Excerpts from Gao Xingjian "Return to Painting"

While never straying form the work that is emerging under his hand, the artist also never stops observing himself. To possess this kind of self-consciousness is to no longer be a simple artisan. Consciousness is not like reason; it is far vaster, and to a certain extent, it includes reason. Whereas reason progresses through reflection, relying on language and logic, consciousness shines at the heart of the chaotic self and is immune to the rules of cause and effect, while also restraining and guiding human behavior. Consciousness arises out of a subconscious it does not reject. Instead, it regulates it and sublimates its drives into creative activity. One is hard put to tell it apart from intuition. If we agree that sensations are the endowment of intuition, then consciousness is the mistress of reason.

If painting returns to nature, to the human being, to human sentiments and visions, it will spell its return to what is spiritual, a far richer and more interesting recourse than the one offered by consumer objects and articles.
If nature is subjected to either micro- or macro-scopic observation, not only with the aid of scientific instruments but through the human gaze as well, the result will be landscapes imbued with humanity.

Representation, they say, is passé, a product of outlived methods. As an artistic expression, it is neither progressive nor retrograde. The still life, for one, has never been abandoned. Van gogh, Cézanne, Morandi, Derain, nd Giacometti painted their share of them, always swerving them up through a new gaze or a new technique.
If we oppose representation and presentation, why should the second strike us as the more remarkable of the two? Is it more modern, more contemporary? These are pointless questions and useless oppositions, with which the artist need not bother. As to the methods, there are neither high nor low ones, and they are of no import to aesthetic judgment. Only the originality of the gaze and the artist's talent and skill in conveying his visions are essential to art.

Go back to the beginning, to painting's point of departure, to searching for images. Still, you do not wish to paint nature as it is. You will have to set out in the opposite direction, move from your innermost self toward the sources of light. Allow yourself to fall into your inner visions to see the light springing up from everywhere.
Inner visions have no depth of field; they cannot be taken apart by geometry or arranged according to topology; their movement never stops, and you must work hard if you want to capture them. And while they may not pertain to physical space, they do pertain to time. Whether you concentrate your thoughts or allow them to roam, the pleasure you experience is always infinite.
Dispose of signs, free yourself of symbols, and reach for the image unhampered.
Codify chance and set a course for evolution.
Motion gives painting vitality; it is part of the process always, even if only for a split second.
Transform chaos into a process of mutation; you will endow it with meaning.
Make light the subject of your paintings; make it the only subject.
Transmute informality into formality and supply a method for the first.
Turn form back into an object to be painted, show the contrast between object and light, sustain the light, point up its effects, so there will be light everywhere.
Give even the simplest forms substance and sensation--not an abstract and lifeless point or surface or geometric line, but a stroke f the brush, a mark of the ink, a trace of water, a full taste. Allow it to recover its natural state. Give it life.
The rigid distinction between abstract and figurative art is the product of academic categorizations. When concepts are sent packing, concrete forms appear, sensation-filled forms that emerge naturally, wonderful forms!
Make motion a theme of painting, paint its contrasts and transformations.
Allow music to enter painting, paint its motifs not its phrases; paint the tastes of sound, not its melodies and rhythms.
Paint also the air, the wind, the flame. Paint flight, evaporation, and the thaw.
Bring back the literature that has been banished and paint joy, paint sadness and torment and anxiety and fear.
Paint the silence, the dark inner depths, the visions, the ever-changing visions unfolding in time. Even is stasis, they pertain to the inner worlds.
Do not paint logic and abjure treacherous dialectics. Do not paint language. There is no calligraphy in your paintings. You paint neither words nor signs.

A painting can be endlessly created, and this is why painting fascinates you. You are always discovering things while you paint, never describing them.
The meaning emerges little by little, then leads to another meaning, until all meanings are made to come together in the painting. Through it all, you intuition lets you know what works and what does not. And what works today may not work tomorrow: you look at yuor painting a long time, until it finally finds its stability. That is how you know your work is finished.

Your gaze is always inside the painting, whether you are looking from afar or close-up and in great detail. This may be a commonplace principle, but the question is, Did you really enter the painting? If the answer is yes, then the surface will no longer exist in mere two dimensions but also in time. You are clearly reporting a sensation now, not just a concept or speculation about time. In short, you don't shy away when you paint or look at your paintings but look things square in the eye.

Life and Art Fuse

Haven't posted much lately as my life has been turned inside out and upside down in the past month. I always underestimate how disruptive moving to a new space is for my creative process.
This past month I not only moved from one living space to another but also moved my studio space from the city to the country. I am back in the beloved barn and the barn is much more than a studio, the whole space is a creation that continues to be created in collaboration with other artists. Poets, musicians, painters, sculptors, dancers and people of all kinds, young and old, pass through the barn and are transformed by it's energy. They leave their comments behind in a book we leave out for them to write in. The last entry states, "This place is full of light, air and fire. It is an awakening." I am humbled and awed by the ability of art, when offered in the right context, to inspire a new awareness.

Baba Yaga Came to Visit

While sharing a meal of spice and flavor
with a group of hard working women
the Baba Yaga appeared at the table.
She appeared in calloused hands
and cracked finger nails.
She was there in muscle and
naked skin, just beneath the clothing.
She filled wine goblets and
bit tongues with spicy fire.
She sang out bawdy songs and
told riotously funny stories.

Women who work with their bodies
call forth the form of the holy one
with their sweat and strain
When Baba Yaga appears the women
raise their wine in a toast to the
beauty of her dark nature.
She raises her skirt and reveals
a gapping, dripping wet cave
that leads to an inner knowing.
She opens their legs and tells
them not to fear their own wisdom.

Intuitive patterns & rhythms
drum heartbeats into
feverish dance.
The women peel back layers
of dewy petals and open
to the silver moonlight
cascading down
upon
their
new
found
dignity.

Art + Poetry + Music in a barn in a forest

Our Grand Opening for the third season will be on Friday, June 19th starting at 5pm. Live music, wine, sculpture, painting, poetry, singing, dancing and laughing in honor of the Summer Solstice! The Barn is one of my favorite places on the planet earth.
A century old barn that opens onto a red pine forest plantation. An earthy grounded place to bring art back to the people, where it belongs in my opinion. If you are in the area, please come and join us in this celebration of Life!

Crying Rocks

When I am able to be still enough or moved enough, something inside me opens up and I can "feel" what needs to be painted from within. As within so without. I believe that psyche and soma are deeply connected. Today I experienced apprehension, disappointment, fear, sadness & loneliness. When given the space to paint in my studio the tears flowed in release of all these emotions, I painted with the tears and listened as the rocks cried their ancient stories. The rocks hold me steady with their patient energy and allow me to access undiscovered places within.

Dream of Buddha & Bad Boys

Over a month ago I had a potent dream of which fragments keep fluttering into consciousness even now. The dream begins in some sort of concentration camp. I can't leave, there are lots of rules and not much food. Then it skips to riding my motorcycle towards luminous rock cliffs. I am now walking through the rocks and discover a still, calm lake. The lake is surrounded by sculptural rock formations and I feel very safe here. There are several Buddhist monks sitting or meditating on the rocks. It is sunny, peaceful and very quiet. The silence washes over me. I sit down on some rocks beside the water and notice ancient carvings of mythological figures within the cliffs, the carvings are so old and worn that I have to look very carefully to see them. Three young monks appear out of a hole in the rocks, it is as if they are emerging from an underwater cave into the sunlight. A compelling image that burns itself into me. I admire their courage for having submerged themselves in the underwater cave in order to reemerge into the brilliant sunlight.
Suddenly above me on one of the rock cliffs a group of noisy, obnoxious boys enter
the dream and are completely unconscious of the beauty & silence. They are loud and arrogant and throw things into the calm lake, disrupting its stillness. I feel myself loosing my center and becoming agitated but then I remember that they too belong here in this dream and are very much a part of it. When I accept this, calmness returns through embracing the entire dream and not just the beautiful parts.

A Singular Moment

Inner light beckons
a cape of darkness.
Shadows flickering amongst
small dried seed pods.
Swept up in a whirlwind,
confetti drops
onto naked skin.
Tongue tastes salt
as it circles lips
in anticipation.
Storm winds are gathering

but for now the sky is clear
and blue silence
wraps me with
celestial wings.