Persevere {Rich Gombar}

"Winter Dressing", Gombar, oil, 14"x20"

Persevere is not my favorite word. I think of work with little indication of success. These are new Rich Gombar paintings. Rich paints atmosphere and light with maybe some building thrown in. Rich has been painting in this vein since college, quite a few moons ago. Sometimes I get a painting from Rich and the back has two or three dates on it, often spanning decades. A simple landscape with a barn and it took him twenty years to get it right.

Of my painters, Rich’s simple landscapes are the ones that prompt people to ask me how long did it take him to do that? The thought being that the simplicity of forms in the painting equals its ease of execution. What is harder to detect is the subtle working of the paint, how just the right light quality is rendered without much ado.

Painting like this is like watching a plant grow, without access to trick photography nothing much seems to be happening. Growth in many aspects of our lives is like that, persevere, endure, persevere. Gombar’s paintings mark the great beauty we sometimes glimpse for our efforts.

"Light in August", Gombar, oil,  24"x36"

Wasting time and money

This morning the word was waste. Yuck. I dislike wasting time, money, food, gas, you name it, I don’t like to waste it. Some days driving to the morning walk I think I am wasting gas. Then I get there:

 

This is where I turn around:

This is almost back to the beginning of the trail head:

Most everyday it is just that beautiful. I have a deep and profound gratitude to be able to make that daily trek. Yet without doubt I question my energy commitment to the time and gas it takes to walk the walk. So too, all my adult life, I have questioned my time and energy commitment to art, to community work and to beauty. As you can imagine, Irene has put me right up against the wall  questioning those commitments and choices. And three months out, as difficult as this time is, my answer remains the same, what else is there?

Nearly

This morning I remembered falling in love with Ernie. Liz had a batch of kittens at home. She called, said she was sending her husband over with two kittens and I had to take them both. I was willing to visit with the kitties but I didn’t think I was keeping either of them.

Along came Rusty with the kennel and out of it tumbled a cute black and white kitty. Then out of it sauntered this absolutely cross eyed, bowl legged, smushed faced long haired black and white man/kitty. I believe I might have gasped. He was an instantaneous yes for me. It was also clear to me Liz said take them both because she was sure no-one was ever going to pick that thing.

Liz was quiet on the phone when I said I’d take the cross eyed one. Now here it is nine years later and Ernie is laying on my arm while I type.

Some days I believe Ernie is the most beautiful cat I know. And as much as he has grown into his face, when people first meet Ernie, they might ask me what kind of animal he is, they are genuinely not sure he is a cat. At a glance, he could be mistaken for a skunk or a porcupine, he's so big and hairy he just doesn't look like what we think of as a cat.

Ernest, like some art, teaches me about the uncomfortable feelings evoked by atypical beauty. Beauty can have some teeth to it. And when beauty does have teeth, it is often ineffable, nearly scary.

Art can bring me into unexpected terrains, often by some combination of beauty and values. I don’t always love experiencing the ensuing mixed up feelings but I find myself grateful for the stretch.