Born into a Distant Complaint
BORN INTO A DISTANT COMPLAINT – a train of thought from then until now
YOUR AD HERE
There were empty storefronts then and there are empty storefronts now. All waiting for just the right amount of money before turning over the keys to anyone. Wasted space, yes just like the empty billboard that makes a similarly vague plea for cash, “Your Ad Here”. Whenever I start a new painting it seems these persistent memories rise to the surface in reverse, i.e., now I can put paint up in my ad – the on-going advertisement of ideas that I think painting is responsible for. But then the thought that always follows: where will it hang so that someone might see it once it leaves my studio. All those empty storefronts are still empty, their windows vacant, blank spaces available to view the filled canvas which would display its ideas in that storefront window. Or that one, or that one…
CRASHING DÉJÀ VU
Psychology tells us that déjà vu is in fact only a single event. There has been, despite the rush of familiarity, no recurring vision of the past. Efforts to revisit the past are inevitably accompanied by the kind of theatrical lighting that can change the scene as quickly as we pull a new dimmer into service and the colors wash into new hues and new emotional territories.
When we revisit the stories that have been placed in the pages of history, it seems that we are either asked to faithfully take in the lessons that these words portray, or that we should question everything from the adjectives used to the punctuation that guides our eyes across these passages. The first choice here has a deadening reactionary quality, and the second option can become so disorienting with questions upon questions that we feel lost. The instant we scan the pages of history a quality arises that I liken to the notion of crashing déjà vu. Crashing the party, and also the falling sensation we have as an edifice comes tumbling down, crashing its sacrosanct timelines to the ground.
NOAH’S RAVEN
Why should I have returned?
My knowledge wouldn't fit into theirs.
I found untouched the desert of the unknown,
Big enough for my feet. It is my home,
It is always beyond them. The future
Splits the present with the echo of my voice.
Hoarse with fulfillment, I never made promises.
WS Merwin “Noah's Raven” from The Moving Target 1963
The small up-river city of Kingston, NY where I spent my first 18 years, is a confusion in my memory of warm and cold associations. The warmth of family, friends, and coming to terms with the idea of becoming an artist are always offset by a cold, lingering, sense of how unnecessarily stratified, by money and circumstances of birthright, heritage and religion, accumulations of wealth and privilege that I remember of Kingston. To this day, recalling that divided community, I continue to look for an equanimity in different surroundings moving around the country searching for a non-competitive and potentially open handed new home which to date remains elusive. So, the refrain of my distant complaint about ‘empty storefronts’ – wasted space that could potentially house people, or at the very least some creative expression – continues to echo in my consciousness. Finally, the lingering question across time: how can free expression ever truly be manifested in our lifetimes?