The Perpetual Palette

The other day, I left the studio early to take my mother for a drive. It wasn’t totally for leisure. We were going in search of the house in which I was born in Madison county. As exciting as it was, I had a hard time getting it into my head, after all of the development and the passing of time, that the little cottage would still be rooted in place. There’s always the possibility, I resigned. As we rode. Mom chattered about all the changes to the area. I can’t explain how I felt driving her through this territory that was once so familiar to her. Year’s ago, I would have been the wide-eyed boy in the back seat and she would have been at the wheel. The years had rolled by and switched the roles. Time has a way of building bricks and asphalt over distant memories.

When we neared the spot, she sat up like a little girl peering through the changes to spot the familiar. “It was over there”, she finally said. I could hear the tinge of disappointment in her voice. There was another building situated in the space where her epic story of my arrival lay cradled in her memory . A different family lived their lives above the soil that held a key part of our story. Lives which, as far as I could see, held no connection to our narrative as we know it. We kept going and left the area.

On the road back she mentioned another spot of interest. The strong suggestion, if you turn right here, lead to a country ride though yesterdays backyard. We saw new areas intermingled with the old, wrapped in stories I could only glimpse in small segments through her memory. Nevertheless, they were painted anew with her excitement of recognition and unpacked stories. I found myself asking questions that she, like a college professor delighted in answering in the extended version.

For a brief moment between words my mind made a connection with what I do as an artist and what we were doing in reminiscing… I collect objects and materials and repurpose them to fit an intended narrative. A.R.T. for me isn’t as much about imagery and manipulation of elements as it is about activation and Restoration-a resurrection and putting back together of things. All those years invested in my time playing in the creek behind my parents home, cradled in the cupped arms of a the Magnolia tree or listening to the stories of the young, the restless, and the elders. Some that were more near true and others spun up nice and full with the help of the liquid spirit. They were imbuing me with my media, stacking my palette with colors too rich for the color wheel or the crayon box. Our minds, like this landscape, is designed to carry the weight of all our stories from generation to generation. Every day is a stroke on this canvas of life, and yes we get to choose this layer. It’s my intent to lay it on thick and intense so that it can show through to the next and influence the ones after that. There is a certain satisfaction I get from realizing that no matter how much time I spend in my studio, I’m never alone. Anything that I (we) create is a gumbo soup of representation that I can only reflect with some degree of honesty. Life has blessed us with a perpetual palette, an unlimited array of combinations and possibilities in living color.

Post Cards From Rabbit Lane

In the spirit of gratitude, I write with a renewed sense of purpose. At this juncture of Juneteenth, the summer solstice, and my bEARTHday, I feel both the warmth of a new sun and the lull of evening’s tide. For this southern born artist, life is a color palette spread out on all sides. Although I am not immune to the rage of life’s realities, I live with the joy that the hues never fade. At least not for long.

I am often asked, as artist, who was my early inspiration to live as a creative. I can never cite a person from the onset. Before any character emerged from the plethora of paintslingers and wordsmiths, there was Mother Nature with her omnipresent bowl of colors, shapes, forms, and values set in a space of splendor that transcended time and drew no lines. She was my first, my present and my always. She nurtured my childhood curiosity causing crawdads to dart backwards and hummingbirds to hover in midair. The colors of the rainbow set ablaze on the sun-kissed backs of fish, the wings of Japanese beetles, and dewdrop misted morning leaves. She showed me all her colors and called me home to myself. I would sit in stillness soaking up her fragrance between whispers of wind and bird and frog symphonies. All that I do, in all of my effort is but a shadow of the her divine masterpiece.

Some time ago, I began to capture sunsets and rises on my phone. On long days, heading home I would debrief through golden wheat fields, oceans of soybeans, and corn that seemed to stand up in paise. Upon my arrival, the evening sun would wash the front lawn in a warm glow. I made a conscious decision that I would one day share those photos. Beauty, like love, should not be kept to oneself. The title came simple and immediate. Postcards From Rabbit Lane. They are not only visual notes about what I’ve seen, they are messages about what we can be, and how we can be, in this vast nature painted landscape. We get to choose our role and how we manipulate the elements to create what we will. At one point, I did not realize we had been entrusted with such power. Nature got my attention in more than one of her seductive ways and reminded me who I am, and whose I am. In all that I am, my goal is to honor my full purpose here on the planet. In that I find a peace that passes understanding. The divine lens puts everything in perspective. That makes for a pretty good picture.

Voyage To Now

As a child, I invested healthy chunks of afternoons and evenings lying with my back snuggled into the grass in my parents backyard staring up into the sky. Sometimes I would wonder what was out there. Mostly, I’d find shapes in the clouds, watch them float and transform, or when there were none, feel the wash of the calming blues stretching into forever. I couldn’t explain it then but that intense purposeful sky gazing was a lesson in mindfulness, being fully present in the moment. The intense gaze into the heavens took up all the space of yesterday and tomorrow, transporting me fully into those present moments. In the nowness of it all, I felt that no matter what, everything was alright right then and there.

As of late, I have come to the knowledge of a word called skychology.  Skychology is is a new area of wellbeing research, defined as the study of the relationship between looking at the sky and wellbeing . It’s been proven that the act of looking up at the sky can provide a sense of perspective and calm, making one’s problems and worries feel small in comparison. Furthermore, the big blue yonder brings about an increase in mindfulness, stimulates creativity, and providing mental health benefits at no cost but a glance upward.

Who knew? Apparently, I did, my friends did, and you probably did too. We didn’t have a name for it back then, but in our spirit we knew the sky had something to offer beyond planes and an occasional spaceship . We knew how it made us feel and where it took us. As children we accept what we accept without overthinking and smothering the moment with analysis. For me the sky was the embodiment of the word possibility. The 20th century artist, Pablo Picasso frequently called out being like a child as a characteristic of a great artist. One of his famous quotes reads…

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

Let us look to the sky and allow it to transport us into the now. Through the eyes of our inner child, we can behold the world anew. Simply allow yourself to be aware of something that’s always there. Night and day, through all seasons, good days and challenging times do not take away the sky’s healing powers. I’m sure you’ve heard that the best things in life are free. The effects of sky gazing, no doubt, one of them. Plug in when you can, there’s no charge.

Consider the idea of the sky as a canvas. The art reflects the artist. As the luminary Wintley Phipps once said. “God created this world from the timber of his creative imagining.” What if we saw the sky is a divine canvas, ever present, stretched overhead, free to all to reap it’s benefits. A space that is sometimes blank and sometimes predesigned to to put our lives in perspective. Back then, I didn’t know I wanted to be an artist when I grew up but the artist in me already knew. It was offering to me, the artist to be, a front row seat to the most expansive canvas of all time and the most precious moment, now.

Shoutout: The New Huntsville City Hall Art

Over a year ago, I won a commission to do one of the key art pieces in the new City Hall. A few weeks ago we completed the install. My art piece is entitled Miracle Territory. I understand the gravity of this assignment as City Hall is the administrative hub of a city – the center ring around which all other entities revolve. The Huntsville City Hall has now extended beyond a symbol of governance and community pride but one of cultural relevance. My intent and purpose are to broaden that sense of community to even the most marginalized among us. Us, referring to that eccentric child who can’t seem to find a place for his ideas to land or that teen who dropped out of school and their today is overshadowed by yesterday’s clouds, the hardworking father who never went past the third grade, or the elder who thinks it’s too late to make good on that dream. I use the term us on purpose because to me there is no them. There’s only us, and the rest of us.

Art is a leveling ground, a proverbial foot of the cross.  It doesn’t require a master’s degree, a certification a six-figure salary or even a strong knowledge of the craft to be appreciated. Ultimately, creativity is a communal act. This project called upon many hands, hearts, and heads beyond those of the artists. The entire effort was in itself a well orchestrated act of creative innovation. Art is a universal language. That language is soul speak. Soul speak goes to the bedrock of who we are as human beings, to that sacred connection we share as sentient beings on the planet. It’s a lifeblood bond.  As writer Joyce Carol Oates says, “We are linked by blood and blood is memory without language.”  It goes deeper than skin, class, creed, color, bank balance, or whether you’re for Auburn, Alabama, Democrat, Republican, crust or no crust.  

In this painting, I set out to tell a story – a story of a journey of souls, with each one of those having their own life path. Paths connected through a backdrop of southern red clay on this bright spot on the map called Huntsville, Alabama. She pulls back the veil recounting the past to shore up the present for the future. This city we call the star of Alabama – A star in the north, Alabama, that can lead the rest of the state, the region, and maybe even the nation to a new level of freeness. We have that much potential. Let’s make that energy kinetic. This city went from red dust to star dust…from the mundane to the miraculous. That’s a divine activation of the deepest strands of human potential.  This city, padded with red clay fortified with the blood of our ancestors, is truly miracle territory.

And The GOAT Said To The Kid…Finale

I slept well for about 45minutes or so, got up, grabbed a bite to eat, and headed on out. The walk was only about a mile and some change to the Art Institute Auditorium from where I was living at the time. Right down in the loop, everything was pretty close. As I approached the building I saw the line to get in stretched to the corner. My anxiety kicked in. That was a long line and a lot of humans. What if I couldn’t get in? Would they run out of seats if I was at the end. I shushed the voices in my head and hit the back of the line. I was this close, yet it seemed so far. It was a bit too early for the line to move forward so it just grew, backwards.

Isn’t it crazy sometimes how when we get right up on what we say we want, the reverse gear feels so good in our hands. I’m thinking that may be a fear of success or our own light. Doubt starts creeping in like roots from some foreign species threatening to choke out our garden of dreams. Do something before they get too deep. Jar yourself outta that space however you have to. Action has a bit of magic in it. Looking around, I began to think about being inside the auditorium. Then a little voice in my head prompted me to head toward the door.

“Why…?” I countered. I couldn’t just go strolling past all these other people waiting in this stationary line. That would be rude. My Mama taught me better. Some had been there longer than me. Who was I to go traipsing to the front of the line? It was finally about time to go in. The line was still. If I moved, I couldn’t just reclaim my space again. “Excuse me, I had these big dreams but they didn’t work out. Could you let me cut line back in front of you?” If I left this safe space, it was all the way forward and in or all the way back. I peeled myself from my spot in line and began the walk toward the door. I could feel the yes on me. I didn’t stop ’til I was inside the double doors. The air was cool and inviting with no real smell. The low nap carpet muffled my footsteps. A woman walked over and asked if she could help me. I told her my name, and what the director had said. She turned, went to a table, came back and asked me to follow her. I was expecting to go to the door where people were gathered. Instead she lead me to a side door to our right away from the crowd. She pointed toward the front of the auditorium. “Anywhere down there if fine.”

“Anywhere..?” I repeated with a little disbelief and enthusiasm. “Anywhere.” She affirmed.

I stepped right down to the front row of the auditorium and sat down like I owned it. After taking in my surroundings, I called the friend and told her where I was in the auditorium. She couldn’t believe it. And to boot, the lady standing over me whose purse kept hitting my shoulder, was playwright and director, Cheryl Lynn Bruce – the wife of Kerry James Marshall. I stood up and joined the conversation, introducing myself like I was the speaker. We exchanged cards, had a laugh, and took our seats. I caught a glimpse of the other professor in the back; the one who told me there were no more tickets. My partner in crime soon joined me and we enjoyed the presentation to the fullest. A key message to the crowd, then to me specifically as KJM and I connected as Alabama native sons, was to continue and don’t be deterred.

Afterwards we chatted it up with Kerry James Marshall, Cheryl Lynn Bruce, and John White, son of Charles White. Our conversation lasted out the door into the tepid Chicago night air. The evening had gone even better than expected. Kerry’s words to me hit fertile ground. It was an honor to stand in the presence of an artist who has gained his level of accomplishment, holding true to his practice, and doing it on his message. I consider him the GOAT in that arena. He, in turn was taught and inspired by Charles White, a GOAT before him. It was one of those times when there was no doubt in my mind, what was possible, and where I am going. The kid eventually grows up. Stay the course, each step is a stroke toward your shine.

And The Goat Said To The Kid…Pt II

Other people were steadily filing into the auditorium as I moved toward my seat. Just ahead of me, standing in the center isle, was the program director. He met me as I approached and addressed me.

“Hey, I heard you were interested in going to see the Kerry James Marshall presentation.” he inquired.

“Most definitely.” I replied.

“Show up tomorrow at the alternate entrance of the Museum, go straight in through the double doors, tell them who you are and they’ll seat you. Happy Birthday.” With that he smiled.

With that, I about flipped out. After profusely thanking him, I had a hard time sitting down in my seat. This revelation sent energy coursing through me that barely allowed me to sit still. A few minutes ago, I dragged in. Now I felt like doing back flips off the wall. This just shows that how the mind works determines how the body responds. So please mind your mind.

After a few minutes, I was joined by a friend. By now everyone in my circle and beyond knew what I had been declaring regarding the tickets to the presentation. Promptly, I told her the latest unfolding. She was surprised but not, reminding me that I was always calling these wild shots and making them. “You have a knack for that,” she said as we settled in the the night’s talk. I don’t remember anything I heard in that presentation.

The next day, a few hours before the awaited Kerry James Marshall presentation, I decided to take a nap so I would be fully awake later. Sleep had just caught me drifting, when my phone rang. It was another friend of mine, whose friend wasn’t going to be able to go and wanted me to have their ticket. I accepted, thanked her graciously, and hung up the phone. Now I had TWO tickets. Talk about some intentional energy. I immediately phoned another friend and told her that I had a ticket for her, keeping that energy circulating. Then I dozed off…

…To Be Continued…

And The Goat Said To The Kid…

A few years ago, I had the honor of meeting and investing time with Kerry James Marshall, inspiration, fellow Alabama native son, luminary, and artist extraordinaire. Stay close with me now, because there are layers to this…

How I came to the meeting is a story all its own. When I arrived just before summer in Chicago that year, I intended to find and meet Kerry James Marshall. A day or so later, a friend shared with me that he would be speaking at the Art Institute of Chicago on June 21. At that moment, I knew I was in. I had already spoken and would consequently bear witness to the manifestation of my intent. Just go online, book my ticket and boom, done, ha.

That night, I settled in front of my computer musing over the fact that what I wanted had come so effortlessly and quickly. I followed the link only to find, at my dismay, large words across the screen that read – SOLD OUT. No, no, no I thought. I’m supposed to be there. I asked for it and the door opened. I’m supposed to walk right through. What is trying to be going on here. I felt anxiety mounting to frustration. Then I checked myself and found calm in the idea of just asking the program director or a professor about comp tickets. There had to be some…right.

The following morning I approached a professor and inquired about a ticket to the event. He was a major league gallery director, he had to have some horsepower. I saw his lips move but didn’t want to hear the words that came out of his face. After telling me what I already knew about Kerry James Marshall’s rock star status, he went on to tell me that there were no comp tickets. They had sold out in record time. No more tickets. My head spun a minute, then that thing kicked in. You know that thing in your gut that says, I hear you but… All I knew was that I was getting in. I’d called it. It had come. I was not going to miss out.

For the next few days I shared my resolve with everyone who would listen. I told a group of my cohorts that I was getting in even if I had to sweep the floors backstage or carry out their chairs. I was going to be in that auditorium, and it was no secret. And I kept saying it, every chance I got.

It was Wednesday, my bEARTHday, the day before the Kerry James Marshall presentation was to take place. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that he would be talking about another one of my favorite artists, Charles White, who in fact was my first inspiration in undergrad. Charles White’s 100 year retrospective exhibit was on view at the institute and his son was going to be on the panel. Man, If I didn’t get in… I hadn’t fully fleshed out my plan on how I would storm the Bastille. I just knew, by hook or crook, I was going to be in that building. I showed up early at the weekly Wednesday night artist talk and made my way down the center isle toward my usual second row from the front, to the left, middle of the row, seat. That generally put me square in front of the podium. At this late date and time, feelings of defeat were tugging at the hem of my faith. Tomorrow was the day…

TO BE CONTINUED…

An Answer of Faith

I was recently questioned regarding the target audience for my writing. To be honest I hadn’t thought of it that specifically when I started. I knew I wanted to get things out of my head and on paper. That I want to inspire others to seize their baton and run with it. To be their highest and best version of who they want to be. Then it slowly came into view. This blog is for those who already know or sense that there is something more potent to be done or somewhere greater they are going and may need a little boost to walk their walk. It’s really a sacred journey whose pathway only the pathfinder or path maker can navigate. It is specifically for those who dare…

Keep pressing forward in word and deed. What do you believe? Your answer will be the basis of faith in word. How you believe is the bedrock of faith in deeds and actions. Faith can ride upon the wheels of any religion, denomination, dogma, or no organized sect at all. The manifestation of a thing is based on the faith (belief) of the believer. In the Bible when Jesus is quoted as saying Your faith has saved and healed you, he spoke directly to belief rooted in intention, not the religious bent of the one in need of healing. The healing had less to do with their religion of choice and everything to do with the conviction of their heart for the thing they desired. Religious inclination is what it is, but the actions that proceed from faith with intent is what will grant us the life we say we desire and consequently touch the world with our legacy.

I Am That, I Am…

I am the greatest, I am the greatest… “I am the greatest. I said that even before I knew I was.” I’m ruminating this morning, on Muhammad Ali’s words the day before his bEARTHday. He said he was the greatest, even before he knew he was. His spirit knew. I’m inclined to ask what does my spirit know. Sometimes I feel so focused, confident, and unstoppable. At other times I feel like a little boy lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, looking for a glimpse of mama. Then I’ll ask the question, Where do I go from here..?

It definitely helps to have an overarching goal and some kind of plan. Even still, the fog of everyday life can cloud the view, dim the vision between you and the proposed goal. On those days, all we may be able to do is focus on the closest point of contact – move on the piece of road directly in front of us. Lean in and keep moving forward or just allow for being still for a minute to get our bearings. As hard as it may seem, that’s sometimes the easiest thing to do. The only thing we know to do. Trust it and be patient with yourself. It’s not really about speed. Allow me to share a gentle reminder that we get to choose who we say we are, even before we know we are. Each intentional movement, no matter how small, moves us a little closer to that. That which our spirit already knows… We get to call it.

Upgrade

In the waning days of 2023, I found myself in anticipation of the new year. Then the why arose. The question halts for a minute, then spins again. Why do we look forward to the new year as though the adding of a number makes any difference in our living or existence? The same habits, ways, and means that brought us to where we are right now will be right there with us after the countdown. After the ball drops, those of us who were prone to dropping the ball or procrastinating will not be magically transformed into an Eric Thomas driven go-getter. Unless… Unless a decision is made. Not some grand new years resolution that looms overhead like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float being held in place by strings and aloft by air, traveling the same route every year and ending at the same place.

What if you made a decision to do one action different in the dawn of this new year. One small action that may have major impact and affect the rest of your year or possibly your life. It can be as simple as getting up ten minutes earlier, or completing that sketch, or reaching out about that project or show, or organizing your studio/creative space. That one decision could even be the act of making a decision and seeing it through. I know how we creatives can wander in wonder then find ourselves wondering how we got there. Make a decision, write it down on some kind of paper, it doesn’t matter what. Just write it down and place it somewhere you can lay eyes on it every day. Go for it at your speed. That piece of paper represents a ticket to your journey through the new year and beyond. Make it an upgrade to first class. You deserve it. Let’s go…