Booked Up, 2021, Part 4--Soul Food, Poetry and Art

 

Poetry and Art, bottom, top

I suppose books on art, and poetry, should be considered non-fiction for the most part, but I separate them because they're special to me. 

I think that's true even of Whitman, His poetry touches parts of us that are as real as our heart beats. This past year I've been through about 10 such books, not counting Walt, whom we turn to often even for a few lines and memories.

ART: Other than those reread, posted earlier, there have been two more. The most recent art book is one we bought in October, visiting Susan's favorite town, Truchas, on the high road to Taos.

• Truchas, Sally Delap-John. We stopped in her gallery years ago and bought her first book, and couldn't pass up another chance to view her paintings of Northern New Mexico. We will eventually buy one, but this time settled for her little book with great painting of my favorite mountains, the Truchas, on the cover.
•  The Art of Noticing, 131  ways to Spark Creativity..., Rob Walker. A book Austin Kleon recommended, and full of ideas to push me out of ruts and find inspirations for painting.

POETRY: “Read poetry every day of your life. Poetry is good because it flexes muscles you don’t use often enough."--Ray Bradbury

There were only four poetry books  I read in these six months, but they brought life and honesty and sense into this pandemic world.

Poetry is a tradition in our marriage. We have more than one shelf of thin books of poetry in our front room, many by people I know, others  I've found at the Western Heritage Awards at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum. And, Susan usually buys me a poetry book or so on either our anniversaries or Valentines days. They also are usually poets I've never  heard of.

So it was in October, we walked into the smaller, a "boutique" bookstore in Santa Fe, Gunstock Hill Books, with more than 8,000 books. Owned by a retired doctor from New Hampshire, it is packed with first editions and signed books of all sorts. As we got ready to leave to go across the street to eat, Susan cam e up with three poetry books, all first editions: 

• Turquoise Land, Anthology of New Mexico Poetry, 1974, New Mexico Poetry Society, 99 pages of poetry plus bios of the poets.
• Leonard Cohen, Poems and songs, 1993, 234 pp.
• The San Franciso Poems, Victor di Suvero, inscribed. 1987. 63 pps.

Closer to home:

• In The Days of Our Resilience, Nathan Brown. 2021, www.brownlines.com The fourth  in his Pandemic Poetry Project, a poem a day since May, 2020, poems  written on prompts from sponsors, including one from me. 287 pps. Brown is former Poet Laureate of Oklahoma. Reading his books is like taking a journey back in time through the last almost two years of turmoil in the U.S. They exercise and stretch the senses and mind, with wit, compassion and insight.

Booked Up, 2021, Part 3--Fiction, stories that are often real

"Tell me a story," we often said as children to our parents.

That's why we like novels, short stories, plays--the flights of imagination that can be, or are, real.

My fiction books are simply those whose subjects, authors or ideas interest me, just as non-fiction does.  I find elements of reality in all of them, whether in landscapes, characters, the writing, the humor, the conflicts. 

This year's were no different, though as a journalist I don't have much patience for wordy, drawn out tomes of earlier authors. I simply couldn't get through Moby-Dick earlier this year. I find myself looking at chapter lengths, even in non-fiction, and measuring my progress by percentages--yes, I am a type A anal journalist prizing brevity, though you can't tell it by the length of this sentence.

So here are the  four novels I've read in the past six months, not counting the two rereads previously posted, in order of reading.

• Daughter of the Morning Star, Greg Johnston, his latest Longmire book, the best yet in writing, plot, characters and the spirits of Native American. A real Western.
• Lightning Strike, Wm. Krueger, author of the great This Tender Land. 
• Bless Me Ultima, Rudolfo Anaya, I'm ashamed I've just read this. One of the best I've ever read, spiritual deep, magic, the real New Mexico.
• Stardust, Neil Gaiman. Will finish tonight. Last book of the year. Another I should have before. His magic and story telling fire the imagination.

Booked Up, 2021--part two--nonfiction

 

Some of my 2021 reads

As an old, and former journalist, I read more non-fiction than fiction, and that's been certainly true this year.

Of the 21 this year, 13--including rereads-- were since June, not counting art and poetry books.

In order of reading, minus the two rereads:

• Remembering Santa Fe, William Clark
• Mythologizing Jesus, From Jewish Teacher to Epic Hero, Macdonald Dennis 
• Forget the Alamo, The Rise and Fall of an American Myth, Bryan Burrough, et. al. 
• Sea People, Christina Thompson, the ancient settlement of Polynesia, another one recommended by a favorite former UCO student, Lauren Vargas, Ph.D, who reads more books than I can count.
• The Brass Ring, Bill Mauldin,  his life and World War II experiences
• Everything That Remains, story of minimalism, Milburn/Nicodemus
• Being Mortal, dealing with aging, Dr. Gawande
• Lost City of the Monkey God, Doug Preston, the discovery of a Central American city, loaned by friend, former UCO student and fantastic travel journalist Heide Brandeis, after her trip of the Amazon, which this book survived.
• After Jesus, Before Christianity, Vearncombe, et. al. Before there was a New Testament and organized Christianity, up to 200 A.D.
• Apocalyptic Polly, A Pandemic Memoir, Polly Basore Wenzl. One of my favorite former students at O.S.U., now of Wichita, former terrific journalist, who had the courage to quit a full time job and write. Envious of her and this book--more later.
• Tony Hillerman, A Life, James McGreggor Morri Makes you want to read all of Hillerman again. 

Note: can you spot the inconsistency in the photo above with the contents of this post. The post is correct.

Booked Up, in 2021--part one

"If a book's not worth reading more than once, why keep it?"

                                                                           --Terry Clark, 2021

Some of my 2021 reading, 

 I thought that as  another  year goes "into the books," in that old cliche. For me,  it's not just a cliche. While we always seem to look back, as well as hoping for the future, especially in these years of the plague, I also turn back to the books that helped me survive.

There have been 54 of them this year, 27 in the first half, and 28 as of today, six of which were reread.

First, here are the genres I read, second half, first half:

• Non-fiction--13, 8--21.
• Fiction--7, 3--10
• Poetry--4, 6--10
• Art--3, 4--7

What did I reread?

1.  The Blessing Way, Tony Hillerman, an Okie's first novel,  first edition, inscribed to his friend Carter Bradley, Purchased at an SPJ silent auction a few years ago. Fiction
2. Steal Like an Artist, Austin Kleon, a creativity dynamo, whose weekly email newsletters and books expand the mind and spirit. https:austinkleon.com Art
3. Show Your Work, Kleon. Art
4. A River Runs Through It, Norman Mclean, heavily marked up and underlined from our previous readings. Fiction
5. Walter Benjamin at the Dairy Queen, Reflections on 60 and beyond, Larry McMurtry, who died this year, first edition, signed to me at his bookstores, "Booked Up, " Archer City, leading a UCO student trip, 1999.  He soon quit signing books there. I also bought a Booked Up coffee cup there. You can see it at the top of the photo. He quit selling those at the bookstore too. In the past few years he began selling most of the 200,000 books in his several buildings. Non-Fiction, essays
6. Out on the Porch, Reynolds Price, first edition, signed. Essay, black and white photos of Southern porches matched with quotes from fiction writers.

The Old Ones

"The Old Ones at Sunset," 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel

Aging. That's been on my mind more than I realized, as another year nears end and another birthday looms.

Looking back last night after I finished the last of the seven books I've read in the past two months, it dawned on me that three of them were in some ways about that theme.

I finished rereading Larry McMurtry's "Walter Benjamin at the Dairy Queen," one signed by him that I bought 22 years ago. He died this past year, and that book is about his thoughts on aging.

Before that, I picked up our copy of Norman Maclean's "A River Runs Through It," and reread that for the first time in years. "I am haunted by the waters," the old man closes the book.

The other book was by a doctor, on helping people as they age, "Being Mortal," recommended by my son-in-law Todd Bell, himself a doctor.

Yesterday, after a walk in Hafer Park and talking with my favorite old tree, I picked up my acrylic paints, palette knives and brushes headed to the back porch, obviously thinking about aging.

The result is pretty rough, but that seems fitting texture for the bark and wrinkles, as I tried something new, palette knives first, then brushes. 

 I call it "The Old Ones at Sunset. I suppose  if you're being snarky, thinking about me, you could call it "Portrait of the Old Tree Hugger." If you were sarcastic, you could simply call it, "The Golden Years."

A day of light in days of darkness

"Christmas Light" 5 x 7 watercolor card

“In Him was life, and that life  was the light of men. That light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not understood it.”--John 1: 4-5

Nothing much has changed in human nature since Jesus was born some 2,000 plus years ago. War, poverty, disease, racism, violence, bigotry, greed, the list goes on. 

 "Progress" in technology and science hasn't defeated that darkness inherent in the most dangerous species because it is only physical.

Ignoring His teachings of forgiveness, of love, of mercy, of hope, of inclusion, those who use organized religion for personal power,  profit and politics  (the spiritual offspring of the hypocritical Scribes and Pharisees who crucified him for those teachings 33 years later),  literally and blindly "take the Lord's name in vain."  John knew what he was talking about.

But His teachings still bring life and light and hope into the world for millions, struggling for survival just as his early followers struggled.

This day is testament to that life, light and hope, in spite of the darkness.

Thus today's painting.

Christmas Eve--pilgrims

"Christmas Eve," 5 x 7 watercolor greeting card

                 
We are all pilgrims. 

For those who believe and attempt to follow the teachings of Jesus, this religion-ordained eve of his birth prompts a pilgrimage of sorts to church services throughout the world, perhaps reminding us that we, like Jesus and his Jewish parents on the night of his birth, were also pilgrims. 

We are not alone. "Next year in Jerusalem," is the closing wish and song of Jews the world over as they remember their pilgrimages at Passover in the Seder meal. As children of pilgrim Abraham, of exodus from Egypt, of exile and return, and of 4,000 years of existence, they too know they are pilgrims.

The other children of Abraham,  Muslims know they are pilgrims. Every year millions travel to worship in Mecca, the birthplace of Mohammed. One of the five pillars of Islam is this pilgrimage, the Haji, once in  life.

Many others make pilgrimages, whether for religious or personal reasons on this week or at other times of the year. Christmas is a time for family pilgrimages for reunions. "I'll be home for Christmas." My pilgrimages are to my mother's grave, once a year or to New Mexico. Many others who return to home country for family and other special occasions.

 Consider the English term "pilgrim" originally comes from the Latin word peregrinus (per, through + ager, field, country, land), which means a foreigner, a stranger, someone on a journey, or a temporary resident. We even have a falcon from that name, though given the migration of birds and animals....

What should that remind us of, especially in these uncertain times--that there are always uncertain times, that we are on a journey?

Are we are not all children of Abraham, pilgrims?

Beacons of Hope

"Beacon of Hope," 5 x 7 watercolor card

In a  dark world of war and despair and hatred and pandemic, people yearn for peace, for hope of light.

No wonder Jesus compared himself to light. In New Mexico, symbols of that light and hope have been the beacons of the adobe churches for centuries. 

They will be filled with worshipers Christmas eve and Christmas day, for Christ-mass to bring peace and hope into hearts.

Thus this painting, of the iconic Church of St. Francis at Ranchos de Taos.

Four Days--Sanctuary

"Sanctuary," 5 x 7 acrylic greeting card

We live in a country, a world, a season of people seeking sanctuary.

• You see it in the immigrants, the migrants, risking their lives trying to escape war, terrorism and poverty.
• You see it when governments and  politicians build walls for protection, whether in America, North Korea, Berlin or China.
• You see it in people living in "gated" communities out of fear or greed, whose medieval ancestors built castles for the same reasons. It's reflected in the aphorism, "A man's home is his castle."

I suppose we are not the only creations that seek sanctuary. Consider the multitudes of wildlife, mammals, fish, birds, insects, that find strength in numbers and choose living places for protection. 

Perhaps it is natural for beings. For me, an isolated cabin or camping out is my dream sanctuary from the busyness and worries and craziness of the world. I imagine almost everyone has such a place in mind and heart. 

When we lose the illusion that we are in control of our lives, there is another kind of sanctuary when the physical fails--spiritual. That realization, that need is responsible for the religions of the world--and that is really what Christmas, the fourth day from now, symbolizes.

Jesus came when the world was dominated by a violent, domineering empire built on slavery and Emperor worship. In the face of those conditions what he taught offered sanctuary from a materialistic and hopeless existence where there was no physical sanctuary.

You will see it as thousands flock to churches this Christmas eve and Christmas day, seeking an inner sanctuary in this uncertain, unhealthy and unsafe world.

All these thoughts caused me to look up  the root meanings of the world. The etymology tells you much about spiritual sanctuary.

It comes from the Latin sanctuarium, from sanctus ‘holy’. It was first used in Middle English from the Old French sanctuaire, adopted from church or other teaching for a sacred place where a fugitive was immune, by the law of the medieval church. By the way, the root word sanctus is also where we get the word "saint."

"This world is not my home."--Are we not all fugitives seeking sanctuary?

Thus this painting of a sanctuary on our journeys.

Five Days

"Spirit Country," 5 x 7 acrylic card

 Deserts. And stars. Solstice.

Three of the world's prominent religions grew out of the aridity of deserts, where you intimately learn the stars to lead you to water. When you are people of the desert, you know how small you are in a gargantuan universe, where you seek and find Spirits to help lead you.

With human-ordained Christmas in five days, on this the longest night of the year, think of the three wise men who followed a star..."from the east" which means they traveled across deserts. It seems no accident that all the religious art of that story shows them riding camels. 

Growing up in New Mexico, camping in mountains surrounded by arid "deserts," or camping  and hiking on remote trails, you learn the power of the night skies, value the wide open spaces and long horizons.  

One of my favorite places on earth is at Chaco Canyon in northwest New Mexico, where you can camp and hike, see the Milky Way, watch the stars wheel above you, see time move. I heard a ranger say you could feel the earth move beneath you.  Camping in that desert place puts you in contact with  Spirits.

Six Days 'til Christmas

"Season of Silence," 5 x 7 watercolor card

Can you hear the silence?

Not often in this hectic, noisy, busy "holiday" season, can you?

We live in a world of noise, bombarded almost 24/7 with blaring media and traffic; in fact, it seems most people are afraid of silence, avoiding it. 

What once was a season of hope for peace has ironically become anything but. One author termed our culture as the "attention economy."

And if there is no silence, can there be any peace? When do we have time to stop, think, meditate, dream, create if our senses  are constantly assaulted with noise--both visual and aural?

That's one of the reasons I enjoy driving the back roads, sparsely settled, where traffic is scarce. No music, no news, just alone with my thoughts. Or walking a trail in Hafer park where at least the noise of traffic is muted, and you the sounds of birds and leaves in the breeze are the only disruptions.

That's why memories of hunting pheasant in Iowa or deer in Oklahoma remain, or  driving remote roads in New Mexico remain so vivid. I remember the silence of of walking the empty corn fields or being in the woods, or traveling the wide open Great Plains. Having lived several years in rural areas, you learn to value silence when you move to a city.

It's certainly why I value falling snow. It muffles sound, and turns the world into a quiet wonderland, where you can cuddle up with a book, a cat, some coffee, and enjoy the silence inside and out.

Thus this watercolor card. Can you hear the silence, more important than ever. Pease.

Seven Cold Days 'til Christmas

 

"Moonlight," 5 x 7 acrylic greeting card

The Mohawks named it the "Cold Moon." 

It's also known as the "long night moon," and is the longest full moon of the year. I don't quite understand the science on that, but as the moon closest to the winter solstice, our shortest day of the year, it appears as a full moon longer.

I woke before this morning with the temperature at 18 degrees,  and it was still there in the western sky, as bright as ever, like it was at its brightest last. night.

Both names are fitting in this season of darkness, in these years of cold darkness of other kinds. 

We need the light more than ever, including the holiday lights adorning buildings and homes, as we approach the darkest day of the year. It's also a beacon for the coming of a  spiritual light, which we observe in seven days. Humans, creation, always seeks light.

In painting also, our eyes always go toward the lightest areas first. Thus this greeting card.

Blue Highways

"Blue Highways," 5 x 7 watercolor, 300 lb d'Arches cold press

Among the Clarks' favorite books is "Blue Highways," by William Least Heat Moon.

It is now more than 50 years old, but to anyone who loves travel, and especially travel on the backroads, this personal journey is Gospel. I once found an inscribed hard cover first edition, and one son is now the proud owner. 

Note to those who haven't read it. The old maps of America had the main roads in red and the others in blue. He circumnavigated the U.S. in a van writing of the people and places he met.

A sampling:

• “On the road, where change is continuous and visible, time is not; rather it is something the rider only infers. Time is not the traveler's fourth dimension - change is.”
• "A true journey, no matter how long the travel takes, has no end."
• "Life doesn't happen on the interstates. It's against the law."

Thus this little watercolor from yesterday, as the urge to travel deepens.

Eight Days 'til Christmas

"Sunrise, Sunset," 5 x 7 acrylic on card

 "Sunrise, sunset, swiftly flow the years."

                   --Fiddler on the Roof

Perhaps the saddest song I know of because it strikes so deep in my heart as a father, yet also a favorite.

Why? Because this season, as another year draws to a close, these truths sung by an aging Jew fit the mingling of happiness and sadness that is always part of the Christmas season.

Those words, and this season, bring back  the mountains of memories with family, especially as I get older--as another sunrise and sunset pass.

Nine Days 'til Christmas

"Wind Chill," 5 x 7 watercolor card

The wind did more than "come sweeping down the plains" this past week. 

We escaped the hurricane force winds causing havoc elsewhere in America, but we knew this was not your normal December weather. The steady southern wind pushed temperatures to record highs. 

 It won't be a typical Christmas this year, but this painting tries to capture the actual and personal isolation of a frigid Norther on the Great Plains, when we all need warmth. 

Ten Days 'til Christmas

"Christmas Spirits," 5 x 7 acrylic on card stock

             Unseasonable weather in a disruptive year make it difficult to realize Christmas is only ten days away.  But change brings change, and I had to try something different to cope

When it doesn't even seem like Christmas, I need  therapy for the turmoil and hassle and down moods. I find it in painting, especially in an annual tradition of painting and sending greeting cards, which I've done for more than a decade now.

Up until this year, they were all watercolors, each one unique. But what started as a small effort for family members and a few friends grew to a project, while enjoyable, that seemed to be stuck in a rut devoid of creativity.

So this year, I changed two approaches. First, I switched to acrylic paintings. Then, instead of doing about 100 individual cars, I did about 11 different ones, bought a new printer, and printed about 10 of each to send.

It still took time, especially deciding who would get which card and trying to avoid duplicating crds with the same group of people.

I've already posted two of the cards on the blog earlier--one of the moon on snow and another of a red mailbox in snow. Here's one for today, catching the spirit of the season and my spirit as well.

Back road stories

"After the Storm," 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel

Back roads in rural areas captivate my imagination, and beckon traveling, even when stuck at home.

They speak silently of stories told, of stories to tell, of stories to come.

This painting has several stories, and I'm not sure of a title, yet...back roads, stormy skies, wheat, home.

Another story is in painting it, deciding on complementary colors for contrast, and using  palette knives for challenge, texture, and learning.

When America is attacked

U.S.S. Arizona, Dec. 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor, 5 x 7 watercolor

Have you thought about what happens when America is attacked?

Eighty-years ago today, a divided nation united when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. Four years later, two powerful foes were defeated in the world's deadliest war.

In April, 1861, a divided nation was attacked by South Carolina extremists, plunging a divided nation into our most deadly war, but eventually uniting the country. Before that tragedy, when referred to, the United States was always followed by a plural noun, "The  United States are." After that war, it's always been "the United States is." 

On 911, 2001, the United States was attacked by Muslim terrorists. The country united, and the world was on our side. Part of what followed was America's longest war, ending only this year.

On Jan. 6, 2021, domestic terrorists attacked the United States, threatening the lives of our elected officials in a coup attempt to overturn the U.S. Constitution. The last time the Capitol was attacked was by the British in 1814. A united country defeated a stronger enemy.

But this time, there has been no unity, only more division. Will America survive this attack?

I'm still waiting and hoping. That's why we need to remember Pearl Harbor today.

 

Season of changes

"A walk in the park," 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel, palette knife

"Make the world go away

and get it off my shoulders."

       --Eddy Arnold

In a  world  and our lives buffeted by constant changes and uncertainties, there's no more obvious  and encouraging symbol to me than autumn leaves and light.

I need this season as reassurance that despite troubles and tragedies, from personal to global. I've often said that painting is my therapy, because the rest of the world goes away when I'm work on art. 

Brooding and stuck, I found that therapy today from autumn's lessons on change and the inspiration to use change itself. 

"Get outside and paint," I told myself on this beautiful autumn afternoon. Most of the colors are fading or gone from the trees, but I had to try something different. I packed up my painting gear, got my tripod and pochad box (a portable palette that fits on top of the tripod) I'd never used before, and went to Hafter Park to paint en plein air--something I've avoided.

Finding a favorite section of the winding trail through trees, I set up on the side of the trail, trying to figure out what to do with the earthy, largely brown view in front of me. That added to the challenge for a too-detailed former journalist like me.

But there was still the inspiration of fall. Out came largely earth colors, mostly warm, and my palette knife.  Friendly walkers stopped to chat every once in a while.  I don't know what happened, but the results were change indeed--abstract, outdoors, palette knife.The world went away. Autumn's lessons are therapy indeed.

I should have taken a photo of my set up to go with this, but will go back tomorrow to add that. At any rate,  here's today's therapy.

"Thanksgiving when we need it," 5 x 7 watercolor, 140 lb. d'Arches cold press

 Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving on your journeys.

While the roads are not always smooth and straight, the bumps and curves help us be thankful, for what we've endured, and for what matters most, for the gift and giving of love. 1 Corinthians 13

But we can still dream

"We Can Still Dream," 5 x 7 acrylic on card

"Normal" weather? We have no idea any more, after the weather disasters of last year and climate out of control.

But we can still dream, and warm fall days with lots of sunshine and brilliant foliage.

And, as December approaches,  of cold winter nights, with snow and a full moon, and a cozy cabin in the country.

Thus today's little painting,  wanting to be there, with a loved one, dogs and cats, a wood burning fire, homemade chili or stew. No matter the weather and the world, we can still dream.

Holiday Hope

"Holiday Hope," 5 x 7 acrylic on card

This little painting  appeared in the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame December newsletter as a Happy Holidays piece. Thanks to Joe Hight for the request, and I decided to try something new, on deadline.

 Sometimes a title just appears at the very end. Mailbox, sure. Snow, definitely. Cabin, naturally. What to call it? 'Tis the season, so there's a little double meaning here that also appeared.

Sacred Spirit

"Sacred Spirit," 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel

What is "sacred"?

Historically from the Middle Ages, it's linked in Latin and other languages with sanctification, saint; it implies connection with the divine. The meaning has changed over the years, its application broadening. 

A better question is "What is sacred to you?" It belongs to no one religious or cultural belief, and symbolizes many things. It probably varies with every person, even without religious or spiritual meanings.

The more I read of Native American beliefs and cultures, the more impressed I am. If there is a symbol of the heritage of those people, to me it is the bison, the American buffalo.

Foremost in their spiritual heritage is the white buffalo, and their beliefs hold meaning we need today in this chaotic time. Only about one in ten million buffalo will be born white, according to science.

What is more impressive to me is what the Lakota and others believe, from stories almost 2,000 years old. I found this on the American Indian College Fund blog:

"The Lakota and other tribes believed that a white buffalo is the most sacred living thing on earth... .

"The American buffalo or bison is a symbol of abundance and manifestation... The birth of a sacred white buffalo is a sign of hope and an indication of good times to come. For many American Indians, the birth of a white buffalo calf is the most significant of prophetic signs... ."

The Lakota term for the white buffalo is "tatanka," and sacred or divine-- "Wakan Tanka."

That's the spirit and inspiration behind today's acrylic painting. In the middle of these political, biological and environmental turmoil, we need some good omens of good times to come.

A Willa Cather sky

"Willa Cather Sky," 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel

"The sky was as full of motion and change as the desert beneath it was monotonous and still, — and there was so much sky, more than at sea, more than anywhere else in the world."

“Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky.”

            --Willa Cather, Death Comes for The Archbishop

"Out here there's the sky," is my mantra as I paint. It's no wonder, when you grow up in the Southwest or live in Oklahoma,  Texas,  or elsewhere on the Great Plains.

Thus this painting today.

When art makes people happy

"Taos home," 8 x 10 watercolor 300 lb. rough press paper

Art is therapy in so many ways for an artist, but one of the best is when your work makes other people happy, lifts their spirits.

Such is the case today when my watercolor commission of a home in Taos, by Tracey Zeeck, was presented as an early Christmas present to her sister.

Grateful for the opportunity to give, and to paint adobe and New Mexico skies and light.

 

Journeys--from "dust" to "dust"

"Journeys," 5 x 5 acrylic on canvas

"From dust to dust," seems mortal to us earthly beings, especially as we age, and when we lose loved ones and friends.

But just maybe, considering science, since our bodies are made from the atoms of the universe, stardust, then was we grow older, thinking about eternity, the phrase takes on a completely different connotation, from stardust to stardust.

And maybe, considering the spiritual, for those who are spiritual and think there is more than earthly dust, as we complete more journeys, the phrase speaks of eternity, from whence we came to which we go.

Thus today's painting, a turquoise ladder,  journeys from "dust"  to "dust."

I've been familiar with the actual and spiritual ladders of New Mexico Native Americans for a long time, in the pueblos and kivas.They are practical, and icons of the Southwest, and much more.  But a special gratitude for some of the inspiration of this painting goes to Steven Charleston.

 A Choctaw elder from Oklahoma and  retired Episcopal bishop, he is the author of "Journey to the Light," adopting the symbols of the kiva and ladders for our spiritual lives in these tumultuous times. I recommend you read it for your journeys, regardless of beliefs. He also posts a brief meditation every day on his Facebook page. It begins my daily journey with wisdom and hope.

The painting will soon be available at In Your Eye Studio & Gallery in The Paseo Arts District.

A decade ago--a sailor's final port of call

Ten years ago on this day before Veterans' Day, I officiated at the funeral of my uncle, Michael Henry Clark in the Santa Fe national Cemetery. A U.S. Navy color guard provided the ceremony for this combat veteran of WWII and Korea.

Mike and my Dad, the war years

 He was the last of the five living "Clark boys" from Comanche, OK, (Terrence, Louis, Rex, Mike and Champ)   my favorite uncle, and perhaps the closest brother to my father Terrence, the oldest. I took me a while to figure that out, since my middle name comes from him. "Llamarse como," he would say.

Mike and I, Bandelier, years ago

I've written about him many times, and will not repeat, except to note this day and how many memories I have of him from when I was a kid, a teenager, and then in later years as adults, especially in the last 30 years. He died Oct. 24 in the Veterans' Home in Walsenburg, Colorado, and it took a few weeks to get things organized. 

Mike, Susan and I in the bar at La Fonda, a few years ago

And the last photo is my sketch of the Manzano Mountains, southeast of Albuquerque, the day after the funeral on a somber Veterans' Day, as I looked out the window from the airport, waiting on a flight home.

Rest in Peace, Sailor.

If you wish to see more photos and comments, just search "Mike" in search box above.

  

Meditation on the Colors of the Futures

"The Future," 5 x 5 acrylic on canvas

As another year nears past tenses, we'll be spending more time thinking about futures.

While we dwell much on the past, or pondering the future, most of the wisdom writing of humans urges us to live in the present.

For that, we have the examples of the rest of living beings, who exist only in the present, we think. And then there's that mysterious saying in the Old Testament from Yahweh, "I am that I am." In Eternity, another name I have for God, or the Spirit, there is no past nor future, only present.

And if you believe we're created in the spiritual images of the Spirit (there are no other), and if you believe the Spirit is omni-present, that means we are part of that eternity.

Yet, we forget and rue the past and worry about the future. Those are lessons I've learned many hard ways.

So today's little painting almost mocks the idea of futures, with a gate opening on multiple paths and colors, and a grainy (textured) universe. 

Soon available @Inyoureyestudio&gallery at @PaseoArtsDistrict.

The Colors of Chili Season

"The Colors of Chili Season," 5 x 5 acrylic on canvas

 Autumn and winter are chili seasons.

But for me, not the much ballyhooed Tex-Mex varieties. While my children take part in various chili cook offs, I've only done that a couple of times...and lost.

Because, mine isn't complicated, but different.

No chili powder from the grocery store here. Yes, I'll use ground beef, or chili meat, and other ingredients fairly common, some others of which I won't mention.

But there is always chili powder from New Mexico...primarily from red chili ristras, drying in the sun on an adobe wall. We have a special place in Chimayo where we buy ours--mild, medium and hot.

So as chili season approaches, depending on our roller coaster temps these days, be sure that our stash will fill the house with unique aroma, along with some cornbread and tortillas, and maybe some posole.

So this little acrylic can't capture the taste or aroma, but it does the spirit and colors of chili season.

Soon available at @InYourEyeStudio&Gallery in @PaseoArtsDistrict.

 

Season of Change--November and my art

Acrylics and oils

My November art show at @Inyoureyestudio&gallery in @PaseoArtsDictrict in OKC opens tomorrow, and the title is no accident. November is a season of change, but I'm in the midst of change too.

I've been experimenting, teaching myself, learning, and having fun with acrylics, branching out from watercolors, where, according to my wife Susan and god friend don Drew, I was stuck. Time to try something new.

Mini-Acrylics--5 x 5

 I've learned much in the  past couple of months, most of it fun and challenging, but also daunting and sometimes frustrating because I'm not sure what I'm doing. Advice from other artists has helped but mostly, it's been trial and lots of errors. 

Watercolors ....from Oklahoma and the Great Plains

I will not forsake watercolor, because acrylics have added to my appreciation of them and taught me much about letting go, trying new things. And watercolors have taught and influenced my work in acrylics. The differences are many, in techniques and properties, but composition and light and color apply.

Watercolors...To New Mexico and beyond

So the show at the gallery, where I'm one of 11 member artists, features more than 50 paintings, most of them watercolors, but also several recent acrylics and a few oils. Season of change indeed.

Oklahoma Homestead

"Oklahoma Homestead," 16" x 20" acrylic on gallery wrapped canvas

The "home place." "Homestead."

Words that take on more meaning that just "home." They speak of memories, generations, families, hard work, history, roots in the land, landscapes, rural living. And certainly of life in Territorial Oklahoma.

Those were some of my thoughts as I undertook this painting, the largest I've done in a long while, and certainly the largest in acrylics. 

Again, it is a work in complementary colors, blues and yellows, oranges and purples. You will notice that in all my recent work. I don't know why, except it just seems natural. There is also a healthy dose of earth colors--umbers, siennas, and oxides, which is fitting given the subject of homestead.

Soon to be exhibited, beginning in Paseo Arts District's First Friday, November 5, art walk in my November show at In Your Eye Studio & Gallery.

Any "Real" Mail?

"Any Real Mail Today," 5 x 5 acrylic on canvas

 Amazing isn't it, that we still wait for the mail in anticipation.

Especially since most of it heads to the trash before even being opened...ads, scams, politics. There is so little "real" mail, besides bills, cards or packages from people you know, with real handwriting on the envelope.

But even now I listen for the drone of the mail truck heading up and down the street. Most of the time I'm disappointed, and pause at the outdoor trash recycling bin to dump most of it, ripping a few articles open to either take inside, or toss as well. 

"Has the mail passed yet?" was a familiar refrain when I was still teaching, faculty coming in to see what might be in their mailboxes.

The only times I dreaded the mail were the years I feared seeing a draft letter from the Selective Service during Vietnam. Though my pulse quickens if I get a letter from the IRS.

And our mail gets thinner, a result of e-mail and changing times. Now instead of writing letters, we pick up a phone and call. E-mail has ceased to be a blessing, flooding our in-boxes with junk, or administrative demands, or computer-generated requests to rate your latest trip to xyz business where you had your oil changed two hours ago.  Only its convenience in personal business offsets the irritation and waste of time.

All this makes "real" mail even more special, more anticipated.

That's why we still look forward to real mail every day. Those who gripe about the U.S. Postal Service, or want it to privatize it,  are short sighted at best. A reliable postal service--which we have--is one of the characteristics of a successful civilization. Try mailing something here from a remote county on another continent and see how long it takes to arrive, if it does.

End of rant. Thus today's acrylic painting, Available first Friday at In Your Eye Studio and Gallery in Paseo Artist District.