Saying Something Difficult

What struck me was tremendous loss while reading the CNN article,“She was fleeing with her grandson, who was holding a white flag. Then she was shot.” In intimate words and pictures the senseless event was  described by the women's surviving family members. 

Immediately I knew the murdered woman was of a pure heart and devoted to her family. I know Middle Eastern families and have friends in Egypt so the story felt more personal to me. 

I decided to create a painting and used AI to help visualize the scene. AI did a great job cobbling together a visual narrative. I combined images to arrive at a “sketch” of the painting I wanted to make.

I wanted to show the war-torn street in Gaza, with rubble and bombed buildings . . . and a dead woman sprawled across the road. The other part is the little boy with his white flag of surrender and peace, holding the hand of his grandmother. For some reason, I chose to portray the picture as witness to the moments before and after the tragedy occurred.

When I start  a painting in the “old” style of art, where I am depicting a realistic scene, I make a drawing on canvas, and underpainting with limited color. A full fledged piece arrives that includes all elements of color, drawing and subject. 

After getting my drawing on canvas, when I began the underpainting, I dripped some red⏤symbolizing life and death in art. I  felt sure as I worked, knowing the subject was not coming out of any thought of material gain. It is not pleasing fluff ready for any wall in a home. Rather, I had deep feeling of doing something meaningful, saying something difficult that needed to be said.

In the end, it became an unusual painting for me. It is suspended in a semi-finished state . . . life interrupted. The colors are gone except for some streaks of blood, while the dear, innocent subjects live in a wasteland. I paid homage.

Life and Death Converged

 

In the heart of a quaint, secluded village, amidst cornfields and rolling hills nestled by mountains, lived an enigmatic artist named Esteban. The old man’s works were a dichotomy that both captivated and perplexed those who gazed upon them. Esteban had a unique perspective on life and death, and he used his art to explore the vast spectrum of existence that encompassed both the marvels of nature and the symbolism of mortality.

For many years, Esteban’s paintings of marvelous nature were a celebration of life's beauty and vitality. His strokes on canvas rendered scenes of vibrant landscapes, with sunsets casting warm hues over cool deserts, wildflowers dancing in a gentle breeze, majestic trees reaching towards the heavens, flowing rivers and high desert plains. He captured the essence of nature before him, infusing his work with a sense of awe and reverence for the natural world. His paintings exuded life and energy, inviting viewers to immerse themselves in the splendor of the universe.

Yet, alongside these odes to life, late in life, Esteban delved into the darker realms of existence. His other collection featured symbols of death, prominently featuring skeletons as a recurring motif. These paintings were hauntingly beautiful, revealing the fragility and impermanence of life. The skeletons had a life of their own in the world. Esteban’s skillful use of colors and textures conveyed a sense of melancholy, inviting viewers to confront their own mortality and reflect on the transient nature of existence.

Esteban's dual artistic explorations were not about juxtaposition but about integration. He believed that to truly appreciate the magnificence of life, one must also come to terms with the inevitability of death. In his view, the universe was a tapestry woven from both light and shadow, and one couldn't fully understand the beauty of the former without acknowledging the presence of the latter.

Villagers often visited Esteban's studio, drawn by the dichotomy of his work. They marveled at the way his paintings of life and death resonated with their own experiences and emotions. Some found solace in the reminder that life was precious and fleeting, prompting them to cherish every moment. Others were inspired by the unapologetic confrontation of mortality, leading them to reflect on their legacies and contributions to the world.

Esteban's art became a conversation between himself, his creations, and his audience. He encouraged open dialogue about the interconnectedness of life and death, challenging societal norms that often shied away from discussing the latter. His paintings sparked philosophical discussions, emotional introspection, and a renewed appreciation for the wonders of existence.

As the years went by, Esteban's reputation as a thought-provoking artist grew beyond his village. His exhibitions garnered attention from art enthusiasts, philosophers, and even scholars who saw in his work a profound exploration of the human condition. Esteban's legacy extended beyond his physical art; his philosophy embraced life's entirety, from the resplendent beauty of nature to the contemplation of death, leaving an indelible mark on those who engaged with his creations.

In Esteban's art, life and death converged, coalescing into a testament to the complexity and profundity of existence. Through his paintings, he painted not just scenes on canvas, but a reflection of the universe's vastness, both its light and its darkness. He invited us to look beyond the surface and acknowledge the intricate dance of life and death that shapes our journey through this wondrous world.

All artwork ©2023 by Steven Boone, all rights reserved

A Way of Life

A painting that began 23 years ago has been completed. July 5, 1999 my oldest daughter died of cancer at the age of nineteen. Numerous times through the years I thought to do a symbolic painting expressing the grief inside and transition which occurred. And yet, something held me back. My life as an artist has been for the most part painting landscapes.  

Amy and I moved to Oaxaca, Mexico one year ago. For months I did not paint, mostly because we were settling into our home. When I began making art again, everything depicted figures from life down here. And then the “muerto” or death symbols, which are widely accepted in Mexico as themes for remembrance of the departed became a staple of my paintings. 

"Watermelon Man," oil on canvas, 24 x 28 inches

When I finished my painting of a skeleton man eating watermelon, I began gathering ideas for the next work. A mural downtown caught my eye. It included a crowd of people, with a man carrying somebody on his back. That gave me an idea to have death carrying someone.

I researched for pictures of a grown person carrying a child. 

When I began my painting, I quickly realized it was autobiographical. 

To begin, it brought up strong emotions of darkness and grief. My artist wife Amy had trouble painting in our studio with my dark artwork next to her. The war in Ukraine had begun and so had the period of Bahaí fasting we observe. Nineteen days of no food or water from sunrise to sunset. This is my last year⏤after having practiced the annual event fifty years⏤those over 70 are not bound by it. I have dedicated my efforts to the people of Ukraine.

I am pleased to have made another “memento mori” work. It reminds us of the ever presence of death and its inevitability. Down here in Mexico it is a way of life. 

A Last Kiss Goodbye?

These autumn days, wonderful colors, textures and temperatures beckon to be explored and enjoyed. For decades I have gone up into the mountains above Santa Fe to see the aspen trees during their ten days or so of shimmering golden vesture. This year I felt a tinge of bittersweetness as I drove upward with my art supplies and camera early in the morning on the winding ski road. Soon, Amy and I will be living in Oaxaca, Mexico. Might this be a last kiss goodbye to the place I have called home for over 40 years?

I carried my camera and hiked along a popular trail. Already folks were out enjoying nature. I passed a couple tents and came to a mountain stream, then chose to follow it up the slope. Now I was alone. The trees stood tall all around and the ferns were bursting with color. A small trail meandered nearby, but I chose to stay by the stream, stopping often to photograph the fallen leaves, mossy rocks and the gay stream with the play of light and shadow. My foot slipped into rushing water but I was so absorbed with dazzling nature I only laughed and kept climbing. 

Occasionally I fell out of breath—the elevation is over 10,000 feet. But magnetized by beauty and the pure mountain experience, I felt jubilant. A few times, I spotted a landmark up ahead and said, ”that is where I will stop and turn around.” But the forest beckoned me onward. After awhile, I thought of my paints and canvas and went back. On the way, I found a site I thought would be pleasing for a painting composition.

Gathering my art supplies, I set up and began painting. After twenty minutes, while intently working, I felt something run up my back pant leg. Surprised, I turned to see a chipmunk scurry off. This little creature was a sign from spirit and I spoke to him. After a couple minutes it happened again, and when I looked, two chipmunks stood watching me. They stayed around and when a young man and his father hiked past, the boy stopped and pointed out that a chipmunk stood nearby. I said, “Yes, I know.” 

The painting finished, I felt satisfied and drove the winding road back into town.

After posting the result online, the little aspen painting sold immediately—while still wet with paint.

Go Jump In A Lake

When I go to bed, I always see her—a redhead woman leaping, arms stretched in front, about to splash into a pool of water. She is dressed in white, with white stockings and no shoes. The foliage behind the figure is lush green on the banks and reflected in the greenish water. There is no sky.

I think, “Yes, this is what I am about to do. Jump in the great pool of the unconscious world and drown there for a while.”

The artwork is above my bed. A mirror above my dresser directly across from it reflects the image. My mother made the painting and signed it simply, Chloris. It is titled Go Jump In A Lake.

She died in 2016 at the age of 84.

Chloris Boone, age 27

When the family estate was being disbursed, I wanted it more than anything. To me, it does not get old . . . it stays fresh and lively, telling its story with vigor and gayety, though there may be some darkness in it.

Mother and me

Eager To Be There

Before Amy and I set foot in Madrid, Spain, I was already eager to be there. It is one of the great destination cities of the world for many reasons, but I hungered for the art in its museums.

I grew up in metropolitan areas, especially Washington DC where there is a plethora of world-class museums. Furthermore, my travels have taken me to wonderful art museums around the world. Usually I am in my hometown of Santa Fe, NM. It is an art mecca in its own right, but this is because of living artists that work and exhibit in its galleries. My gallery is in Santa Fe.

There are three fabulous museums in Madrid that are above the others: The Prado Museum, Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, and Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia.
We went to all three during our week in Madrid. There are many highlights in each that would take pages to describe.

Center panel

Left panel

Right panel

The Prado Museum is the most famous and has the richest collection of art in Madrid. There are always lines of people outside the doors queued at the ticket booths. We bought our passes online and did not wait long to enter. The first room we went in was devoted to paintings by Hieronymus Bosch, ( Dutch, c. 1450 – 9 August 1516) described as a “hugely individualistic painter with deep insight into humanity's desires and deepest fears." A crowd stood in front of perhaps his most famous work, The Garden of Earthly Delights. We were able to edge our way in front of it and stand mesmerized, studying its mysteries.  The painting is full of curious, magical and meticulously rendered imagery and to me, was worth the price of entry if only to stand in front of it. “The inner centerpiece is flanked by heavenly and hellish imagery. The scenes depicted in the triptych are thought to follow a chronological order: flowing from left-to-right they represent Eden, the garden of earthly delights, and Hell. God appears as the creator of humanity in the left hand wing, while the consequences of humanity's failure to follow his will are shown in the right.” -Wikipedia.

Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza is a gem of a museum and incredibly, built upon the collection of one family. When we went, there was an in depth exhibit featuring the work of Max Beckman, one of Germany’s leading 20th-century artists and among those the Nazi’s mocked during the infamous Degenerate Art Exhibition (Munich, 19 July to 30 November 1937). But the knockout that was worth the price of admission was a gem by Rembrandt, Self-portrait wearing a hat and two Chains (ca. 1642 - 1643.) Rembrandt painted numerous self-portraits throughout his long career and this is among his finest. I was impressed by the excellent condition the work is in. Lushly painted in a style that many have copied since but none have achieved, the painting breathes—as though you stand in front of Rembrandt and are in conversation with him.

Another day, from our Madrid downtown apartment, we walked to Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia. It is the “modern” art museum. There, we found one of Picasso’s most famous paintings; Guernica. He painted it in Paris in 1937 in response to a vicious bombardment on a Basque village in northern Spain just prior to the outbreak of WWII. Although the piece is immense, measuring 11 feet high x 25 feet wide (349.3cm × 776.6 cm (137.4 in × 305.5 in), a crowd stood in front. It is absent of color, but profound and absolutely daring—“regarded by many art critics as one of the most moving and powerful anti-war paintings in history.” — “for Picasso: ‘The women and children make Guernica the image of innocent, defenseless humanity victimized. Also, women and children have often been presented by Picasso as the very perfection of mankind. An assault on women and children is, in Picasso's view, directed at the core of mankind.’ (- See article)

Amy and I felt as though Picasso painted our emotions about conflict and its disastrous result.


While Picasso was living in Nazi-occupied Paris during World War II, one German officer allegedly asked him, upon seeing a photo of Guernica in his apartment, "Did you do that?" Picasso responded, "No, you did."

The Diamond

 

Amy gave me a special potion and offhandedly said, “This will give you sweet dreams.” It is YIang Ylang and comes from flowers that grow on an exotic tree in Madagascar, the island off the eastern coast of Africa. I dabbed a little on my wrists and under my chin and went to sleep. Sure enough, I had a sweet dream. Like everyone else, I probably dream 3-6 times each night in segments lasting 5-20 minutes. Ninety five percent of dreams are not remembered, but with me, it is closer to 100%.

It was not always so. Earlier in my life I dreamed and remembered frequently. I kept a journal that quickly filled a binder with pages of handwritten recollections. Then in mid-life my entries tapered off. For a couple of decades now, I might recall a dream only a few times a year. I explain it away by rationalizing that my waking life is so full of creativity that I need a rest from the fantastic during my conscious hours.

The morning after I sprinkled Ylang Ylang on myself I woke with a dream lingering in my mind. I recalled that I was outdoors in a tiny clearing in a forest. I was seated and looking down at the earth under me. A gleaming stone half covered by dirt caught my attention. It was a diamond about the size of a golf ball. Wow, what a dazzling gem! I picked it up and felt its impenetrable facets and gazed at its magical capture of light. I knew I had something of great value and immediately began wondering if I could keep it safely, and thought it may be taken away. Shortly afterwards I awoke.

Dreams can foretell events in real life and this one did.

Two days later, a man came into my gallery. I was at my easel working. We greeted and he went and stood in front of my biggest painting—a sunset that is easily seen through the gallery window. Many people have admired it and wished they could buy it but the price is high. The man and I talked a bit about my painting process and the way I use thick layers of paint, called “impasto” effects. He asked how the colors were so brilliant and I explained that I use only the finest oils. He then left but came back with his wife. I liked the the couple very much. They began discussing where the painting might go in their home and decided another piece of art would have to come down and be replaced by the sunset. They left but said they might come back.

I went back to work and about an hour later turned from my painting to find the man standing behind me. We smiled and gazed in each others eyes, then met with his wife again in front of the sunset painting. They bought it. As I was writing up the big sale, he said “Hold on a minute . . . my wife is looking at something else as well.” She was entranced with two other landscape paintings and instead of picking one or the other, the couple bought both.

The experience was entirely magical and I could not help but think of the dream—and the diamond delivered into my hands.

 

The Gift

For years I have been dazzled by skies at sunset. I study the time in the evening when the sun is disappearing and daylight fades.

Afterward, stars begin lighting up the heavens. On a clear night far from city lights the vault of the celestial sphere can take ones breath away. Have you seen the milky away in all its splendor? And then witness shooting stars?

But sunsets are the phenomenon I get the most pleasure from above the horizon. Here in Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA the elevation is 7200 feet (2200 meters) above sea level. The conditions are such that many evenings provide dazzling sunset spectacles. And each one is different than those before or after.

Recently I went to a friend's home and after dinner we walked. As the afternoon reached toward evening, we climbed a hill and sat waiting for the sunset show to begin. There were sufficient clouds to dazzle the western sky with colorful refractions and shifting forms. We could not take our eyes from the unfolding drama. I snapped some pictures as I often do during these events.

A few days later I made a painting to celebrate and commemorate the gift that The Creator gave that evening.

Amalia Sunset, oil on board, 10 x 10 inches

Click for more Steven Boone art.

Trove Of Art

I packed over twenty five paintings and took along a portfolio of hand made prints to make the one day drive from Santa Fe to Oklahoma City. The Arts Council here sponsors a six day event with a trove of art and artists, music, and food. The hours manning my booth are long and sometimes the people become a blur, but I am thanked often for showing up to share my art.

Two of the first buyers came back the next day to add to their Boone collection . . .

This is the last day and when the show ends at 6 PM, I must pack my art back into the van and begin driving home.

I have made enough sales that the time has been worthwhile. Also, I brought along my field easel and art supplies and made a few paintings. One of these I sold while it was still wet.

The photos included here are of some collectors who bought my work at the show.

Unity Of Existence

 

In pure moments of being, I perceive behind the veil of the material world in the realm of non-duality, or oneness. Here, love reigns supreme. Unity rules the real existence.

During periods of high creativity, I am able to let go of selfishness so as to merge completely and seamlessly with the whole. While painting, time vanishes, the joy of process takes over, and as the picture takes shape, surprises occur as if I am not in control at all. The best photography occurs when I lose everything that is a barrier between me and the subject. In writing, ego must fall, so that I am not writing with an eye to myself; rather the process unfolds on its own.

When meeting anyone new, I love being in this space of oneness. As if to say, “I have no judgement of you, we come from the same dust, created by the same Hand. I remember you—a friend from before this existence. We met on the shores of dawn.” Thus, I can look in the face of a foreigner and see a fellow being I have known all my life.
A king is my brother, same as a pauper. A person of a different color, with different features and dress—no matter, I combine just as well with them as with one of my own kind.



There are limitations. My body is not so quick to lose itself. It has adapted in certain environments. It has learned to be friendly with some elements and not friendly with others. Experience says it does not like hot, humid jungles. It reacts violently to some contamination in water in foreign lands that those people are immune to (India) . It is repelled by certain foods that other people eat—such as spiders (Cambodia). I can’t help that.

I have been in all these situations and appreciate them as part of the fabric of life. Behind all is the unity of existence.

Surrounded By Spirits

I am surrounded by spirits, and that is the feeling of the Lord.  —Naomi Boone

I love this simple sentence written in my daughter's journal when she was seventeen. She had learned she was dying of cancer.

She felt the power of angels—emissaries of God, sent to strengthen and guide her.

I am practicing remembering the feeling of the Lord as I prepare to go on another extended journey across continents, leaving everything behind to go into the "flux" state I so love. I will "let go". I thrive with the feeling of falling like the little bird pushed from the safety and familiarity of it's nest. A miraculous and hidden power informs the moment so what is needed occurs—to fly.

SPIRIT can take a flock of birds and direct them to determine Earth's magnetic field so they navigate using true north. During the day time they are guided by the position of the sun. Are they doing this mentally? Birds sometimes fly while sleeping during non-stop trips that can take weeks. No, they are not thinking; SPIRIT moves them to arrive unerringly to their destination.

And so too, I hope to leave the mental arena and go into what I call the zone. Like the falling bird, I go from the familiar into the unknown and rely on trust. Surrounded by spirits and guided by them, barriers fall away and I am no longer separate from my surroundings. In oneness, I enter THE DREAM, where miracles live and occurrences become fantastic.

I leave Santa Fe on November 1. First stop is Washington DC, (where I grew up,) to see my brother Wade and his family. I especially relish spending time with my young niece and nephew who barely know me. After four days I fly to Paris, France and book into a hotel on the left-bank for another four days. Time in the streets and museums, being inspired,  shooting photographs and going with the flow . . . day tripping to Versailles. Next I arrive in my favorite place . . . Venice. For a month. It is easy being creative there . . . making paintings, writing and photographing. Next is Egypt. In Luxor I have Egyptian friends that make a place for me in their family. After that it gets fuzzy: but most likely I will go and find the Masai people who had such a big impact on me. They are in Kenya and Tanzania.

I do not have a return ticket. SPIRIT and THE DREAM will direct me and that is how I like it.

Everything will be okay, because God is with me no matter what.  —Naomi Boone

Wallflower

There is an expression . . . have you heard it? A person referred to as a "wallflower". An example is the young woman at a lively social gathering where music plays. She is dressed beautiful and is sweet, yet sits to herself while girls around her are whisked by young men onto the floor for fun and laughter.

Most likely, everyone at some time in life has felt left out. Oh well. We stay in our core, love ourselves and continue to show up. Then a magic moment comes when a special someone is attracted to join together with the lonely one. The qualities are affirmed and embraced.

 This happens with my paintings. Work has shown for years—seen but passed over. Then one day a special someone falls in love and says, "I must take it home, it speaks to me."

This happened twice in the last three days. Both paintings had been showing for two years before selling.

This also happened with the one below. It was "asked to dance" many times but never became engaged with anyone. Recently it got married to an art lover in Colorado and went home.

My Whole Life

 

Golden Path, oil on linen, 24x18 inches 

"How long did it take you to paint that?" I have heard this question many times from people as they stand next to me gazing at one of my paintings. It happened again today at an art festival in Denver, Colorado. Two young women were in my booth looking at the paintings. Pointing to a piece, one asked the question.

Years ago, I would recoil and think that since the price is apparent, I would be telling how much I make per hour, which might seem like alot if taken by itself. But what about all the failed attempts, the schooling and experimentation, the hours of promotion and gallery work, etc.? So much more is behind the scenes that is included in the price.

After more thinking about what really is in each painting, I began responding, "It took me my whole life to paint it." And it is true. I find that when people hear this, they have a glimmer of recognition, and after a brief shock, enjoy the answer. "Why yes, of course," I hear them reply with satisfaction.

For more art: Steven Boone

Wind Howling

 

A thunderbolt woke me with a start at three AM. I had fallen asleep in my hotel room the evening before as the weather was rapidly changing to storms. Heavy rain pelted the roof and I could hear wind howling. I wondered about my artwork that was sheltered in a tent in a park at the Art Festival in Oklahoma City. Nothing I can do about it, I thought and fell back asleep. Later in the morning I made my way past broken tree limbs and closed streets with downed electric lines, nervous about what awaited me. As I approached the festival grounds I saw tent tops and hoped mine would be standing too. It was, and I lifted the canopy to find my work intact and safe.

"The Note" oil on board, sold to a collector from Oklahoma City

Despite the crazy weather that had summer like conditions some days and stormy winter conditions others, fate has looked kindly on my participation and I have had sales enough to warrant all my effort in Oklahoma City. I start home in the morning.

Red Leaves

Deep within the vault of my memories, full now with six decades of life, is an episode of rapturous wonder, thrill, and happy connectedness. Veiled and buried with so many other memories, once in a while it comes to mind, as it did the other day.

Late summer is now shifting into the autumn season, and the colors have been summoning me to paint outdoors. Temperatures begin cool and become balmy. One day I drove about an hour out of the city to one of my favorite places; the Rio Grande Gorge. Following the twisty, softly flowing river through volcanic rock canyons, I found a scenic area by a bend. I climbed out to scout for a scene to paint, and took my camera. Amidst tall reeds at the river edge, the only sounds were the gurgling of water and paddling of ducks congregated on a log by the other side. Among the green shrubs and brilliant yellow blooms, I spotted some crimson leaves—a sure sign of the autumn. It was the red foliage that jarred loose the buried memory, so pleasant and nostalgic.

When I was but six or seven years old, beginning school in La Grange, Illinois, (a suburb of Chicago) the class went on a field trip at the beginning of Autumn. We drove out into the country to a nature preserve. The weather was perfect—blue skies and the lingering warmth of summer coming from the earth. Colors of nature were already changing. Several teachers watched over the group of children from various classes. A sense of happiness and love pervaded the day. Something thrilled me and touched my soul with wonder—to be out of the confines of a classroom, yet with adults who took pleasure along side of me and the other children. The sky seemed so blue, like I had never seen before, perhaps because the colors of the trees and fields were burnished so brilliantly orange, red and yellow. To walk in the grass almost up to my waist and hear it swish, while smelling the aromas of plants and fertile, moist earth . . .

I came upon an oak leaf that had fallen onto the path at my feet. It's red color surprised me and I became aware how color could arouse my senses. I still remember that leaf.

Later the class went among tall reeds and cattails by a pond. It was there that I saw a snake slither by, gliding in the water, wriggling rapidly while holding its head up. I thrilled at the sight and also the slight danger of something foreign, mysterious, and alive arriving out of the deep dark water.

The visit was over after a few hours and we went back to school. I do not remember the school as clearly as the sights and sounds of that day in nature.

At the Rio Grande, as I relished the nostalgia of that memory, I stopped to gaze at the red leaves, while listening to the river flow and feeling the sun warm on my skin. Hiking back to unpack gear and make a painting, I trampled among sage bushes. They released an indelible pungent aroma that had a medicinal effect on my senses and mind. 

The painting flowed through me the same way as the memory.

Rio Grande Gorgeous, oil on linen, 14 x 18 inches