taiyo la paix

I did my first studies for Kiss in a backwoods cafe in North Carolina, during a lonely and miserable time in my life. A very young woman brought me coffee and coconut cream pie, and asked if I was studying art in school. She said she used to be in school, but that she had to quit when she got pregnant. I told her that I thought it is wonderful that she has a daughter. She seemed to genuinely appreciate that, and told me that my feelings are not shared by the conservative townsmen. I told her that it’s wonderful, and that she shouldn’t let anyone tell her otherwise. Of course, I can’t do a thing for someone like her, but I choose to believe that, nothing we do for love is ever a mistake. In the following weeks, I thought of her often as I painted my ode to love. Perhaps as a reaction to such incidents, when I started painting Kiss, it was really just about the lovers, undeterred by the rain or any of the world’s concerns. I was polarizing the lovers against the rest of the world, and I realize I was being a bit callow. In order to highlight the values that the lovers stood for, I was inadvertently devaluing everyone else in the picture. But as I worked on the painting, I started to see things more roundly. I came to realize that the businessman was not just a faceless suit, but a real person with real feelings. As I tried to render things with care and affection, I started to feel a deeper sympathy for everyone and everything, and as a result, I think it’s a much warmer piece than it started out as. I wanted this piece to have an intensely romantic core framed by a world that was sad and sweet at the same time. At first, I had the lovers framed by a pink umbrella—it worked as an idea, but it looked too distracting. When I painted the umbrella blue, everything was unified. I’ve always found the “Merge” traffic sign to be very sensuous. Above the neon “dolci” sign of the pastry shop, I wanted something quietly heartbreaking. I came up with “Tears of the Mermaid.” I like the idea that no one would ever see her tears.

I guess the image of lovers kissing in the rain is a real Hollywood cliché…I think we feel great pressure to avoid clichés and ridiculously romantic subjects, because we fear that our peers will regard us as weak or naïve if we admit to harboring such fancies. We either avoid clichés altogether, or we diffuse them with a self-conscious irony. But I go all out and shamelessly reveal my fantasies, regardless of how silly they may be. People have commented on my openness and courage. But it isn’t courage—it’s just that, to me, my fantasies are of greater importance than the need to hide them. I have a need to depict my fantasies, to give life to them, and in so doing, if my stupidity or weakness or whatever vulnerability is revealed, I suppose it’s a bit embarrassing, but I can live with that. And I have learned that people really respond to my honesty. I guess it is pretty ridiculous to fancy oneself as a protagonist in an absurdly romantic scene, but I don’t see anything wrong with any person wishing to be in such a scene, and anyone who can recognize that honest desire in oneself will probably respond to my art. Art that is meaningful to me is about real things we honestly feel, not things we should feel.

Uploaded new painting, “She Smells Like a Coconut.” Much as I love what I do (I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t), I sometimes note that a great weakness in most of my art is that, it really isn’t, and never will be, important art. I especially felt so as I embarked on this piece, since it seemed basically to be trite, escapist fluff with, at the most, some sentimentality about the fleeting time and a vague benevolence toward the congregation of humanity. Yet…as I worked on it, I started to think that…if I were to look back on my life and pick out ten or so moments or incidents that are of greatest importance to me, most of them would look like the scene I have painted here. Sure, I’ve had a share of “important” issues and lessons in life, and I value them. But when all’s said and done, it’s moments like this one on the beach, spent together with loved ones, that I treasure more than anything. I’m sure not everyone feels this way. Many people have a far greater commitment to socially or philosophically weighty issues–either because their circumstances compelled them, or perhaps out of innate concern. But I think it’s good for each of us to be honest about what we value, and to try to do something positive with it.

I’ve decided to call the gay couple in the background Billy and Rod. I like them so much that, I hope to have them recurr in other paintings. There are no mean people in the world I depict. It is not a world devoid of suffering–that would be a bit too remote for me to relate to. But it is a world where there is no needless, artificial suffering caused by cruelty and hatred.

Uploaded new painting “All Cats and Dogs Go to Heaven.” I was bereaved when my cat, Bu, was killed by a driver last year. Bu was the nicest fellow ever. He’d been abandoned as a kitten, probably because he suffered from epilepsy. He seemed at death’s door when we found him in 1995, and we nursed him back to life. He grew to be what some may call an under-developed male, and he did not venture out to seek females and fight other males. I soon discovered that Bu was a very special cat. He took in three wild kittens and nursed them, like a mother would. They adored Bu, and they were always together. Bu refused to eat his meals until his kittens were fed. He was uncommonly gentle, but would courageously and effectively defend his kittens against other cats. Bu was my only friend during a very difficult time in my life. And Bu taught me much. I’d had several cats before–they tended to be street-fighters, and never lived long. Conversely, Bu, the gentlest, weakest-looking epileptic who once seemed fated for an early death, ended up living for 14, healthy years full of love. I took this as a very personal lesson–it has left a deep impression on me, and has changed the way I treat people. It seems Bu died instantly; I hope he didn’t suffer. His sweet, tender heart that protects and cares for others will live on inside me, and in the hearts of all who see and recognize it in this painting. And whenever we are kind to others, I like to think that a little bit of Bu will live on.

Again, I have included Malcolm, Staci’s late, beloved goldfish. It’s hard to describe what it feels like to watch someone lose what they love, even if it’s a fish. Christians often read the fish as a symbol of the messiah (because in Greek, “ichthys” (fish) spells out an acronym for “Jesus Christ, God’s Son, Savior.” And by extension, the fish may also represent the resurrection. I’m not religious, but I like the idea that Bu, with his life, taught me about love, and that love can be reborn inside me and others.

Painting is for me a way of doing something about things you can’t do anything about. I can at least sing an ode to loved ones, and to all the beloved moments of life as they are irreversibly lost. It doesn’t have to be painting–I suppose others do it by cooking or picking up the trash. The title is meant to be ironic, wishful, allegorical, pathetic, sacred, funny–all of the above, but mostly tragic.

Uploaded Gotta Gotta Go in the drawings page.

I started doing my drawings in between paintings, sort of as a break–they have no subject matter to speak of, and they were intended to be nothing but pure fun for myself. In some ways, that makes them purer than my paintings in that, they’re art for art’s sake–just pure fun.