This is the post excerpt.
As creators, we dance through time and space. Each brush stroke contains the emotions that flowed in your hands the second paint touched the paper. The truth in an artwork is the ability to maintain the focus of mood. A childish wonder belies the years of preparation it take to achieve this consistency. It is the difference between a computer playing jazz and a master like Eubie Blake, whose fingers express subtleties of playing the silences between the notes. One heavy note in the wrong place and an insincerity is detected. Too much color upsets a delicate balance and the feeling is lost. Only time spent in practice and contemplation can develope intuitive sense of harmony. The work above, called “Still Waters” is the beginning of an unique personal style of painting. In future posts I’ll try to communicate my most ernest efforts so you’ll enjoy experiencing The Orange Universe.
Noise, in all of its forms, both auditory and visual, bombard our hearts and minds with the desires of the multitudes. We buzz with purposeful activities in compliance and consequently lose touch with the deepest part of our own harmonies. This song held in the beingness of each individual is our link to Creation. Yet, we find no value in this gift. This is a plea to return to sanity through quiet reflection and to nurture that connection through a practice( personal preference is of the utmost importance).
This is the place from where I create. It begins with a perception, a way of seeing my world. Everyday there are moments where time slows and a curtain is pulled aside. It is a form or a view that is numinous. For a millisecond, objects will shine with an extraordinary light as if it is a sacred language and I’ve just learned one sound. The external reality falls away and learning the next note is the only thing that counts. It is a journey that competes with no other person. It is for me alone. Other artists may have depicted these thoughts and feelings through their own lens. They speak from the shadows of history a secret language that whispers in my ear hundreds of years later. They are my teachers. And what I draw becomes part of a conversation through time.
This insight is the foundation of artistic expression. And as the eyes of the generations change so do the forms of interpretation. How are we cultivating the Sublime in a contemporary form? Are there new translations of our relationship to The Sacred? In the midst of plenty we are deaf and hungry. How do you nourish your soul?
The field on Rte.138, across from the graveyard in Stoughton, MA. Continue reading “Art as a Contempletive Practice”