Road Trip

My wife and I, along with 2 of our dogs are on a road trip. I used to like the adventure of travel, when I was young, but not so much anymore. Every year it seems more trouble than it’s worth.

I haven’t been on a plane in 9 years. When I first started traveling by plane the flying was part of the vacation. There was an exotic quality to it. Comfortable seats, drinks, and food that was even somewhat palatable. When my wife and I started seriously dating she lived in LA and I was up in San Francisco. The fares were cheap enough that I could hop on a commuter flight Friday evening and return on Sunday evening. I always sat in the back of the plane, in the smoking section, and drank a double scotch on the rocks. I only drank scotch, for some unknown reason, when I was on a plane.

Now flying is a chore. Airports are frustrating and their parking lots are a nightmare. When I go through the metal detector I always set off the alarm. I have a surgical steel knee. I can tell them about it and show the 10-inch scar but I am always told, “Step over to the side, sir.” I always smile as they pass the wand over me wondering if this is the time I’ll be strip-searched.

Traveling now means getting in our van and driving. I installed a platform bed in the van. One of us can rest and sleep while the other one drives. When it is late and we are both tired we can pull into rest areas and sleep for a few hours. With 2 dogs, one weighing 90 pounds, and a 12-gauge shotgun we feel pretty safe.

I do love watching the landscape unfold in front of us. The landscape has long had a spiritual and mystical sensibility for me. I am much better at being a passenger so I can just sit back and watch the scenery roll by me. When I have to drive I get easily distracted and very fatigued. I could never be a long-haul truck driver.

Because of my obsessive nature I have been known to drive up to a 1,000 miles in a single stretch (it took me 20 hours). It is the OCD. I don’t like being away from my life and I miss my stuff. I miss the rituals and routines that give a rhythm to my daily life. It may sound funny but all this daily sameness gives me a certain freedom, especially with my painting. The “sameness” is a discipline.


This trip is a little tougher on me. We are not taking the shortest route. We made a deliberate decision to avoid the main highways and to drive the smaller side roads as much as possible. We have been going through real “Bubba” country. The small towns that are true “Americana.” And I forgot to bring my bib-overalls.

This trip has a few different purposes. The main objective was to visit our daughter who lives in San Diego, who we haven’t seen in over a year. It also gives us a chance to see some old friends from LA that we haven’t visited with in over 3 years. The other reason was so that we could visit the town of Paducah, KY.


Paducah is a small town that has fallen on hard times. They are trying to reinvent themselves by recruiting “working artists” to relocate to the town. They are offering artists houses at below market prices and even empty downtown lots for free if you put up a building as a studio and gallery. Paducah seems to know that where you have the arts and artists eventually the economy becomes strong and vibrant. When I first visited Santa Fe, NM about 30 years ago it wasn’t much. Artists came for the scenery and the cheap prices and decided to stay. Now, Santa Fe is a Mecca for artists and a thriving vibrant city. So thriving that it’s tough for artists to be able to afford to live there anymore. So, if you’re an artist thinking of relocating, you can find more info on Paducah’s program at www.paducaharts.com.

The first image is of my bobble-head Jesus that I have on the dashboard of my van. For me it’s a throw back to the 1960’s when good Catholics everywhere had little plastic statues of Jesus on their dashboards. As the song went, “I don’t care if it rains or freezes, long as I got my plastic Jesus, sittin on the dashboard of my car.” My van died just outside of Tucumcari, NM and we spent 4 hours in the hot sun (104 degrees) before we got towed into town. Tucumcari is on old Route 66. The next image is from a new series that I am playing with based on the idea of boundary barriers. The last image is based on looking out my bathroom window. The trees and the brush form interesting patterns. Both of these paintings are done using artist crayon on paper. With both of them I am re-exploring the use of deeper, richer, and more muted colors.

You Want What ?!

Back when I was about 18 or 19 years old I thought that one of the greatest sins that could be committed was to live a boring life. So back then it was my hope/wish/prayer that I would have an interesting life. There is an old saying, “Be careful of what you wish for, you just might get it!” In my youthful mind an interesting life meant being a successful, rich, and famous artist traveling the world. Well now I know that I should have been more specific in my wish. I didn’t get the successful, rich, and famous part but I sure did get the interesting part. After the last couple of months, with illness and death issues, I was hoping that everything would settle down. Good God how naïve could I be?

I recently found myself at the Emergency Room of the local hospital fearing that I was having a heart attack. Being nearly 60, overweight, and coming from a family of multi-generational heart disease, I became concerned when I experienced light headedness, dizziness, cold-sweats, nausea, and a tightness in my chest which extended to the left side of my neck, shoulder, and arm and didn’t go away after 6 hours when I had tried various home remedies. After spending 7 hours in the hospital receiving various tests and drugs (the morphine didn’t even give me a buzz) I was scheduled for a nuclear stress test and released to go home. I finished those tests a few days ago and will soon find out the results. I do have to admit it is a rather intriguing notion to be injected with a radioactive die solution.


I don’t want to live forever but I would like another 21.5 years even though at times life seems like an endless repetition days. That would give me the time to help raise my grandson to manhood. Regretfully, I have little confidence in his mother (my daughter) and even less in his father. It would also let me achieve my 50th wedding anniversary to my wife, the lovely Louise. After that, whatever happens happens. It does make for an interesting life.

But after all this stress and chaos there is another question that I need to answer. How do I make art out of all of this? This is the stuff of life and it is too good to waste. This is the stuff of life that makes good art. Another blogger, Philip Edson, has questioned me about expressing my “darker” side. As I thought about it I started to use darker and deeper colors. I started to use the landscape to express hiding places. Places where I can go and tuck myself into the shadows while I watch the world. Those places where I am separated, safe, protected, and remain unseen. I have created barriers and hiding places of my choosing. But there is more beyond that, as Philip asked me, how do I express more about my illnesses and depressive feelings? This has been a very good question for me.


My obsessive mind loves this type of entanglement. How do I express this stress and chaos? Do I want to be illustrative and narrative or go in another direction? There is an uncertainty that stalls and confronts me yet I see this as a good thing. If you look at history, all human growth comes from conflict. And if you look at history it also answers a lot of questions. So, I am going back and looking at the work of Rembrandt, William Blake, Edvard Munch, and Francis Bacon. I am also looking at the work of the contemporary artist, Basquiat. I am spending more of my reading time looking at human mythology, especially as it applies to the ideas of boundaries, barriers, and the dark forest. I sometimes lament that I am discovering more of this later in my life when my energy is waning but I’ll take it whenever and wherever it comes. It ain’t over until I’m dead and as I said, I hope/wish/pray that isn’t for another 21.5 years. So, if anyone has any ideas or thoughts about imagery, I’ll be glad to listen to them.


The first two images are from a series of darker colors that I have been working on. The title of the series is “Copse On Rich Street” and they are done with artist crayon on paper and they both measure 14.75” X 20.625” The next is a variation on a previous painting I had done. The colors are darker and the image leans in becoming less open. It is titled “Hiding In The Tall Grasses” and it measures 14.75” X 20.625” and is done with artist crayon on paper. These three pieces are reflective of my need for privacy and to separate myself from others and the world. To sit tucked away in quiet and dark places. The last piece is based on another series I started. It based on the idea of barriers and boundaries. The boundary threshold is an ancient notion known to all cultures providing society with known limits. It provides society with the unspoken “social contract” to which most people adhere. Within these limits are safety, contentment, and mutual support. To go beyond the boundary is to enter the unknown and to risk danger, darkness, and fear. The hope is to survive and to experience life more intensely. The piece is titled “Hedge Wall With Stripped Trees” and measures 20.625” X 14.75” and is done with artist crayon on paper. For me they all have a sense of entanglement and doing everything the same size fits well with my OCD.

Doing The Hokey Pokey

Recently I received a phone call from my sister, Barbara, out in Seattle telling me that our brother-in-law, Bill had suffered a massive heart attack. Luckily, he survived it. The big dumb Mick, while having the heart attack, drove himself to the hospital. When he arrived in the ER he immediately passed out. In a very short time he was wheeled into the only open operating room available and had a life saving stent placed into one of his arteries. Bill always did have the luck of the Irish. A few days later I learned that one of my oldest friends had died at the end of January. I was numb. Paraphrasing the writer/monk, Thomas Merton, I know that at 59 I am not yet old but I am reminded that every day I am living on borrowed time.

I sat there, with my head in a vise, babbling on to my wife about these two events in my best self-pitying “poor me” attitude. Ever being the comforter my wife took my hand and with the most compassionate sarcasm she could muster she said, “Poor baby, you’ve survived a heart attack and death and you lived to tell the tale.” Like a sharp stick in the eye she brought me back to reality and the present. God, I love that about her. She must have been a Zen master in a previous life.

Brother-in-law Bill is at home recovering very nicely. My friend, Bo, is still dead. One out of two ain’t bad I suppose. That’s a .500 average. There’s an old saying, “The best party I ever went to was an Irish funeral.” When my father died I learned the importance of a wake and the value that it has for the living. So, in a way, this is my wake for my friend.


Bo and I had been friends for 43 years. He helped to foster my budding interest in jazz. The first time I smoked marijuana was at his apartment while listening to recordings of the (original) Dave Brubeck Quartet. He introduced me to the writing of Thornton Wilder and J.D. Salinger. A decade later, through him, I learned of the writings of Thomas Merton, which came to have a very powerful influence on my life and sense of spirituality. He taught me how to shoot pool and how to be a carpenter. Over the years we had many road trips and adventures together. We also had many conversations, over coffee or fine cognac that went late into the night. Perhaps we had a bond because there was a spirit of rebelliousness in both of us. There’s an old movie, “The Wild One” starring Marlon Brando where his character is asked what he’s rebelling against and his answer is “What do ya got?” That was Bo, rebelling but not quite sure of what he was rebelling against.

We were on similar paths but over the years but they began to branch off in different directions. When I first met him he was very liberal. Over time he became moderate then eventually conservative, especially about his Christian faith. Knowing him, I couldn’t understand how he had become a conservative, right wing, Christian. On the other hand I was more moderate in the beginning (although some I know might say I was liberal or even radical) and eventually grew more liberal. Along with an interest in spirituality and world religions, I also have a strong interest in Christianity (scripture, history, orthodoxy, theology, etc.) especially when compared to other religions. I went in a different direction headed towards the more radical boundaries of the faith. These diametrically opposed views, rather than drive the friendship apart made it stronger. He was one of the few that I could argue or debate with and still be intense, direct, and opinionated and not have to worry about it. But then he had similar qualities.


He had a restless spirit and could be a pain-in-the-ass but he had a good heart. Like so many of us, he was filled with a lot of self-doubt and questioned his self worth. He never fully appreciated how much he really touched and helped others. So now that he has joined the cosmic dance (he wanted to join the heavenly choir but really didn’t sing that well) and my wife has poked me in the eye I will pour a glass of fine cognac and enjoy the ride on the stream of my memories.

So, does this have anything to do with art? Well, yes and no. Artists not only reflect the world around themselves but they also reflect who they are as people. I believe that art is autobiographical. It is the trail that I leave behind as I pass through life. Anything that touches my life also touches my art. Who and what I am, both good and bad, shapes the form and content of my work. My landscapes do not depict lonely places (because I am not lonely) but rather solitary places. I like solitude and to have places where I can hide and watch the world unseen (does that make me a voyeur?). They are the places that I go to in order to recharge my batteries so that I can confront the world when necessary. They are the places where I go to really find out if the hokey pokey is what it is really about.


The first image is a photograph from one of my favorites bloggers, Lori Witzel (artist, writer, philosopher and hokey pokey enthusiast http://chatoyance.blogspot.com/). The next photo is one of myself as a young artist in 1969. I was visiting my friend, Bo, when he lived up in Eureka, CA. The third photo is a picture of my friend, Maurice “Bo” Peltier (1938-2009) doing his James Dean impersonation from “Rebel Without A Cause” or as his brother put it, a rebel without a clue. The final image is from a new series that I am working on. It is titled “Copse On Rich St. #4” and measures 14.75” X 20.625” and is artist crayon on paper.

Decidedly Undecided

In my last post, Phillip Edson left a comment that my art didn’t seem to reflect the angst and such that I write about. In some ways I agree with him and in others ways I disagree so I decided to write about it. For quite a few weeks I have been writing this post in my head and obviously I haven’t gotten very far. I have been looking for a singular approach to it but haven’t found that starting place. My thoughts are many and scattered like the pencils and pastels on my drawing table. There is no order or reason to them. And so, like making art, I just have to pick up one and start. It will probably seem fragmented but I hope, eventually, to pull it all together into a cohesive whole.

Many times in the past I have paraphrased Picasso with the statement that every work an artist does is a self-portrait. The work that I do is a reflection of who and what I am, a snapshot of myself at that particular moment. That particular moment is also a reflection of all my accumulated experiences, good, bad, or indifferent, in life. However, we live in a 4 dimensional existence, length, width, height, and (forward moving) time. Because of this we can never see the whole completely at any given moment.


Imagine looking at a large piece of cut crystal. I can hold it in my hand and at any given moment I can see the top or the bottom, the front or the back. I can see a combination of the front, top, and a side. I can see many of the facets that form the total shape and give it the luster and sparkle it presents. What I cannot see is the whole crystal from all sides and angles at the same time even though it is clear and transparent. Yet, even though it has many sides and facets it is still one crystal that presents itself and reflects the light in many different ways.

I am like that cut crystal (or cut glass in my case). The art that I make is a reflection from one of those facets of my life.

Off On A Tangent

Facets are made because of our life experiences. Some we willingly accept or try to achieve while others are visited upon us. As always, it is not important what we have as what we do with it. As I have said before I have various mental illnesses and I was emotionally abused as a child. Big WHOOP! I am neither alone nor special but as a young man I felt that way and my art reflected those feelings. Like me, my paintings were dark and brooding. My paintings were dark and had a gritty quality to them. My self-imposed artistic hero was Jackson Pollack because of his hard living and self-destructive nature. The suffering soul was an image that appealed to me. I was looking for beauty in those places where most people avoided, the fringes where the discarded gravitated. I did find beauty but not in its classic definition.


Another Tangent

I don’t think that opposites are always what we think that they may be. For example, to me, the opposite of love is not hate. Love and hate are the same strong emotion focused on a person, an object, an idea, or whatever. Mirror opposites, those feelings that are diametrically opposed are really the same thing. For me, the opposite of love is indifference. If I can love you then I can hate you because they are the same strong emotion. If I don’t care about you then I neither love nor hate you, I am simply indifferent to you, i.e. you don’t exist. Love and hate are active while indifference is passive. Does this make sense?

So What Has This To Do With My Art?

In my artist statement I have a quote from the psychoanalyst and author, June Singer from her book, BOUNDARIES OF THE SOUL. She says, “Jung has wisely said that if you are able to observe a quality that is characteristic of a person, you may be quite certain that somewhere in that person the opposite is equally true.”


Being emotionally abused made me feel weak and vulnerable so I filled my work with strong color, shape, and composition. Bravado is just another expression of fear. If I’m “In your face” then maybe I can make you back off and keep from getting too close. If I took something complex and made it look easy and simple then I could screw with you if you tried to do it. I could also contradict conventional thinking. Because I felt so inferior it was a way to feel superior. I was/am expressing myself through the mirror opposite. Because of the angst I am looking for Elysium (or Valhalla, Nirvana, Heaven, The Ground of All Being, The Still Point, or whatever you wish to call it). It is like a long and dreary winter makes me focus more on and long for the spring and summer and the warmth and light that they bring. The landscapes also acknowledge that I like to stay hidden where I can watch and observe from the fringes. I don’t make it easy for others to get close to me by putting up obstacles and barriers and obstructed pathways. Yet the nudes speak to the exact opposite. With everything stripped away I am left completely exposed.

Over time I have no doubt that this will continue to change. The longer that I live, the more facets that will be carved into me. I realize that a lot of this might be as clear as mud. If you wish to question me, please do so. If you have questions about my thinking please ask me. For me, so much of this is thinking out loud.

The first piece is an oil on hardwood panel. It is a triptych that measures 48” X 77.5” and is titled “Tall Grass Pathway.” The next piece is an oil on prepared paper titled “Dark Woods 03” and measures 21.75” X 34”. Next is artist crayon on hardwood panel that measures 11” X 14” and is titled “Half Hidden Barn.” The nude is colored pencil on paper, measures 26” X 20.5”, and is titled “Bathtub Nude.”

Can’t Get No Satisfaction

A couple of months ago an old friend from high school commented, “I have a good life but it’s not a satisfying life.” This comment became for me the gift that keeps on giving; it gave me something to obsess about. Like a large boulder in an open field I kept meandering around it. Looking at it from all angles trying to figure out why I recognized it. Why I am drawn to and intrigued by it. Among many other thoughts it reminded me of some stories about different artists. These may be urban myths but still are good stories.

The first is a story about the American artist, Billy Al Bengston. As the tale goes, it was said he was doing abstract paintings that had surfaces that were heavy and thick with paint. One day he came into his studio and stood in front of his most current painting. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a revolver and shot all of the bullets into the painting. He then turned and walked out of the studio. Shortly thereafter he began a series of paintings that became known as the “Chevron Series” a set of amorphous paintings that were smoothly airbrushed. It was said that with the heavy abstracts Bengston, “liked what he was doing (the process) but hated the results” while with the Chevron series he “hated what he was doing (process) but loved the results.”

Then there is the artist, Robert Irwin. In the 70’s he was doing semi-conceptual sculptures that were part of the architecture that played on the theme of light, time, space, and perception. He left NYC and moved out to southern California where he rented a street level warehouse space. It is said that he painted the interior of the space black except for the back wall, which was white. He covered all the windows and then drilled a hole in the door turning the space into a large pinhole camera. It was said that he spent a year sitting inside that space watching the inverted street scenes for a year. He seemed to need to change his way of looking at things.


In the 1970’s it was fairly common for art collector’s to pay for an artwork that had not yet been made, to place an order for a future work. The painter, Larry Poons had such a following for his tightly rendered “ellipse” paintings. One day he told his business manager to give all the money back because he was no longer happy doing the ellipse paintings and was going off in a new direction. He started to do large abstracts where, while the canvas was on the floor, he would spatter and pour the paint creating thick and fissured surfaces. These “poured’ paintings became highly successful and numerous other artist followed Poons’ lead in changing styles and directions.

So why the sudden and drastic changes, especially when everything seems to be going so well, when everything seems so good? Maybe we begin to discover that what we really want are things that lie on a deeper level. We begin to develop our psychological and spiritual natures so as to bring an order and meaning to the chaos that we perceive surrounds us. Reinhold Niebuhr (theologian, ethicist, and political analyst) teaches that “profound religion is an effort to answer the challenge of pessimism. It seeks a center of meaning in life which is able to include the totality of existence, and which is able to interpret the chaos of something which only provisionally threatens its cosmos and can ultimately be brought under its dominion.”

I told my friend I also have a good life. I have a good and wonderful spouse, children that I love, and a delightful grandson. Even with all of this I am not quite satisfied. I have a nagging sensation that there must be more. Happiness still eludes me no matter what I try. I no longer look for nor expect happiness and satisfaction rather I just keep trying to move forward, one day at a time, hoping that I’ll eventually find meaning, or at least stumble upon it (probably while looking in the wrong direction). Don’t beat yourself up over not being satisfied (I tried and it doesn’t work) it seems to be part of the human condition.


This dissatisfaction seems to me to be existential angst. This angst is what drives the arts and creativity. It is why so many artists eventually go completely off their meds, something I have often considered, or drink a lot or do drugs. This angst is why people become alcoholics or drug addicts; why people become workaholics; why people become conservative, fundamentalist religious zealots of any faith. This angst is what drove me, as a teenager, to the edge of the abyss to consider suicide. It is what compelled me to live a self-destructive life through my late 20’s. It is why I lived in a monastery for a year seeking spiritual direction and religious bliss (unsuccessfully). I didn’t really know what I was looking for but I knew when what I was doing didn’t fit. I’m 59 years old and I’m still trying things on to see if they fit; I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. As Justice Holmes used to say, “The aim of life is to get as far as possible from imperfection.” I know that I’ll never achieve it because I don’t believe there is perfection in this life. I don’t think that perfection, happiness, or being satisfied is static and serene. I see them as dynamic, growing, changing, and ever moving.


The pieces here are a variety of what I have been working on. The first is from one of my favorite hiking places. It is titled, "Birch Trees in Fall" and measures 24" X 36". It is oil on hardwood panel. The next is one of my figurative pieces. I have been playing with colored pencils and enjoying it. It measures about 34" X 20.5". The next is based on a theme of a dark wooded place. It measures 20.5" X 32" and is oil on prepared paper. The final piece is from a series of torsos that I have been doing. It measures 19.75" X 13.75" and is a combination of colored pencil and artist crayons.

Truth, Reality, and Literalism: Part Two

This painting by the Surrealist artist, Rene Magritte, intrigues me. It is a wonderful play on words but more importantly it causes the viewer to question his or herself. The title, which is painted on the canvas, is “Leci n’est pas une pipe” which translates to “This is not a pipe.” The viewer looks at it and says, “Of course it’s a pipe, I can see that, it’s very obvious.” What the viewer misses is the truly obvious that this is a painting. It may be a painting of a pipe but still it is a painting. What we actually see and what we perceive may be completely different. This is always the problem with beginning art students and why they have difficulty in what they are drawing. Most often they are drawing what they think they see, because they are not looking carefully, rather than what is actually there. Also because the logical side, which uses language the student substitutes, dominates our brains a symbol of what is there rather than what is actually there.

However there is more to it than that. How we perceive something is determined by the filter of our own personal history and even our personalities. The theologian and scholar, John Dominick Crossan, teaches that you can have four people standing together, all witnessing the same event at the same time and each of them will come away with a different perception and memory of the event. Does this mean that one interpretation is better than another or that very simply they are just different? Because something is real or meaningful to you does that mean it has to be that way to me? Being obsessive I can play with this idea for a long time. Regretfully, society is usually a little uneasy with those of us who think and act a little differently. Maybe that’s why I find it so much fun.


About 15 years ago I belonged to a co-op gallery in this area. We were putting on an exhibit with the nude human form as the theme. First of all because the nude is a beautiful subject but also because this is a conservative area and we knew it would generate some interest. Good or bad we didn’t especially care as long as we got people to react. Included in my work were some nude self-portraits. At the opening my wife asked me if I was troubled by the fact that people, complete strangers, were going to see me nude. I had to remind her that I was fully dressed and had no intention of taking my clothes off at the gallery. I had to remind her that there is a difference between the real flesh and blood me and a piece of paper hung on the wall. The viewers were not looking at me but looking at a drawing. Even though the drawing and I are both real we are not interchangeable. My wife and I, side by side at the same event each perceived the reality differently and that’s just fine with me.

Afterthought


There are many blogs that I used to visit on a regular basis. I haven’t visited them very much lately. Where we live there is no high speed internet or cable. Satellite service is too expense so I use my cell phone to access the web. As long as I am just viewing text it is fine. When I visit sites that have a lot of visuals and images my service stalls and locks up. I hope to resolve that soon and then I will be able to start visiting again.


I haven’t written much lately because I am going through some changes and adjustments. My doctor and I have been playing with my meds to find a better balance. The meds were helping somewhat with the OCD but there was a persistent depression and sense of anxiety. The meds for the ADD weren’t that effective so I went off of them to help save money. There were additional meds that could’ve helped with the depression and anxiety but are not available as generics so being on a fixed income and helping to support our grandson the cost became prohibitive. We finally went back to an old drug that had worked well in the past (Prozac) and increased the dosage. It has helped the OCD and the depression and put me on an even keel but at a cost. My world has become more bland. It feels like I am wearing a suit made of heavy inch thick felt that weighs me down and insulates me. I have to struggle to overcome my own inertia. I go into my studio and wonder why I even bothered to open the door. I remember reading about the painter, Edvard Munch who suffered from mental illness and was hospitalized on several occasions. His doctor offered him a treatment that would greatly help. Munch turned it down because it would affect his creativity. I think about this story a lot while trying to figure out what to do with myself. On the positive side I have better focus for reading. I am currently reading a volume of essays by the theologian, ethicist, and political analyst, Reinhold Neibhur, who was an influence on Barack Obama.


The images included here are a copy of the Magritte painting, “Leci n’est pas une pipe” and I do not know the dimensions but it is oil on canvas. The next is a self-portrait titled, “From My Point Of View.” It is graphite on paper and measures 10.5” X 13.5”. This drawing is about 30 years old and was included in the exhibit I mentioned above. The next is just one of my landscapes that reflect somewhat inaccessible areas. It is titled “Four Birch Trees” and is oil on prepared paper and measures 21.5” X 33”. The next is from my Nudist Series and is titled “Treading Water #2” and is colored pencil on paper measuring 33” X 21.5”. The last 2 are from a series that I’ve been working on based on torsos of average everyday people. They are done with artist crayon over tempera on paper and each one measures 19.75” X 12.75”.

Truth, Reality, and Literalism

At first glance it would seem that these three words are all a reflection of the same thing. The dictionary defines truth as “Conformity to fact or reality; a verified or accepted fact; that which is true or actual.” Reality is defined as, “Having actual existence, or actually occurred; that which is real as opposed to that which is imagined or merely apparent.” For literal it says, “Not figurative or metaphorical; following the letter or the exact words; to interpret statements factually or unimaginatively.” Now just to muddy the waters further I’m going to throw two more words into the mix, actual and comprehend. Actual is defined as, “Existing truly or objectively; real; now existing.” Finally, for comprehend the dictionary states, “To take into the mind; to grasp by the understanding; to understand; to embrace.” I obsess over these words. Well, I obsess over a lot of things because of my mental illness and because that’s a big part of my nature, these words are just an extra bonus.

How do I understand and use these words and thoughts to better understand the world around me, to better understand myself? As I read and study about creativity and mental illness I am intrigued by how often a mentally ill person has a better grasp of reality than “normal” people. I guess that is probably due to the fact that those with mental illness view reality different from most people and from how the dictionary defines it. I know that this is true for me. Also, my views have been shaped by my personal studies of religion, theology, spirituality, psychology, history, and mythology over the last 40 years. Throw in some art, music, literature, and politics to add some seasoning to the mix along with knowing that embracing conventional thought has never been that important to me.

Does being literal about something help me to understand its true meaning? Does literally depicting something make it accurate or even right? Does accepting something literally make it actually true and rightly objective? Does mythology, which tries understanding truth that is beyond comprehension, uncover more real truth where literalism may hide it under layers of misunderstanding? It is almost like an oxymoron; sometimes truth and reality have to be distorted in order to begin to grasp their real meaning.


My underlying rant here is that I am not very fond of fundamentalists or literalists of any tradition or religion. Life is not “one size fits all.” I know that from personal experience because I have never really fit in anywhere and at my age I don’t really care. I don’t need to belong to the right group or to have all the right answers to feel good about myself. There is more than one right answer no matter what any politician or religious leader might say. Meaning goes beyond mere words. To get to the real meaning I may not only have to read between the lines but to also understand what they meant to the person who wrote them down and why they were important. How I understand something is not the only way to see or understand it. Doing all of this is not very efficient, it may not even be logical but then those are two qualities that I have never been known for possessing.

How does distorting what is literally true and accurate help to convey the real truth and meaning? When I taught drawing I would tell students that sometime being technically accurate would make a drawing or painting “look” wrong. I offered 2 examples that I learned in art history classes. The first was about the British Museum, which had acquired some statues from the frieze of an ancient Greek temple. The curators were surprised at how distorted these pieces look since the Greeks were well know for their accuracy and skill. Eventually one of the curators suggested that the carvings be hoisted up to the same height as the temple frieze. When this was done the statues were all back in proportion and looked correct. These Greek sculptors knew they had to alter the reality in order to make everything look right from the ground because of the distortion linear perspective would cause at that height.

The other example is the statue, The Pieta, by Michelangelo. The physical proportions are distorted on purpose because of the “reality” the artist was trying to show. The figure of Jesus is carved life sized but if Mary were to stand up she would be over 7 feet tall. This was done not only to make the final piece look right but to also depict another truth. The Pieta is not about Jesus or his being removed from the cross. It is a story about a mother. It is the story of her grief and heartache she has as she holds her dead child in her arms. A child who now looks so small and frail.


As artists we have all learned that being technically accurate or literal doesn’t always make something look correct and is not always a good thing. We have learned that there is more than one right way to tell the same truth. We have also learned that sometimes what you leave out is just as important, sometimes even more important, than what you put in. And in my case that having a mentally ill mind gives me a healthier sense of reality.

These paintings depict some of my reality. The first is titled, “At the Water’s Edge” it measures 22” x 34” and is oil pastel over oil on paper. The next is from a series I am doing based on the nudist lifestyle. It is titled, “Come On In”. It measures 30” X 40” and is oil pastel over oil on hardboard panel. The final piece is based on one of my favorite species of bushes. It is titled, “The Burning Bush”. It measures 22” X 22” and is oil on paper mounted to hardboard panel.