12th, 2012• Building a hoard of live grasshoppers
through systematic jumper-leg amputation.
• Attempting to write your name in a snow
drift during bladder evacuation.
• Bringing chickens into the bedroom to see
if they would behave like pets.
• Re-enacting the crucifixion with earthworms
and black-locust thorns.
Two More Lost from Cast of OHIOANS . . .
September 25th, 2012It was 31 years ago that I finished the OHIOANS painting that would become a poster for Wright State University and a milestone artwork for me. David R sent me an image of the wall in his new office/showroom, and it’s flattering to see how he configured the wall display. Hard to believe that OHIOANS has been around for this long. We still have the original painting hanging in our Danville studio. I thought about the artwork when Neil Armstrong died. Quite a few of those depicted were living when I created the original, and I can’t help but experience a certain sadness each time one is lost (Owens right after completion, and then, over the years: Hope, Lynde, Rogers, Bombeck, Newman, and just recently, Diller, as well as Armstrong). At the beginning, I had the wild idea of trying to circulate a poster through celebrity representatives and build a master copy with multiple signatures, but never followed through. Then I thought of just getting a poster into the hands of each one alive, but I didn’t have enough to spare. I think the University did present some to a few, such as Erma Bombeck, who made some witty remark about her beehive hair-do.
There is a space above Grant’s head that I’ve used to draw an additional portrait once or twice. The one I remember most was Daytonian Allan W. Eckert. I gave it to him the first time we met during a book signing in Ohio. Years later I talked to him in Kentucky and he told me that he had included the poster with his manuscripts and “papers” that would be turned over to an institution after his demise. That was the last time I saw him. The most memorable encounter with respect to the poster was the time Jamie Farr performed in Kentucky (he played George Burns in a one-man show), and we had the good fortune to greet him backstage afterward to personally present a poster. After a demanding stage performance that must have been totally exhausting, he couldn’t have been nicer to us and joked about Corporal Klinger and his tiara.
I realize now that I was young when I pulled this off. I felt mature at the time, having just created the most challenging piece of my early career. I was 29 years old, engaged to be married, and fully ensconced in my own independent studio. In many ways, I had already achieved nearly all the goals I had set in my youth.
OHIOANS hangs in David’s new office and showroom
(Click to view a larger image.)
~ N B ~
August 16th, 2012Yesterday I neglected to include something extremely important in my log entry. I forgot to express my thanks to Nephew Brendan for making possible this adventure in blogging, especially now that it is double pronged. Brendan is very humorous and very smart. No, wait… I take that back. It’s more like he has one foot in a parallel universe where all inhabitants are highly creative, have preposterously clever brains, and are insanely hilarious, too. On top of that, he’s quite nice to the rest of us stuck on this side.
The Collage Miniaturist
August 15th, 2012Something occurred to me not that long ago, and I may have mentioned it here: Many of the most important things I’ve wanted to express through this personal journal already have been set down in this seven-year record. On the other hand, I came to the realization that I still had a lot to say about art, especially my approach to the century-old medium of collage. Whether the world needs yet another blog is a point I won’t question here. All I know is that I apparently need another, and so, if you’re interested, I direct you to The Collage Miniaturist. The main purpose, I have no problem admitting, is to showcase my collage artwork. That’s the selfish part. In addition, I have a strong desire to formulate and share a coherent attitude toward what it is and why I do it. I would hope that it also becomes a point of reference for others who create or appreciate the medium. That’s all I’ll say today. The rest of it can be found at TCM. We’ll see what becomes of it, by and by. I still need to add a mechanism for transacting sales, but I might as well begin to write and display images. Wish me luck.
Gardenshapes by Kathleen
July 28th, 2012“Beauty should be shared, for it enhances our joys.
To explore its mystery is to venture towards the sublime.”
―Joseph Cornell
I hesitate to use a sports term to begin this review, but, since the Summer Olympics opened last night, I’ll set my disinclination aside to state emphatically that artist Kathleen O’Brien is at the top of her game!
Gardenshapes —an exhibition of her mixed-media collage finishing its run in the main gallery of Danville’s Community Arts Center— has ample proof to support my claim. I made one more return visit yesterday to experience the diverse subtleties of her singular creations.
Inspired by birds and flowers, and exploring the garden as a metaphor, this collection of artworks represents everything that has captivated me for years about Kathleen’s approach. These works have clearly grown out of how she thoughtfully observes and attunes with nature. They also literally contain and preserve natural ingredients. But in contrast to collage that maintains its focus on formal or intellectual juxtapositions, Kathleen’s art always nudges one toward a deeper sense of wholeness and the inner complexity of our balanced existence as both organic and spiritual beings. Without question, she has made a personal commitment to creating art as a mystical practice, and, on a communal level, to providing nature-inspired beauty as a source of healing in a fractured world.
With the strong presence of these intangible dimensions, Kathleen’s art is always esoteric, and yet she manages to make the work accessible to all with her choice of subject matter and allegiance to traditional drawing. At the same time, she can delight the eye of a fellow artist with her methodology, aesthetic choices, and pictorial skill. I’m not ashamed to admit that much of Kathleen’s symbolic virtuosity is beyond my ken, but I appreciate that it’s all in play at the intuitive level. Being near the prolific output of her creative life is simply uplifting, and that’s because all the facets of her art —whether conscious or subliminal— unify as a total perception to nourish the mind, heart, and soul.
Getting back to the show, I was initially struck by the five largest pieces (28 x 36 inches), beautifully presented against white in deep gallery-style frames of natural wood. This “look” is familiar to those who know Kathleen’s art, and enhances the work’s identity as an unique artifact, preserved behind glass, like a rare botanical or zoological specimen. They are titled with reference to the garden theme. In contrast, a separate piece (24 x 30 inches) is presented with its surface exposed in the manner of an easel painting. It looks equally at home, released from behind the glass, expertly varnished in a way that does not distract. Its name is Heaven & Earth, Yin & Yang, Dark & Light, Birds & Trees, Flowers & Bees. My eyebrows lifted as I began to read the lengthy title, but was pleased with the closing rhyme as I finished. This artist always has a quiet surprise in store. Each of the large works is visually distinctive, but very much a cohesive part of a series unified by her long dedication to compositional abstraction, to a consistent theory of color, and to diligent mark making.
The large piece titled Garden for Queen Anne’s Lace is marked by a cellular pattern resembling microscopic tissue, which, while remaining highly abstract, transforms itself into a flower garden, with an interesting emphasis on each “drop of Queen’s blood” that, when closely examined, becomes a dance of circles, squares, and triangles —a dynamic that exemplifies Kathleen’s knack for taking the observer/participant through layers of meaning. The design also incorporates the application of illustrated postage stamps. Kathleen is never far removed from a devotion to cultural references and ephemera, and her Joseph Cornell influences are ever present. A fine example of this are four pieces dedicated to bird-species (16 x 20 inches) that combine found printed patterns with her typical labor of liquid media. Nests are created with random shards and colorful scraps. Dried and painted star-like blossoms effectively merge the organic, symbolic, and celestial. In Kathleen’s collage there are many allusions to language, both literal and archetypal, and here we discover many fragments of the printed word, as well as her “trademark” calligraphy. I was particularly drawn to Garden for Blue Grosbeaks, a strong arrangement of symmetrical and asymmetrical elements that carries out more of her evident investigation into fundamental shapes —circle, square, and triangle. These compositions are anything but static, a characteristic of Kathleen’s art built on a myriad of ways in which she provokes eye movement by simulating the dynamic patterns of nature, often with the application of actual plants and minerals. A perfect case in point is 9 Bird Eggs (30 x 30 inches), with its nimble use of botanicals most artists would overlook as raw material, through which she creates a variety of rhythms within a formal, 3×3 grid structure.
I should mention that Kathleen’s control of what I call “implied viewing distance” is masterful. Enjoying her watercolor effects and hidden treasures up close is inevitably a satisfying experience, as is true with much of current small-scale mixed media collage, but her pieces also can be savored at a distance. I found myself continually studying a work from across the room and then, taking off my eye-wear, sticking my nose near the glass to examine fine detail. Whether from this point of view or from half a block away, Kathleen’s distinctive impression is always recognizable, an enviable accomplishment for any artist. For example, both Royal Lily Garden and Staple Garden contain brushwork that only can be achieved by someone who is continuously handling liquid on a tool and is fully at ease with her surface. On the other hand, she uses this micro-fluency to create the intended multi-layered depth of her macro-composition, and yet I was constantly invited to step back into the intimacy of the picture plane, much as one feels when standing back to admire a flower garden, while being compelled to converge at hand’s length, only to spy a miniature surprise —a dutiful pollinator or tiny feat of nature’s diversity within repetition.
With my fixation on the bigger paintings, it was too easy to neglect the smaller items, so I had to instruct myself to visually isolate and appreciate several other works. Two of these were within squares, and each have treatments not as pronounced elsewhere in the exhibition. Feathers uses paper itself as a dimensional medium, and The Blessing of Rain features a darker atmospheric background —a shimmering chalk texture that makes me wish Kathleen would more intensively explore the potential of pastel effects. In addition, there are three bird portraits (9 x 12 inches), with coatings of what appeared to be beeswax, which recall for me the investigations of 19th-century naturalists. My favorite is Garden for Eastern Bluebirds, with its deft pencil work and luscious color palette. Kathleen pushes her highly capable layering beyond technique to create a sense of time distortion, an interplay of wildlife and cultural antiquity that makes certain the work is much more than a lovely rendering of birds. Throughout this outstanding show are many such allusions to natural and human-made cycles that fuse the worlds of growing things and a striving race that has always responded with symbolic culture to seek a balanced place in the scheme of life.
Indeed, Kathleen O’Brien has found her place. With a home studio close to nature, and a creative passion that distills her observations and meditations through heart, head, and hand, she is a gold-medal artist of the soul.
© 2012, John Andrew Dixon
Garden for Eastern Bluebirds and Garden for Scarlet Tanagers
by Kathleen O’Brien
“Ain’t you afeard?”
July 24th, 2012What was the world coming to and what hearty pleasures folks today missed out of life! One bag of meal her pap said, used to make a whole family rejoice. Now folks came ungrateful from the store, grumbling they had to carry such a heavy market basket. Was that the way this great new country of hers was going to go? The easier they made life, the weaker and sicker the race had to get? Once a majority of the men got weak and soft, what weak, harmful ways would they vote the country into then? Well, her pap’s generation could get down on their knees and thank the Almighty they lived and died when they did. How would they ever have come and settled this wild country if they said to each other, “Ain’t you afeard?” How would her pappy have fetched them the long way out here on foot if he’d kept asking all the time, “Are ye all right? How do ye feel? Do ye reckon ye kin make it?” No, those old time folks she knew were scared of nothing, or if they were, they didn’t say so. They knew they ran bad risks moving into Indian country, but they had to die some time. They might as well live as they pleased and let others bury them when the time came.
—from The Town by Conrad Richter
This past weekend couldn’t dovetail more aptly with my previous musings on the parallel lines of sweetness and sorrow: the joy of hugging and laughing with Seitz Family loved ones mixed with the ache of seeing Kelly off to his final rest. I’ve never had a big brother. Wayne came the closest. If we had lived in proximity, Kelly might have filled that void in many ways, but now he’s gone, too. Susan’s choice of a strong set of funeral readings moved my spirit. The sadness was balanced with the opportunity for Mombo to see former friends from Tipp City: Jane, Flo, and Mary Jo, and I was able to kiss the cheeks of Angela, Lynnette, and Jenny, while meeting the eyes of Karen for the first time in 35 years. The bitter with the delicious—this seems to be the taste of things for me. Thus it probably always has been, but now I recognize and accept it.
Alyx joyfully announced her engagement, while grieving families in Colorado sorted out the tragic aftermath of a rancid nut-job’s evil handiwork. It’s hard not to wonder what our society is coming to when things like this happen, but how do such dangers compare to the daily risks our ancestors faced with no loss of determination? And if the frontier rangers had caught a murderer, rapist, or horse thief, the misfit would have swung from a noose in short order, without a thought wasted on his psychological deficit or woeful childhood. Perhaps we shall eventually see a would-be exponent of such premeditation swiftly and lawfully cut down by a “citizen sheepdog” who just happened to be carrying his weapon in circumstances one would think it unnecessary to do so.
Dana and I watched The Iron Lady last night, and we found too many flaws in the motion picture to recommend it, but I must say it caused me to remember Thatcher’s firm resolve in crisis. There are many kinds of fear. They must all be cast out—whether by righteous indignation or by perfect love. Throughout a life now cut short, I’m certain that Kelly was afraid at times, but I have always thought of him as one of the most fearless men I have known. Whether it was having the courage to marry young and to bear whatever stigma the world would throw upon his path, or to take on the high-pressure world of corporate sales, or live his convictions as an example to his family … or to bravely face a diagnosis that would suck the hope from someone who didn’t know what he believed. It never seemed written for the two of us to go beyond a periodic big smile and strong handshake. Nevertheless, he always set a fine example from a distance. And, for me, I expect that will continue to be the case.
July 14th, 2012
†
Kelly Lorms
1 9 5 1 – 2 0 1 2
Husband, father, and friend.
He lived life to the fullest.
R I P
Parallel worlds
June 19th, 2012“One man live. Another man die. One woman laugh and the other one cry.”
—Danny Darst, Lady Luck
Back in the depths of our winter mourning, when I would see people talking and laughing with delight, it seemed out of character with the tone of existence, even though I knew at the same time that it was only natural for every imaginable emotion to be continuously bubbling through the current of humanity. But didn’t I live next to a funeral home? Didn’t I know that death was a constant—running abreast of every joy I experienced on any given day?
That same contrast of feeling is with me again, to some extent, because my best buddy’s sister was in a terrible car wreck. As I write this, she holds on to life despite massive brain trauma… and this is a family that lost their patriarch only eight months ago. I know what it’s like to be plunged into the icy waters of such a vigil, and yet here I am enjoying the heck out myself this summer, basking in the glow of the marvelous Johnson wedding and the best of the Great American Brass Band Festivals to date. Mombo is doing better than anyone could have expected a few short months ago, working her way toward a full mile on the treadmill, in the face of a prognosis what would have broken the spirit of many, and yet my Clan has come together to forge an even stronger bond, proving to me once again that the unfailing light of family love is the most powerful force I have yet to encounter in this life of 60 years. Here I am, enjoying the simple pleasures of each unfolding day. I make art, watch silly TV shows, play with my pup, trade stocks, grow tomatoes, read books, and ride my bicycle like I’m still a kid… and there he is, my soul mate since 1970, wounded to the core and wondering what God holds in store for the next hour, day, week… wondering how he will be forever shaped in some as yet undiscovered way. Two connected but parallel worlds.
As I heard Dana say to another recently, “There is something sad going on in every family.” The inverse must be true as well. I remember realizing that there must be happy things occurring in my family at the same time I was selecting my son’s gravesite, but one hesitates to share such things with relatives in the grip of anguish. In this age of social networks, I’m always struck by the odd juxtapositions of delight and grief, but, of course, life has never been otherwise. However, with age, it’s just a bit more difficult to mentally insulate one’s personal world, in contrast to the manner of my youth. And so I try to let my periodic melancholy be informed by the presence of exuberance, and to allow my occasional bliss to be peppered by the knowledge of sorrow.
It seems to me that all the emotions of life are fully present in our extended circle of experience, but are fleeting, elusive stuff at the private, individual level. I wonder if the impermanence of happiness is at the root of most addictions, many of which go beyond the typical vices and substances—patterns such as gossip, broadcast news watching, pack-ratting, procrastination, argumentation, anger, and all manner of risky and abusive behaviors (yes, that includes extreme exercise, too). In place of natural serenity, we get hooked on habit-triggered adrenaline and brain chemicals that have little to do with what we should know provides the only enduring satisfaction—service to life and oneness with creation. Sensual pleasure and physical comfort have their proper place, but as a focus of life soon become an empty shell or bottomless well.
It is said that change is the only permanent state. Perhaps, but where does change originate? My only answer is: The One Creative Source—the only truly permanent thing. As we come to accept the inevitable—that life in this dimension is characterized most of all by impermanence—then we eventually learn to understand the flow of suffering and sweetness, to look for meaning in the essentials, to appreciate real friends, to value the unity of family, and to age with dignity.
Tribal Monday the First
May 7th, 2012Kathleen and I inaugurated our two-person discussion group this afternoon. The first thing I noticed was how tranquil a space she has created as a “shrine” for her artistic dedication. One can truly listen to the heart in such a studio, and I appreciate her willingness to share it for a couple hours. For me the sense of place at Sunwise Farm is inseparable from Kathleen’s mixed media collage. The fullness of her artwork is about energy, and this energy—with the powerful intention it carries—is tied in some significant way to a field of Light that is carefully nurtured for optimum receptivity and intuition. I have long admired the way in which she maintains the uplifting focus of her art, an essence that is recognizable at fifty paces, and how her respect for the process is embodied in her bright, organized, efficient studio. What an inspiration for someone who seems caught in a perpetual struggle to concentrate, prioritize, and decisively press forward with a more streamlined vision.
Book of Light, page 171 by Kathleen O’Brien
www.kathleen-obrien.com
6 0 + 6 0
April 30th, 2012My chronometer flipped over to a new decade yesterday, so I observed the occasion with a 60-lap swim plus a 60-mile ride. What else can one do, except to take a symbolic swipe back at Old Man Time? It was a satisfactory way to test my fitness. The best part is that the thunderstorms held off until dark, and Dana welcomed me back with pie.
