Tag: art

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…

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…