Lyle

My son Lyle is a professional photographer. He has a special way of "seeing" that I like to think began in his childhood. When he was young we would play a game that dealt with visiual perception. After breakfast we would decide that on "this" day we would concentrat on seeing everything as if it were new to our eyes. We would look at an object and completely disregard its color or function - in viewing everyday things in this manner you become aware of the infinite possibilities of "seeing" We would look at a piece of the fan shield that hung from the ceiling and make it into a beautiful new pattern. A flattened jar top became a most unusual shape on the parking lot surface. We even "saw" a white car as green through the reflection of a building as it hit the car's surface. Seeing in this way brings a sense of magic to life and we had a feeling of exhileration each time we looked at objects. It was as if we were visiting a new world.

1952

"1952" Oil on Canvas. 26" x 36"

Drooping Wings

  Saffron suffering
  Caught up in time,
  Delaying the ultimatum
  Of drooping wings

Saffron is yellow - like the saffron that you use in cooking. Color portrays emotion. There are certain things that have color about them - for example, for me suffering is yellow. Everyone has their own interpretation of colors and what they mean. However, the statement that I have made in this drawing is more important to me than the color.

Drooping Wings, 1978 Ink on paper, 10" x 14"

Running Chalice

I once attended classes in New Orleans taught by George Dunbar and Bob Helmer. We used models and I went back to the academic. Then when I started painting on my own it was different, very different. However, the classes seemed to help. They enhanced the abstract quality. They gave my paintings more body - why? I don't know. Of course, when you come into contact with other people and other ideas, and see what everyone else is doing, it is good. You broaden your own work.

Running Chalice, 1958. Oil on Canvas. 34" x 54"

Flight
The Inner Wall

Again the silence falls,
Thouoghts pinion
No words,
A subtle knowing
Pierces the inner wall.
Silence falls,
No words,
Pinion thoughts
Pierce the inner wall.

The Inner Wall. 1969. Oil on Canvas, 20" x 26"

Flight, 1971. Oil on canvas, 3' x 7'

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