Several years ago, I incorporated painting into my bedtime routine. I find it relaxing to make marks onto paper with tools from my art boxes. One, a blue plastic container, was purchased as I was starting art school over 45 years ago.  It still contains pencils from that time. The other is full of markers, pencils and pens purchased more recently.  My red toolbox is full of paint brushes, several belonged to my grandfather before me. 

Random marks curve and cross, breaking up that pristine surface that so many people find intimidating. Most of these marks will not be seen again, yet they serve an important purpose. They loosen my hand and my mind, and they form the first layer. While they may be visible here and there, they all remain, informing subsequent layers. As much as I may try to separate my conscious mind from the process, I cannot. There is, however, an attempt to step aside and let my subconscious reveal the story. Like the artwork, I am a multi layered entity, existing independently, at least for now. 

I slather paint the way I might apply peanut butter to a bagel or hot sauce to fried chicken. It’s a dynamic surface. 

Afterwards… maybe the next day, I cut that full sheet of paper into sections, thus removing my contriving self once again from the outcome. 

Like I do with my canvases, I look at them, not to edit, but to see what is there. Not every section works in this state, but some stand out as little gems. Often, I see the events of recent days, or distant memories that floated up from the recesses of my mind. They found their way down my right arm, and out onto the substrate. 

They amuse me. 

Shoreline. Mixed media on paper. This is one of a new series of 6 small paintings loosely based on one of my larger canvases. Part of my daily art routine.

Summer. Mixed media on paper. This is one of a new series of 6 small paintings loosely based on one of my larger canvases. Part of my daily art routine.

Under. Mixed media on paper. This is one of a new series of 6 small paintings loosely based on one of my larger canvases. Part of my daily art routine.

Mumbo Jumbo. Mixed media on paper. This is one of a new series of 6 small paintings loosely based on one of my larger canvases. Part of my daily art routine.

Back in 2001, we were planning H’s 40th birthday party at the North House Folk School in Grand Marais. We invited everyone. Twelve years earlier, we’d had a small wedding ceremony, with 13 people in attendance. In the years that followed, H would sometimes say that we should renew our vows in front of our friends. Her singing group would headline the show. They asked if I would do a short Flash Meridian performance. She probably thought I would do The Universe again, but I came up with a surprise. I hired an officiant. Flash Meridian was announced, and I called H back to the stage. I got down on one knee and asked if she would marry me again. She had no idea I was going to do this. I’d even had rings made. She replied, “In a minute”, which I took as a yes.

I had no clue that I had put her on the spot. Her boyfriend was in the audience. Another guy who I knew liked her, walked out at this point. A couple of weeks later, she told me she wanted a divorce, because there was someone else she wanted to marry. They got engaged as soon as our divorce was final. If she’d just told me, I would have been ok. I would have performed The Universe again. I found the VHS tape last night. I was so oblivious that evening, and now it’s cringeworthy. Still, I’m happy. Happy that I had a surprise idea, and pulled it off rather beautifully.

This optimistic blurb appeared in Lake Superior Magazine.

Driving Through The Landscape. This triptych conjures a drive near Hancock, Maine, on my way to see my grandparents in Thomaston.

I see how the pencil lines in my painting tuck under a brushstroke here, and glide over a patch of paint over there.  The lines I scratch into the wet paint with the other end of my brush mimic the other, positive lines in the composition.  Those scratches uncover some of the hidden layer that lurks beneath pigment that was applied later.  The fresh brushstroke lies right on the surface, not yet realizing that it is a part of the whole.  It thought it was a complete story unto itself until I cut through it.  I reveal the foundation.  What I don’t tell it, is the fact that another layer of paint might come along, obfuscating it completely.