And then like a switch the lights go back on. The body ceases what seemed an inexorable spiral down. My hands steady and wellness slowly begins to repair the weakness and soothe the terror.
And I am full of paintings to be made. I am more aware than ever of the reasons I am compelled to be a painter. The intensity of life, the sharp helplessness of final partings, the terror of the grave, the shared strength of honest, selfless friends, the insistence to "gut it up" and get well from the best among them. I paint of my faith. I paint of my disdain for the faithful. Without community all are meaningless wraiths. Within society too many are cursed by the righteous. Poverty is a sin. Wealth is the annunciation of holy attribute. Perversion is the hallmark of our era - perversion of God, perversion of good. Hatred defines love. And beauty lives even in the corruption of humanity. Through the passion of death and horror rises the solace of tenderness. This is art.
These are the things I paint about. A vase is not a vase. It is a trusting old woman stashing tiny treasures to be taken out of hiding when the war is past and the "protective custody" of Nazis is no longer necessary. A whorl of tulips in a landscape of fire and smoke is us, a people turning through an age of trial frail, green stems tracing a structure sprung from a common source that supports the larger whole.
My paintings' meaning to me is for no-one but me. See nothing in them or see everything in them. It is for the viewer to decide and beyond my control. But in the act of painting, for me, a thing must be grounded and guided by, weighed against some passionate thought that directs my choice of color, mass, composition. I paint text only as a threshold to the more important subtext of my passions, longings, hurts and delights. When I load an image of a thing or place or person with my view of the world and life I imbue it with the truest purpose of art. To witness. To chronicle. To stand as a small truth in the face of the dishonesty and the intellectual sloth in which we all indulge.
Genetic evolution is an immutable imperative. Social evolution, however, is a choice and we find it too frightening, too taxing and difficult to allow. Mankind today is growing taller than ever in physical form and devolving ever smaller and more feral in spirit. There are more humans in slavery today than ever before in the existence of mankind. Religion is a stinking mire of superstition, theft, brutality and refuge for the corrupt and evil. More hunger and diseases of poverty rage amidst greater wealth and abundance than ever in history.
And yet, the humanity and kindness of individuals continues to counter the ugliness of the masses. Generosity and the deepest compassion of friends and strangers pierces the darkness of fear and loathing. And whispered goodbyes with kisses and tender touches affirm lives that will not be forgotten. All of this is what art, what painting is about.
