“This Rich and Precious Earth” 46” x 46” (framed), mixed media/panel


I’m very grateful to Joshua Adamo, owner/director of Paragon Fine Arts Gallery in Lewisburg, WV for his support. About a year ago, Josh gave me the opportunity to share my paintings at his beautiful space. It’s fulfilling to share my art in public. A wonderful bonus is that he’s secured several sales, most recently, these two paintings. 

It’s restorative for me to create things. I like to use the process of painting to wordlessly  reveal feelings and sort things out I may not be able to articulate. For 45 years it’s been a way to better understand and center myself. Making art balances my intuition and rationality. 

The psychiatrist and neuroscientist Dr. Iain McGilchrist speaks about the unhealthy and unsustainable dominance of our left hemisphere-oriented society. They’re deeply interwoven, each plays a crucial role in affecting our lives, and to a degree they overlap guiding our behavior. The key difference is in the lenses they offer to interpret life, and perspectives they generate, which then reflect how we experience the world. 

Both have been essential to our survival. The left leans toward labels and control; it’s very good at narrow focus, discerning discreet parts, categorizing. It’s view is incremental, mechanistic, linear. He postulates it evolved to aid us in “acquiring things” — like food, materials for warmth, or plants to heal. 

Our right hemisphere offers a broad overview, less the parts and more the whole. It’s fluid, recognizes patterns, and senses emotions and the energy of relationships. It “reads the room” and takes in the ambiance of situations or places.  

Given how I approach painting, I don’t like to claim full credit for what emerges. I try (in the “Zen” sense — that is, without applying effort) to be open to what unfolds. I aim to be a “rider” as much as the “driver” and don’t know the destination beforehand.  A degree of logic and intellectual consideration inevitably comes in, but in the successful, most vital works its role is lessened. 

I’m guided by an intuitive sense,  responding to the materials with minimal conscious thought, allowing things to flow. My loose aim is to “take a painting to its point of maximum ripeness,” as Picasso said, and to do so in a harmonious way. Through painting I’m trying to retool my awareness by offering room to “listen” to my right hemisphere. 

Modern industrialized society is driven mostly by the left hemisphere. We’ve blissfully and ignorantly ignored the larger view of the interrelationships of which humans are a part. We’ve clearly pushed the balance of the Earth’s ecological systems to a brink.

The earth will go on, but we’ve initiated a collapse of the ecosystem balances established over millions of years. We’re radically altering the world we’ve always known. The earth will adjust, restructuring of these systems will happen, but not in our human lifetimes.  

Essentially, the foolish notion we’re separate from “nature” and each other has put us in a broken relationship with life on this planet. The grand irony is we may not be part of the life that survives.

It’s hard to hold disparate points of view without having a compromise at hand. I live within this materialist culture, make use of its unsustainable conveniences, and the paintings I make are also objects for sale in an extractive consumer society. And I study and can sense the tragedy unfolding because of our domineering beliefs, societal ways, and disconnected relationship to the earth. I’m trying to live the questions toward my own harmonious resolution. 

I doubt there’s a simple rational “answer.” I’m deeply affected by my relationships, with people, animals, and all life forms with which I engage. Painting is a way for me to gently probe all this indirectly, without necessarily following a logical linear path. 

At times it offers me a way to “ask” unformed questions. Looking at the paintings upon completion, I like to allow a title to come forward in response to what they reveal or suggest in that moment of my life. 

“This Rich and Precious Earth” felt like it was at once addressing the deep beauty of our wondrous world, the terrible storms we’ve unleashed, and the current losses and pending changes on the horizon. The ongoing drama of Death begetting Life.

“Her Warm Embrace Parted the Clouds of My Winter” was completed not long after the ending of a brief and sweet friendship. Its closure was the result of an unexpected rupture. It too, was a death of sorts. 

But in the months after, I came to recognize how that short yet potent relationship had nudged me beyond a previously safe, falsely stoic mindset that I’d adopted for security. It reawakened me to a more vulnerable, more fully engaged life. 

Change is challenging for most of us. Yet mystery, openness and spontaneity (all of which our culture abhors) are also what gives life richness and vitality.

I’m always honored when others find resonance in things to which I’ve applied my energies. Purchasing a work takes that one notch further. For me, in a way it reveals and validates our unseen, unspoken, undocumented connections. Especially in these frazzled times, seems we all could use more trustworthy connections.


“Her Warm Embrace Parted the Clouds of My Winter”, 38” x 38” (framed) mixed media/panel .

Life is always full of joys and challenges. The world can seem tilted toward the disturbing when our experience of it is based on what’s projected at us via media. It seems an unhealthy diet, designed to agitate us and cause concern. There’s a grand illusion screens can fulfill all our social needs. I don’t buy into it. 

We live in a culture of conveniences and exciting distractions and dopamine hits, that avoids direct human interaction. We’ve built incredible technologies and immensely powerful weapons, yet we still deny that our lives are interwoven within the Earth’s systems. The gratifications are speedy, the trade-offs seldom considered. Our societal patience has atrophied and our ability to focus is fractured, even as so much that makes us human is being starved.

It may not garner a thousand followers or a million likes, but I feel how I act among the people directly within my sphere has the most impact. A simple genuine shared smile is far more nourishing to my soul than a popular post on some forgettable platform. It’s not always easy to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, and more complex in person. I still blunder and make mistakes, at times even hurting with my friends. But in my experience, those miscues, when addressed with sincerity, can be the foundational glue that builds trust.

I mostly work with my hands, but a primary benefit of my work life is the opportunity to meet and interact with clients. Occasionally, extraordinary encounters happen, often from the least expected directions. Maybe that adds to their potency. 

Recently I’ve been painting a large set of built-in bookcases. To my clients’ credit, they’ve changed things up in a gutsy way, switching the off-white color to a handsome grassy green. This obliged a bit more discussion. It’s crucial to try to understand what we’re aiming toward even when we may not be able to articulate it. 

We all like to think our words are fully understood. Texting reinforces this falsehood. Even in person, discussing something as simple as a color choice, requires slow conversation and lots of questions to clarify we all mean the same thing.

We snuck up on selecting the tone (they set a client record for sample colors—over a dozen variations of green!) but it was worth it. Courage and patience pay off. The result speaks for itself. It’s been a fun project, transforming what was a comfortable large room into a stunning new space that’s not too formal yet vital and elegant. 

They’re a young family and it’s been a pleasure to get to know them all. The three kids (five months old, three yrs., and four yrs.) are all wonderful, kind, and fun, just like their parents. Truman, the amiable large dog (who takes his family guardianship seriously) and I are becoming acquainted. After a recent sweaty afternoon, I enjoyed some nice licks after my workday. 

The first few days on the job the elder kids were occupied at camp so our paths barely crossed. Apparently they’d looked for me though. The day I finally was still working when they got home, the eldest, a boy, raced to find me. Wherever I am, if a child is interested in chatting and I’m able to offer a bit of friendly interaction, I want to do so. I’ve found simply meeting kids where they are, gently going with their interest in the moment, quickly minimizes barriers. (Actually the same’s been true for all ages and species.)

I was wrapping up my work, doing nothing special and he was, of course, completely fascinated by everything I was doing. I fielded at least half dozen inquiries in about two minutes. To catch my breath, I tossed a few at him: What did you learn about at camp today? “Bodies and Skeletons!” Oh wow, thats exciting! “Yep! And they’re underneath in all of us!” Really?! “Yep. Even sometimes in,” (stammering a bit from excitement) “sometimes in dogs!” No kidding! “Uh huh,” nodding with solemnity appropriate to the miracle we are, but most of us old folks fail to give it.
 
On we went for a few more minutes as I packed up my wet brush, closed up my toolbox, and grabbed my water and backpack. His parents came to check on the day’s progress (and subtly make sure I was not bothered by their inquisitive child). “How old are you?” I asked him. “My birthday is September 23!” he said proudly. Oh that’s soon! “Uh huh. I’m four and a half and three quarters!” “Almost five,” I said, barely stifling a laugh. 

I was carrying my backpack and water bottle, about to ascend the steps to head home. “Are you leaving?” “Yep, heading home.” I saw his eyes darting between my tool box (which I’d left behind), and me. “What about your toolbox?” he asked. “I’m leaving it here tonight.” But I sensed his real question. “I have a feeling you asked because you wanted to help me carry it.” His eyes answered. “Oh that’s so nice of you but this is all I have to take tonight!”

When I reached the top of the stairs, my new friend and earnest helper suddenly wrapped his arms about my legs (he’s all of 36”) and with a squeeze and utter sincerity said “I love you.” Touched and flustered, I mustered a thank you, and said “I love you too.” (Really, what else can one respond?) As I walked to the car he hovered closely, attempting to hold up my backpack from the bottom. Luckily I had one small bag of shelf brackets I could hand him, easing his desire to assist me on the short walk to my car.

~~~

In my off hours I’ve been hanging out with a friend and her son, he’s twice the youngin’s age mentioned above. Amid this fear-filled world he’s also somehow managed to retain an open-heart. When his mother and he taught me how to play Skip-Bo a few weeks ago, as the game began, his comment was “I really hope you win!” His unprovoked generosity reveals itself all the time. 

On a playground a last week, a three year old rushed him to see the yo-yo he was spinning. Without hesitation he gave it to him to play with it. Recognizing the young one’s mother may not have wanted her son to have it, it required a bit of gentle persuasion to nudge the nine year old to collect it again when we were departing several minutes later. “I really would be ok to just let him have it.”

~~~

The mom’s of each of these kids expressed the same concerns. Their worry that the uncaring, competitive world will rebuff them and may eat these genuine, sweet, open-hearted kids alive. It’s an understandable fear, and relatable desire to protect those we love. For sure they’ll have a few illusions shattered, inevitably have to absorb some brusk treatment, and learn some harsh lessons here and there. But we can’t totally prevent any of these random situations (even online!). And it’s a very delicate trick to “caution them” against such an instinctive (and sincere) desire, or to temper their generous hearts. 

We agree it seems best to guide them to be aware that sometimes others are not of the same mindset. We all want all kids safe from harm. However, contrary to the bias of our time, rather than see their kindness as a danger for me it feels critical to nurture and help them cultivate it. I want to strengthen their resolve to where they can grasp that being sensitive to others need not stifle their earnest intentions. We can learn to apply restraint as needed, but still honor our true nature. (Good friends have made me aware I still have to work on this myself!) 

For me, even if we may sometimes need to temporarily compromise the connection, these kids reveal an unspoken, instinctive awareness that at the core there’s not really “us” and “others”, but life is just “we.” 

They’ll have challenges, but I really think they’ll move beyond any hurdles. They’re each coming from supportive households where they’re cherished for who they are. They’re both bright beyond their years, and already in tune with their hearts. I see the latter as a profoundly powerful skill we can help them cultivate: living love. 

Our extractive, competitive transactional culture may thrive on and promote the opposite, but whether acknowledged or not, Mother Nature has made clear we can’t sustain it much longer. It’s a reality more conspicuous to me every day. Far more crucial than achieving high grades, status, or influence, for me these two (and all the others of their generation like them) are beacons of Light. Sustaining their glow against the prevailing winds seems far more important to our shared communal future within Life’s web.

They’re already changing the paradigm, learning how to connect rather than divide, respecting differences yet treating all with kindness. They are precious in every sense of the word. We have a role in guiding them, but I also feel they’ll continue to teach us by example. As I see it, they’re already the leaders of the world to come.