Best of May Posts

Here are some selections from six years of postings from the month of May :

Visual Vocabulary

May 06, 2012

Fluid In THE DREAM

May 22, 2011

 Ghosts, Beauty, And Suicide

  May 30, 2010

You Smell Good

May 02, 2009

 Intellect And Mystery

 May 11, 2008

 Shifting Sands Of Time

May 04, 2007

 

The Unknown

Oil on linen, 17 x 21 inches

To throw oneself into an activity with passion and abandon, and then lose the comfort of what has always been safe and known . . . this is the path of artistic discovery. I imagine Michelangelo, (1475-1564) confronting an immense slab of white marble, and wondering what is waiting for his hands to bring forth. No doubt he felt a bit of fear to embark on such a grand task as to chisel a sculpture such as the masterpiece David. What did Christopher Columbus, (1451-1506) feel when he looked out to the ocean's horizon and wonder what distant land waited for discovery? The immensity of the sea is quite capable of swallowing everything puny in its path. More recently, in art annals, is the story of Jackson Pollack, (1912-1956) who abandoned painting recognizable figures and instead hurled fluid color in all directions across his canvases. He famously said, "When I am in a painting, I'm not aware of what I'm doing. It is only after a sort of 'get acquainted' period that I see what I have been about. I have no fears about making changes, destroying the image, etc, because the painting has a life of its own. I try to let it come through. It is only when I lose contact with the painting that the result is a mess. Otherwise there is pure harmony, an easy give and take, and the painting comes out well."

There have been many great artists who have come face to face with the unknown and been challenged to enter the ring, rather than stand to the sidelines. Perhaps this was a reason Pablo Picasso, (1881-1973) loved going to bullfights. When the matador enters the ring with the bull, the outcome is not known . . . certainly either the animal or the man will die. The man depends on his talent to guide him and gain the adulation of the crowd.

Recently, I have begun experimenting painting with three colors only: red, black and white.

Essential Substance Of Life

Self-portrait, taken in Montevideo, Uruguay

Matrix is a word that I arrive at often when thinking of my creative process. During my one-year sojourn around the world, I intended to disappear into the matrix, and from there, let my creative energies flow. What does it mean? For me, matrix describes the essential substance of life from which everything is born. It is always in flux, receiving the dying forms and casting forth the newborn upon the shores of existence.

The perfect place from which to create is one of boundlessness. A musician is in the flow and notes seem to come from out of nowhere. A painter is fluidly creating his painting and his marks sometimes are surprising . . . he has gone outside his boundaries and is in the realm of discovery.

Creation is timeless, and when an artist is creating he often is not aware of the passage of the moments. He begins, and when he looks up again, is finished, and then wonders, where did the time go?

Self-portrait, Paris, France

Art Collectors

The couple strolled through The Steven Boone Gallery front door like a spring breeze blowing in the April air. They checked to see if the little painting they had seen the day before was still hanging. Yes, and then the gentleman looked at me to say, “We want this, and will you sell it without the tax?” They went on to mention that they had a big painting of mine already. I replied, “Since you are collectors, I will be happy to pay the tax myself.” 

I am not usually in the gallery, so I am pleased to have met this couple . . . I enjoy having face-to-face experiences with collectors of my artwork.

The painting they bought is one I made outdoors in the autumn of a little country chapel in the high plains of New Mexico. (See Gushing Waters). They spoke of their extensive art collection and I remarked how wonderful it must be to visit their home, and what a delight for their friends. 

These days, as the temperatures warm and the air is balmy, we can leave the front door open so that people on the street can simply walk inside as they tour Canyon Road. Artwork hangs on the wall outside as an enticement, and the folks are like bee's attracted to flowers.

Best Posts of April

Random Act Of Kindness

April 13, 2007

 

Inspiration To Fly

April 18, 2008

Chicago

April 26, 2009

Pleasurable Dance of the Senses

April 10, 2010

Delirium

April 24, 2011

Spring Fragrance

April 22, 2012

No Bitterness

Naomi Boone, age 18

"I love my body, it has been so good to me." These were among the last words my daughter Naomi Boone spoke as she died at age nineteen. What is remarkable about Naomi's exclamation is that it came after a grueling two year battle with cancer.

I had been an intimate witness to her suffering. As soon as Naomi entered high-school she immersed herself into meaningful activity—joining the German club, the Ski club, and in sports running track and field and cross-country. When her cancer was diagnosed, she had been painfully lifting her leg into her car to drive to school. The verdict was grim for her survival.

The next two years were full of pain, exhilaration, uplifting victories and dreadful defeats. Naomi had expressed that she did not want to die a slow, painful death, but this is what fate had in store for her. In the end, she was forcing herself to eat, she could not walk, and was attached to an oxygen tank. Her lungs were full of disease, so that she suffocated to death. How was it then, that her final words were, "I love my body, it has been so good to me."

Naomi formed a special relationship with her mortal form. She knew that her body was in a life and death struggle, and she developed a tremendous compassion for it. She cheered it on, begging and supplicating, caressing and loving it. She saw her terrible conflict with cancer as an epic spiritual battle of light and dark, and she firmly planted herself on the side of light. As the disease gained the upper hand, and the life force she loved so dearly could not save her crippled form, she remained loyal and praised her troops for such a brave fight against insurmountable odds. Not a trace of bitterness.

When I meet tests, and get frustrated, I think of Naomi and her walk through the "valley of the shadow of death."


23rd Psalm, The Book of David

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 
 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. 
 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. 
 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 
 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 
 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
                                                         ~~~~~~

Groundbreaking

Paul Cezanne, (French: January 19, 1839 - October 22, 1906)

Pablo Picasso, (Spanish:  25 October 1881 – 8 April 1973)

In the pursuit of artistic creativity, it often occurs that an artist is influenced by his peers, and by art history. Even when someone does something radical and new, essentially, a groundwork has been laid by others that allows this new breakthrough to occur. For instance, Picasso was a seminal figure in art in the twentieth century, and when his cubist paintings emerged, they shattered the barriers for art. And yet, these paintings did not appear in a vacuum, for Picasso had been a great admirer of Paul Cezanne, who years earlier had been taking impressionist painting into new territory with his careful constructing of picture planes using basic shapes of cones, rectangles and squares.

Claude Monet, (French: 14 November 1840 – 5 December 1926)

The crucial quality of groundbreaking artists, is their fearless pursuit of new ways of seeing, and their willingness to take risk and break from the crowd. Another great innovator of the twentieth century was Georges Seurat, who developed his signature style of painting, called pointillism, using uniform sized dots of color to make a depiction from nature. Yet, Seurat was keenly aware of the work of the impressionists, who had broken with traditional painting styles when they went from depicting stories in their paintings, into painting light itself.

Georges Pierre Seurat, (French: 2 December 1859 – 29 March 1891)

Piet Mondrian, (Dutch, March 7, 1872 – February 1, 1944)

Steven Boone, (American: 13 May 1952 - present.)

The Dutchman Piet Mondrian, migrated to Paris during the time Paris was the art capital of the world, when Picasso and a slew of other famous artists were there. Mondrian developed a highly refined abstract style of his own, which broke the picture plane down into a grid of horizontal and vertical bisecting lines, using some of the resulting  shapes to carefully be filled with primary colors. Many years later, I hearkened back to Mondrian in my street photography, when I captured images that resembled Mondrian's abstracts, using a lens instead of brush and paint.

Wanderlust

A bedouin on his camel. at the Great Pyramids of Egypt.

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller (American, December 26, 1891 – June 7, 1980)

In some profound ways, I have not adjusted to the ending of my year of travel, in 2008. Then, I was single, unencumbered by material things, free to move in any direction, was full of wanderlust, and leisurely moved across the face of the earth, living in exotic and fascinating places, making new friends and acquaintances. Since I arrived back in the USA, I have not felt the urge to own a home or settle down in any fundamental way, even though I have married. My lovely wife owns a home and I also rent a separate home, studio, and art gallery—but I am not attached to any of these places. Since 2008, I have been to Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and lastly, with my wife, Morocco. Now, I wonder if my dancing vagabond days are over for me.

During the early days of my traveling, I carried two suitcases—one for clothing, laptop, camera and supplies, and one for my painting gear, i.e. paints and easel, canvas and brushes. I made paintings along the way, occasionally sending them back to my assistant in the US and my gallery. Midway through the journey, I sent the cumbersome painting suitcase home, since I had evolved into a passionate street photographer. Each day, camera in hand, I would saunter forth to find the unexpected and seek to capture ephemeral moments of sublimity.

A field of poppies amid olive trees, in the Puglia region of Italy

The task of landscape painting is different than photography. To paint, a subject must be found, and then the easel set up and as the day goes by and the sun moves across the sky, I stand in one spot, studying and recording until a finished work is completed. For example, see: Flux Of The Street.
Photography is simply having the camera at hand, with a heightened sense of awareness, ready to click the shutter at an opportune time . . . and then go forth again for more. For example, see: Ducking.

Chicken seller in a market in Hoi An, Vietnam

Generally, paintings are far more valuable on the market, since they are made entirely by the artist’s hand are unique, whereas photos become prints that are massed produced.

 “To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.” – Freya Stark (born 31 January 1893 in Paris, France; died 9 May 1993 in Asolo, Italy)

Writings From The Month Of March

March 25, 2012

Mysterious Circumstance

This time five years ago, while on the island of Sicily, . . .

March 27, 2011

Absurdity

Of all animals, only human beings can be absurd.

March 21, 2010

Home Is In My Heart

When I travel for extended periods I become homeless and a true wanderer.

March 08, 2009

Violin Played By Ethereal Hands

Imagine living without water or food for nineteen days.

March 08, 2008

What I Want And More

THE DREAM is giving me what I want and more. Here in Luxor, . . . 

Monday, March 19, 2007

Segesta

I almost cried when I found the temple at Segesta after being lost, . . .

Playing Tricks

Ice-cream Hangup, by Steven Boone

I enjoy surprise in life and art. Surprise is what challenges our perception, and makes us wonder. Most people prefer predictability because it offers a sense of safety of sorts, and scientists need the laws of nature to be fixed in order to compute and invent, but oddity and absurdity are never far away. In fact, chaos is ever present, and scientists must allow for it in equations. This is why weather will never be absolutely predictable. All living things depend on predictability to survive and prosper, but the universe will forever be playing tricks.

In art, the arena allows for chaos and surprise. The surrealists made paintings depicting melting watches, flying cows, or trees growing in mid-air. Pablo Picasso (Spanish, 25 October 1881 – 8 April 1973) painted bold portraits with faces that had two eyes on one side and a mouth on the other. 

Portrait by Pablo Picasso

I like the unusual, and it often comes into my artwork as well.

A man, walking past a billboard. Berlin, Germany.

Trading Books

Gondolas, Venice, Italy

These days are among the slowest of the year for tourist traffic on Canyon Road in Santa Fe, New Mexico, the famed art avenue with more than 100 galleries. The weather is cold, and with far fewer world-class events scheduled in the city than in summer, sometimes only a handful of people browse the shops. My wife and I share duties tending our gallery—The Steven Boone Gallery.  It is almost a joke when we call each other and realize that not one person has visited. And then, there are days when of the four people who appear, two are trying to sell something or asking for donations.

Masai boys, Serengeti, Tanzania

The other day was like that. An older man came in, looked around cursorily, and asked about a large photo on my wall. I said it was taken in Kashmir, India. “I bet you do not have many people who see that and who have actually been there—like me!” We began talking and he took a card out of his pocket to hand to me. It promoted a book he had written  a few years back,
about his journey around the world in 1968. I told him that I had gone around the world in 2008, forty years after him,  and had lived in 19 countries. “I visited 27 countries,” he said. I responded, “Wow, you must have been moving fast.”

We ended up trading books. I gave him a signed copy of my award winning book, A Heart Traced In Sand, about the struggle of my daughter Naomi, who died of cancer at the age of nineteen. He promised to send me his book about his travel adventures around the world in 1968.

Dal Lake, Kashmir