Spiritual Realism

I’ve been working toward something in my paintings, something powerful. Until now I’ve dabbled using a variety of approaches, some more successful than others. Overall the paintings I like best have made use of realistic colors and simplified, realistic formal elements. This isn’t about reproducing a perfected scene from nature. This is about taking only those elements that are essential and reproducing them with full attention and power. The colors must be realistic. The formal aspects must be rendered with integrity. But the arrangements and geometries are intentionally simplified, reducing the image to its essence. Extraneous distractions are removed or pushed into mystery. The full range of light and shadow is employed, also in the service of essential truth and mystery. I call this approach “Spiritual Realism” and I believe it sums up my intentions toward painting, writing, and life in general.

I am a Spiritual Realist painter and writer (and for that matter, a cook). That is what I am here to do.

Whether this will matter to anyone is open to debate. Looking around me, I see a world largely rudderless and bereft of spiritual depth. I see people flailing, trying to fill themselves up. Can a simple artist point the way? Does anyone even care? Are we satisfied with our consumerism, our retreat into banality?

Or are we hungry?

I am reminded of Jackson Browne's amazing song "Looking East" and his very succinct way of describing our shared plight:

Looking East

Standing in the ocean with the sun burning low in the west
Like a fire in the cavernous darkness at the heart of the beast
With my beliefs and possessions, stopped at the frontier in my chest
At the edge of my country, my back to the sea, looking east

Where the search for the truth is conducted with a wink and a nod
And where power and position are equated with the grace of God
These times are famine for the soul while for the senses it's a feast
From the edge of my country, as far as you see, looking east

Hunger in the midnight, hunger at the stroke of noon
Hunger in the mansion, hunger in the rented room
Hunger on the TV, hunger on the printed page
And there's a God-sized hunger underneath the laughing and the rage
In the absence of light
And the deepening night
Where I wait for the sun
Looking east

How long have I left my mind to the powers that be?
How long will it take to find the higher power moving in me?

Power in the insect
Power in the sea
Power in the snow falling silently
Power in the blossom
Power in the stone
Power in the song being sung alone
Power in the wheat field
Power in the rain
Power in the sunlight and the hurricane
Power in the silence
Power in the flame
Power in the sound of the lover's name
The power of the sunrise and the power of a prayer released
On the edge of my country, I pray for the ones with the least

Hunger in the midnight, hunger at the stroke of noon
Hunger in the banquet, hunger in the bride and groom
Hunger on the TV, hunger on the printed page
And there's a God-sized hunger underneath the questions of the age
And an absence of light
In the deepening night
Where I wait for the sun
Looking east

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I couldn't put it any better. Thanks again, Jackson, for summing it up.