Friends (After the Chinese)

Two figures against muted gray green--a field, in the atmospheric sense--reaching in, perhaps. Personalities distinct, even in silhouette--one more upright, the other dark and tentative. Parallels or contradictions...even at this tiny scale--their lives played out before us in touches of wash...

An opening, too--one that occured in the painting itself. Brush moves around, creates a home--more shelter than limitation. Clouds, cold breeze--late in the fall...

Last night, with Ahron--sound of the violin and guitar. His confidence, launching in to each new melody. The ones I've taught him as well-- Wildwoodflower, Wind and the Rain--along with Vivaldi, Rossini, Suzuki...

Two friends...

Autumn Garden

October 12, 2006, Thursday. Misty morning chill. Pool denizens , one by one, padding the cold stone. Soon: slanting rains. Young latina at the café, with the guys behind counter--her small chest, shoulders pulled back, looking up at an alert angle, smiling. Warmth and reserve... a morning world.

Rainy Field

Point Reyes, early in the spring. Impending storm, power lines on Lucas Valley Road swinging wildly back and forth in the wind, whole hillsides moving, rippling chaparral. Road almost empty as we head north towards McClure’s Beach. Dark farmhouses, the first ones there, like outbuildings on some Scottish highland. A stand of elk—majestic—nestled into the hill. Path down to the water, wild spray flying from the crests of the waves… The Mazurkas--beginning of it all…

Ni Tsan

From September 17, 2006, Sunday. Finally, still in a particularly good mood (and not having painted for the several days)—took up one of the cardboards on painting table—something I’d begun at the very end of August. Drawn/painted figure—working flat, on paint table—same feeling as in the morning drawings—following the line… Has something to do with Ni Tsan, not in looking like one of his paintings, but in the feel of the wandering figure, his back towards the viewer. Spot of white, opposite on the far left, and higher—a star, or star-like in any case…

Friulia

Cool grays—cliffs of the Dolomiti, well above Trieste--a Dubliner in exile. It was the winter of 1969, our impossible road trip, over the Brenner pass, weaving and wandering in wide arcs of cold mountain air. It's the light that stays with you—the essence of a place, just as each white touch becomes the essence of time. Etruscan birch rods, bound around an axe--strength in unity--and the power of the state. But let’s leave out the axe—only the limbs themselves--fast-growing, gray and white, shooting upwards into the sky—redeeming.

Late River

Late River. Patch of raw sienna, reddish brown against the green. Corners dinged—the status of the universe—and a few remaindered pin holes roughly in the middle. Late evening, Yang-shuo, autumn of 2003. A darkened room, right on the river--the Li Jiang, windows open to the night. Sound of unseen waters, moving. One light in the distance—a fishing boat?—but no sound. Time disappears as well—that same view, a thousand years before. All present.

Balboa

From 20 September 2006. Also on Friday: Balboa Pool. Annette’s wedding, in Balboa Park—to see the lotus pools. Childhood and everything else, brought together. This painting: too indistinct? The value of blandness--tan in the Chinese-- but still, must come to some kind of unwilled resolution…

Guadalupe

From 3 October, 2006, Tuesday. That it could be this way, if only through accident…which is to say, through the way the world works, in and of itself. Accident from our perspective—or letting things be, from the perspective of the world. After reworking Alicia, yet again. Madre.

Last night: davening Neilah; Hour of dusk—the prayer begins at 6:30, late late afternoon. The closing of the gates. Repeated songs, many times—then Avinu Malkenu…and a long, raspy shofar blast, to seal the new year. Tihat’mu, tihat’mu…

Be comforted, be comforted, my people... Cycle beginning with Tisha B’av, and the shabbos following--weeks of Ellul, leading into Rosh ha-Shannah and Yom Kippur…

Be comforted, my people...

Grotto

From 9 August 2006, Wednesday. Letter (e-mail) from Dick in Paris—following my painting guide—quiet walk through the Louvre, from Veronese and Titian to Watteau, Chardin and beyond…

Cutting cardboard for more paintings. Thought: When there’s a flood, give in to the flood… A principle? Chuang Tzu, perhaps.

Warm day, working with my shirt off. Feels good. Medium green-sienna ground, then thin burnt-umber glaze—with medium so that striations show. Shape just below center right, green and blue and a little white—too separate. Spritzed out a bit, then work back in lighter ultra + zinc white, pastel green, dark patch of burnt umber and ultramarine. Portable radio (boom box) with speakers at the sides—plus the rounded corners, something Chinese…

Exhilaration of simply being able to see the color…or just seeing, period…

Later—overpainted with layer of warm green-white, not too light, part abraded… so that colored shapes hold better in the atmosphere…

Ha-Melech ba-Sadeh

From September 19, 2006, Tuesday. Ha-Melech ba-Sadeh--The King Is in the Field. The month of Elul, leading up to Rosh Hashanah. A time of reflection, of looking inward--and yet the image itself is pastoral. A phrase from the Alter Rebbe of Lubavitch, in 18th Century Russia--an interpretation that's consistent with so much of Jewish folklore--set in an unnamed time of palaces and plowmen. We imagine the scene today, inevitably, in a kind of medieval garb--but as described in midrashic sources, simply an agrarian world. As always, the multiple levels of symbolism--evocative--as in the word king itself... ruler of the earth, ruler of heaven. Back, perhaps, to Adam Kadmon--the Primordial Man--an image of the universe, cast in human form--and from there all the rest comes forth...

Rosemary and Bay

From 21 September, 2006, Thursday. Kristi this afternoon—arrives with sprigs of herbs from her cabin garden. “The first place I didn’t feel like moving from…” Long talk, many things. Bakersfield—the bowling alley breakfasts, Merle Haggard’s mother—“I Failed” on the mailbox… “I didn’t tell them I was from Berkeley.” She brings the Jerusalem book, for me to sign: “For my dear Kristi, many stories, in both directions, sharing…”

Painting, later. Rosemary and Bay, western lands—dry as dust, sometimes, water hidden… Panhandle. Roundup, at Thanksgiving. Work on her writing, there at the ranch. And then?

Heaven's Gate

From September 20, 2006, Wednesday. Yesterday, later in the day—blue-gray ground, quite wet, with warmer gray-green painted in, dried down in veil-like fashion, just right. Began to paint in the image of a bird, but it was unnecessary—just the veiled color alone--enough. Heaven’s Gate. Something Chinese, of course...

All the world seen in water...

Heart of Palm

From October 1,2006, Sunday. Gray morning, quite beautiful. From last Friday: Heart of Palm, why this title I don’t know. Open-ended ground, I think that’s what I like best—when the thinner paint runs in a particular way—reticulation.

From October 17, 2006, Tuesday: Unguent umber, salmons and brown. An open hand... The fish taken, a runner carries it fourteen miles--a full day's run, up stream, on willow trail, narrow leaves dipped in sun, along water's edge--in his arms...

Sea of Reeds

A history of western grasses--low-lying dunes, where water and sky reside. Light blue wash, chalky and opaque--the pull of the earth, even on this delicate veil. Marsh grass strands--each one delineated--from some hidden childhood lagoon. Sloughs, we called them--the slough of despond (no, that must have come later) but a strange word, nonetheless. Netherworld, all water, drifting towards the sea...

This week: Bereishis, In the beginning...