What if God were one of us?
I have been in the process of new-making myself, and, since I am not at
my normal home address, I have been doing no visual art since late November. I have been doing some thinking about art and
the artist.
Soon, I will continue the Blog somewhat more regularly. In the meantime,
here are some of the words to a song that is quite nice, used as the lead in song for the TV series "Joan of Arcadia" (also
quite nice). I take exception to the grammar. The line should read: "What if God were one of us" as it is a subjunctive
and conditional statement, not indicative. (Indicative statements would conform to "God is one of us." Perhaps, then, God
is each of us. Joy!)
What if god was
one of us
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make his way home
Just trying to make
his way home
Like a holy rolling stone
Back up to heaven all alone
Just trying to make his way home
Nobody calling
on the phone
Except for the pope maybe in rome
Eternal Hope, Eternal Starting Again
 So, of course, after expressing myself in the last post, what should happen but out of the blue I am approached
by a designer who saw my stuff on the Internet ( www.blehert.com) and who commissions me for some work. My belief in the essential magic of the universe is restored. I have produced and
delivered a larger version of the painting: "Hains Point Cherry Blossoms" for her client and all are pleased. Here is a thumbnail
of the new painting (30" x 40")
Surviving as an artist
Every once in a while, I have to restrain myself from bundling it all up.
I mean, I look at some really terrific art and I think, "Why do I continue to do this? There are enough good artists in the
world." Or I stumble over the accumulated paintings in my house that haven't got an outlet. Or I fail to get accepted in a
show. At those times, I am close to my alternate project, which is to announce to all and sundry "come and get it. Just give
these paintings a good home and take them away with you."
Yesterday, however, I reread a clip I'd saved from an old issue of The Artist's
Magazine from 1993, as follows:
"It was ... a surprise to read in Thomas Eakins:
His Life and Art that during his lifetime he was only moderately successful. In fact, some of his paintings were rejected
by those who commissioned them. ... Eakins's father had accumulated some money and could afford to subsidize the artist for
much of his life. In a way, Eakins's situation reminded me of Cezanne's. Both artists were supported by their fathers and
both did experimental work not easily understood by their contemporaries. Cezanne, however, became a recluse and didn't openly
confront the art establishment. Whereas Eakins believed his work was as good or superior to that of well-known artists of
his day, and he constantly tried to prove it." - Book Review of Thomas Eakins: His Life and Art, Homer. Review written by
Walter Garver for The Artist's Magazine, June 93
Certainly, if Eakins and Cezanne (and Van Gogh and many others) could hold
out and continue to explore their dream, I can. And I approach my art with renewed hope.
The Active Life
It's been some time since I posted to this blog. The blog has gotten very sour about this lack of affection. I'm sorry, blog.
I "retired" in June of 2004 and since then have been quite busy doing all the things that I was unable to do while working.
I've gotten some of the major backlogs handled (new carpet installed, a reorganization of my study/computer space, an extensive
– and continuing – diet that has so far resulted in a loss of 23 pounds) and have enrolled in a portrait class at Loudoun Academy of the Arts (in Leesburg, VA) as well as started teaching the fall workshop at the Reston Community Center.
 In addition, I've been doing some "Plein Air" painting with another local artist, producing several paintings
(of which I only like one so far. After a long dry spell at the Art League of Alexandria, I've finally had one of my portrait studies accepted in the October show.
I've been doing some things that have
increased my feeling of being quite busy: in addition to continuing to volunteer as an extension course supervisor for Criminon, I've been volunteering some time at the Scientology Volunteer Ministers' tent set up every Sunday in the DC Area. The Volunteer
Ministers is a volunteer organization of Scientologists with skills and willingness to help in volunteer activities. The link to the website provide in prior sentence provides more
information.
The Challenge of being "Retired"
I am finding the big challenge of being retired is not totally burdening
yourself with not only with all the stuff that you've been wanting to do but didn't have time for but also all the things
that you know that other people would like to do but don't have time for because they're trying to eke out a living. So, here's
sort of what I've been doing with my Summer.
Currently, I'm working on backlogs that piled up during my working years,
as well as the following: I'm volunteering as Promotions Officer for a parishioner committee at my church and (as such) I'm
learning how to use a DV Camcorder I finally sprung for; I'm also taking digital photos for the committee; I'm doing some
plein-air painting; I'm volunteering during the summer months at the Scientology Volunteer Minister Tent on Sundays; I'm continuing
work as an extension course supervisor for Criminon Florida — which offers extension courses in ethics and morals and
self-respect to inmates of prisons nationwide; I'm a moderator for an email poetry group.
Some of the "backlogs" that need to be addressed include: cleaning out 17
years worth of accumulated files, getting the carpet replaced; major cleaning and organizing project for the studio; book-sorting
and reorganizing in Dean's study. All these and other tasks I would like to have completed by November 4, when Dean and I
will be going to Clearwater Florida to stay for a while to do some Scientology courses at the advanced facility there.
Tonight we have a poetry group —The New Room Poets— meeting at our house.
Tomorrow I will need to pack up everything in the master bedroom and my computer/study room and remove it so that new carpet
can be laid on Friday.
Next project will be cleaning and organizing the studio. I must have some
sample pictures for students to work from by next Wednesday, when I start the fall workshop. Coincidentally, I will also
be taking a class in portrait painting at the Loudoun Academy of the Arts in Leesburg, also on Wednesdays. Why? Well, you
know, it's one way to secure time to paint: pay for it.
My current fascination is with video, the ability to mesh and overlap moving
pictures and sound. And yet, we do that all the time in our minds: juxtaposing now and before and hoped-for, coming up with
new songs, laments, paeans, weaving all with a texture unique to each of us. The Physical Universe is but a poor video of
this rich mental life. And the DV only captures a small degree of that. But, on the other hand, this is play, and it's fun!
Tiny toad or maybe a frog
I have finally bought a DV Camcorder and am having a ball recording all
sorts of stuff. Yesterday we went for a long walk on a little used wooded path in Lake Farifax Park. Even though it is August,
the day was mild and the sun came and went. This park is a large tract of land, mostly deciduous forest, with a smallish lake.
I got shots of a black butterfly, which paused and preened for quite a long time. The camera's zoom lens got closer than I
ever could. And a tiny frog or toad, mottled to blend perfectly with his mud and rock surroundings, was spotted only because
he happened to be on the path when I went by and hopped a ways before freezing again. Once again, the DV corder allowed me
to get close-ups unimaginable if I tried to step that close. There was a three-D space, closer than which I knew I could not
go. When I stepped inside it, sure enough, he was gone. I'll try to capture a frame any place it with this post.
It rained and rained
 Most
of the time, I observe, we spend time avoiding the rain, lamenting about rain, or, perhaps, wishing for rain, but not really
wanting to be out in the rain.
I remember the rain sweeping down the gutter in the center of the alley
so fast that for a while it became a stream for us 6-year-olds to play.
I remember, as a teenager, running through a thunderstorm with a friend,
our faces to the rain, getting joyfully soaking wet, just because we could.
Monday I was caught in the rain. I was trying to take some digital video
film -- my latest project to learn to make videos -- so I filmed the rain coming down steadily at Connecticut and K Sts.
When I played it back, I thought how lovely the city looked in its grey
raincoat.
The Doll's Journey
 My work on the drawings for the Doll's Journey progresses. Here is a link to the latest. The Doll's Journey.
" He said, 'But we must hurry! Come, come! We're late!' I said I wouldn't go Without YOU, but he told me you would want Your doll to go and see the world and tell You all about it. Besides, he
said no doll Could move all by itself unless the lady Who cared for it (and he called YOU the lady) Wanted it to.
So you must want me to, Because I can."
The contemplative life
Yesterday I walked up to Office Depot to order a stamp. It was a pretty long walk, and hot, but with a nice breeze. I'd been
disappointed by a misunderstanding with the moderator of an email group which had resulted in my being barred from the list.
Me! What did I do? I didn't do anything wrong. But sometime these things happen. As I was crossing the street, I heard the
sharp clear bell of a bird and, looking up, saw a bird paralleling my path, seeming to warn me: "watch the traffic now."
Bird, your guardianship is much appreciated. Sky, wind, how nice you feel. Butterfly, thank you for your presence. I went
home and un-subscribed from the group.
Thu, July 15, 2004 | link
Paynes Grey Watercolor Sky
Saturday, walking home from Greenberry's, there was the kind of wet
watercolor sky you can made by adding burnt sienna and ultramarine blue (or using Payne's grey) and dipping a brush loaded
with some of this mix onto a sopping wet piece of strong 300 lb watercolor paper and letting it feather out. The sky was softly
grumbling to itself. Leaves fluttered lightly. As I was approaching my house the first drops began to descend and I started
to jog. Sound-smell-sight-surround art.
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