Thursday, August 2, 2018

a quiet glorious

There is a simple grandeur in the vision of the United States as represented by the artists—I have this sense these paintings will last as long as the culture and show us beauty there, in the midst of it. These are the first painters of Rhodes and Venice. There is no need to reinvent the wheel upon its inaugural invention.

Do you like salmon?

The interruption of the question underscores the oddity of the current endeavor—what am I doing here, sweating in this city? What is waiting for me at my destination?

There is no uncertainty in these paintings, there is no crisis of modernity. The land is bold, saturated, cracked with the lines of millennia of erosion.

It is a strange mix of intimacy and foreign nature. It feels a lot like faith. 

Do you like salmon?

That question is a first brushstroke sort of question. The first smooth line of gauche upon a canvas. And there is a sort of certainty in it, that matches the big-boned Georgia O’Keefe portraits of big-sky country, but it is a primer, when I have been living so much in the finishing details.

Do you like salmon reminds me that I am still walking very much by faith. I am, in this way, terrified. This whole summer, however, has been nothing else but faith. I can keep walking by faith, the . Keep painting mountains, keep capturing the enchanted jewel tones of the waterfall forest. 

These paintings are acts of faith in a land. An act of love for a new land whose history with the sons and daughters of Rome is still young, but certainly not unhopeful.

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