Michael S. Parkes

Here is a painting from yesterday, a study of the old stairs along Main in Peaceful Valley. I started it over my lunch break and then stopped back by after work to complete.

I am writing more in my journals than here any more (although not writing that much really, just notes of each day’s thoughts). Much more spontaneous writing by hand than here… online I am always self-editing a little as some subject matter is just too sensitive to put out there into the digital landfill. 

I don’t see any point to continuing to fill this blog with my rantings. I think it served its purpose.

I have been painting on cardboard lately, (as way to loosen up mainly). Any material that requires effort to prepare always has this value thing going on that hinders you from playing. When the support is worth ZIP, then you have nothing to lose. I have a group of 4 of these from yesterday, and this one I liked the best. I like the way the texture (ridges) in the material resists your efforts to control the painting.

I want to keep these going as an affordable option to more traditional materials…

A painting this morning on W Bradshaw, on rag paper. I haven’t been able to cut up any more hardboard so am using whatever I can find laying around to paint on. I have been using corrugated cardboard which I like, as it wants to impost its own texture. Again, I keep falling behind thought on keeping the sites updated with new work. Part of me would like to abandon this web path, as it is more hassle than I can keep up with.

I think these morning studies are helping me. I would like nothing more than to just stare into these forests forever. Maybe Joy is right, it is all nothing more than therapy. Sounds good to me, I could use all I can get.

Here is the second state of this Monroe etching. I cut out some of the foreground and sky, focusing on the more interesting parts of the plate. I hope to print a small edition of this state if there is some interest in the image. I really feel it to be the best etching I have ever done to date, at least as regards pure line (with no drypoint). I plan on this plate being one of the etchings from a bound set I want to put together. Bound sets were very popular through the 1800’s-early 1900’s. D. Y. Cameron did several sets. Typically they would be a smallish number of etchings (say 15-20) matted in some way and bound loosely in a leather bound, very nice, handmade portfolio. I would love to put something like that together.

Painting was not good this morning. I drove out early intending to head back to W Bradshaw and do another morning study… only to be distracted by the morning sky on the way there, and I pulled off to work on a view across some fields. But it was a horrid affair, a total meaning-making mess, too much in the scene, too many elements, too much painting and not enough feeling. I have to stay in the trees, or in some setting for which the scene has disintegrated. And is alive through its chaos, rather than order. This is important.

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Painted at Peaceful Valley at lunch, a view looking into the trees towards the river at the north end of the road. 8″ x 10″, acrylic on corrugated cardboard.

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The Lord seeks to set those free who desire peace and truth. He LOVES to succor those who are hungry for change, love, peace, the good earth.

He delievers men from themselves. And places us apart, away, seated in heaven perhaps.

I cannot describe this way in words that man’s wisdom teaches. This way is apart from words, apart from thought itself. This is the spirit of life which defies understanding and conclusion.

This way is wind, it is not of this world, it is love.

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I see so many running about, seemingly desperate to arrive at answers. It is like, we will believe ANYTHING if it will simply provide us the needed numbing agent to still our thoughts.

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I do not like the way doctrines live in words. I am suspicious of that. Words are cheap, meanings change, and ultimately it is the meanings we are trusting in, not the words. If we truly want to be set free as Christ stated in John 6, then we must depart from all doctrines and trust the Spirit alone.

But we remember a lot, we make sure our little conceptions of faith are properly enthroned in our minds. Therein never to be questioned again. But questions show forth a true life, as oppossed to an idle faith which is assumed to be real and true.

Seek God apart from all words, apart from all systems. Trust in the Spirit of life to guide you, in the very real touch and presence of nature, breezes and the whispering fragments of scripture (that lives apart from the law). When we bare our soul in doubt and unbelief, yet all the while trusting ultimately in the goodness and mercy of God, we are delivered of our meanings and can be made free as He would have us free.

I needed to get out at lunch today and paint, but I have run out of hardboard cut to size, so I painted on a file folder I had with me. A view at the little park past Peaceful valley. I liked the paper surface, I should try more works on paper like this. (pic later)

We are seeking escape from the lines and lanes that hold us in chains. The paintings are simply a tool in that journey, they are not product-making pursuits (although we do sort of end up with these relics, and putting them up for sale makes sense). But the real work is freedom I believe. That is the glory of art, the prize, the crown of creation - that a man or woman, thus inspired, discover the freedom hidden in life, and they become free, forever free, of the dictates and meanings of man. This freedom is beyond compare… so few find it, for it requires the utmost attention upon the mists, and the faint voices from heaven. But always there, always ready, always soothing. This place, which can not be placed into words which man’s reasoning can grasp, is a secret place (a white stone with a new name written, which no man knows except he that receives it).

The journey is really not about art at all. Art is the aftermath, the wreckage of the journey, but it is not the journey. This is where artists err today, we think we are “artists” like we are here to make magnificent creations. We are here for no such reason (that is a meaning of man). What we are here for is to DO THE WORK and MAKE THE JOURNEY that we might then in turn heal our community. An artist is really nothing more than a medicine man, a witch doctor, a healer. Maybe. In any case, the work is not anything we thought it was.

There is a cohesive articulation which awaits, shrouding everything in the mists. I have given up on meaning, on ways that make sense, on the practicalities of providence. I have abandoned every guarded purpose and am adrift in the feathering dawn.

Art has nothing to do with plastering pictures on walls. This is its most vulgar meaning (fit only for mass consumption). The true work is spirit, it is sighings and tears. It is the discovery and exploration of heaven, of the mind of the eternal God, it is salvation and resurrection. These paths are discovered as you proceed, never beforehand. This is the “sword hich turns every which way” to block access back to the tree of life (innocence). It is the aging mind of man in its determination to hold to race beliefs which chart our destinies. We are the prisoners of our own conclusions, the wayward lost sheep of a million and one truths.

And we are forgetting that we made our understandings… we are losing our grip on creation.

My expressions are the desperate attempt of one man to awaken the dead, and prepare us for resurrection. We are in the midst of transformation. Art is simply a tool to help turn our hearts AWAY from the machine mind and towards the heart of the Mother of our soul.

This is the part that baffles me however… I am at the mercy of the other one, my viewer, this person whom I do not know. They bring all meanings to bear, and my weakness is unable to stand under such steel-eyed demand for perfection. A painter then realizes that they are indeed forever apart, and while this at first may strike fear into your soul (in that you become aware that you will never cross the chasm into another’s heart, not really…) you are rewarded with your patience and forbearance by being comforted and ministered to by the Lord, and it is is this comfort (the Holy Spirit I am guessing), which attends to your awareness, and you realize…

You are in heaven.

Then again, it is only paint. They mean nothing more than that. Perhaps. One thing is certain, without the work, and the effort to find the Lord, we are forever imprisoned by the meanings of man. Art is here to guide us, give us a clue, provide some little inkling of transcendance, and minister if need be.

Another study this morning on W Bradshaw. Will post a pic later.

Its a good feeling to understand the boat you’re in. For a painter, this is all we really need. Is understanding of who we are, and how I respond to my world, to life and people and art is simply an expression of this personality. Art should show forth personality, otherwise it is a lifeless construct. There is hard work here, to get to a place where you can feel with authentic awareness, and become closer to your creation. When an artist completely identifies with the work I think it begins to have some little spark.

I painted at lunch today… in the residential part as you head West on Riverside from downtown. Something about these little homes really struck me today. This low flat with the well-manicured shrubs made it all feel somehow other-worldly, ethereal… from a future time I think.

I have never really embraced this kind of suburban painting, but as this seems to be where so many of us live, it probably behooves me to spend a lot of time in these neighboroods. We who live amidst the machines wonder where the images are that reflect back ourselves.

Another study this morning around 6 on West Bradshaw, looking into the trees. I am enjoying these studies more and more, I like boxing myself into one place and mine it for whatever you can. (Pic later)

I come to see how innocence can never be judged. If a human being works in innocence and sincerity, then they are of all men most to be envied. Innocence is precious gold, sincerity is like fine silver. Mercy is sapphires, compassion and tenderness are diamonds and rubies. These are the true riches, and all of life comes from these fountains.

I have been thinking that art has abandoned its role in guidance. We are suppossed to be providing images that help guide man, not help make money! But there are precious few any more that understand ANY view of life apart from the crass success of finances. This is why, as much as I have longed to be able to paint full time, I am also aware of the many traps that wait for such a one, traps of styles and predictability, so that you end up WORSE than before, filling your time creating that which finds applause. Meanwhile, that sad little song you used to hear goes bye-bye.

“‘Therefore take away the talent from him, and give it to the one who has the ten talents.” -Matthew 25:28

What you create in obedience to the Spirit could be the precious fruit of the earth. These are expressions born of above, created in innocence, ie PRE-FALLEN man purity! This is why art carries a healing potential… for it lives outside of sin and law. These expressions should be healing us of law.

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Staying innocent and tender is crucial. A lot of forces bearing down on us today to harden our hearts and adopt an attitude. You have to remian childlike to enter the kingdom of God. Adults don’t get in I don’t think. Only children, innocent ones who never learned how to be succesful and strong, before the deadness of memories and tactical goal setting kills them, only these little ones gain admittance. The rest of us go through life complaining, and never wake up. For God’s sake, wake up. Your life now is the image from which eternity is cast.

Don’t underestimate the significance of your daily efforts to cultivate innocence!

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When I occasionally make the mistake of looking out over the expressions of man today, I don’t feel much heart. Maybe its just me, maybe there is and I just don’t see it. But for whatever reason, my sense is that 99.9999999999% of expression today is pure calculation, devoid of life and spirit, nothing more than jewels and cosmetics applied to a rotting corpse. We are being pulled by the promise of attainment, we are BLIND FOOLS if we think to arrange and articulate our lives purely on the basis of our mind.

Wake up… start LISTENING people, or you will be carried away with the error of the wicked.

And what is the error of the wicked? They are righ in their own eyes.

God help us all.

Keep working, every day is another stone removed from the prison walls. Every touch brings the old age one step closer to entombment. And one step closer to love, purity and pleasures eternal.

Your work will be rewarded in this life, and in the life to come with that life that is lasting for it is founded in Spirit.

9″ x 9″, acrylic on masonite, painted on location 6-22-09, a view on West Bradshaw road, Spangle, WA.

I went back to W Bradshaw this morning, I was in the mood to paint again after flailing about with etchings for the most part over the last week or so. I like painting first thing in the day, when your senses and feelings are fresh. Then perhaps later fall back on more mechanical processes like etching.

I learn about life through painting. The paintings have to be the way they are, and I grow weary feeling like I have to somehow justify their unfinished, sketchy, rough qualities. The only way to ultimately rid yourself of such judgmentalism is to make sure you garner little affirmation, all the while being baptized with an extremely strong desire to do nothing but paint…

That will burn the dross out of you.

But actually its a lot of fun, don’t get me wrong. But a lot of the fun is in wrestling with tough questions, whch at times appear to crush the life out of you, only to gain a new perspective, or learn something about existence you hadn’t considered. How is it we stopped wondering, asking questions? Too many dreams turned out to be illusions and so we gave up completely? I don’t get it. 

Asking the hardest questions reveals true faith.

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Let your sensitivity (to this air) begin to flow effortlessly out of your heart and onto paper or canvas. Let that sentiment begin to DIRECT your hand, stop letting your MIND control your heart. Your heart is calling you to ways that you may be afraid of. Your life begins and ends upon your heading and listening to that voice with all due respect. Maybe these ways make no sense, maybe they go counter to all of your ”common-sense” directives. So what?

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Everything points to God (if there is such a thing or entity) to be present with us. The air seems to me the perfect home for such a being. Enveloping and filling us, covering and filling all of life. This is why I think we always look “up” when addressing God. Why? Because there appears to be a lot of air up there.

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Artists chase art. A painter chases continuance.

9″ x 9″, acrylic on hardboard. Painted on location 6-22-09. Click image for details.

I am going to try to get back into the swing of keeping my blog updated daily. I admit, lately I have had misgivings about continuing to write here, and have been going back to my bound journals. And while I suppose there are some things I will never say in this medium, a private journal allows one to spell out every little nasty tidbit. 

I liked this painting. While it has some value issues, I felt it captured the essence of the feeling this morning. I think I have been so critical of myself since that public show, I have had trouble regaining my bearings (as regards one’s own confidence). It is so easy, so very easy for a painter (and I want to get back to using this term “painter” to describe our efforts, and not “art” or “artist”. Art is a dead word as far as I can tell, it is a landfill, a no man’s land of systems and sciences beyond compare. So maybe stick with “painter” or “etcher” or some such descriptive term and avoid the relic.) to forget why they began to begin with. Why you set foot on a road with no signs and no maps, a land of uncharted vastness, and the exposing of prisons and chains. You forget because these lands and sentiments are your private declaration, without any real connection into this land of forget-me-nots.

The etching work is going well I think, I think I will print up more of the “Monroe bridge” etching tonight. I would love to be in a position where the times between painting would be amply filled with printmaking.

Montor bridge study, etching on kitikata paper. Trial proof, approx 8.5 in. x 6.75 in. image size.

I was able to finally pull a print from this new etching I am working on, a view from Grover field area of Peaceful Valley. I needled the plate over the course of two days, working in the mirror so that everything is right reading in the print (important for landmarks and such).

I think I am going to cut this plate down somewhat, much of the foreground is meaningless. I hope to bring this plate along as pure etched line if possible (no drypoint).

I am intrigued by this plate. This opens up a lot to discover that I have ignored for so long.

Does art somehow heal us of our thoughts and conclusions? As we gaze into surfaces, and begin to see the lines and lore of the expressions, are we then being healed ever so slightly, taught how to see, and how to forget? This would be wonderful news for us all. Seeking always the ways of peace, of sylvan motionless nights, we enter oblivios, the birth of uncertain dreams.

“Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother…” - Gen 2:24

Pause often, and reflect on the thoughts and patterns in your thinking. There are clues sprinkled throughout our day, and a wise man begins to notice these things. Out of notice comes understanding, and from understanding comes peace.

Unfortunately, I understand nothing, so I am at a bit of a disadvantage, but I keep hoping against hope that something will change. Peace is ellusive for me, but then I am just starting to notice what I need to.

Somehow, something, someone… tries to teach. But I hear so little, the only time I hear anything is when I paint or draw. Hard to seperate out what is truly “life” in these moments when you hear - and you know you hear - from the dreaded catacombs of religious, Christian thinking. God help us all come out of these dead systems, that we might emjoy the earth again, and one another, finally, finally, finally and forever free of the dreaded meanings.

Just say no to belief systems.

I am a puzzle to myself, I still drift in and out of my old ways of faith, and yet even in the midst of moments when you know you are light years beyond the pale of Christianity, you still hear this voice, so simple.

And this voice is our heart, it is the woman within, it is the fragrance of mystery and mistings, it is deliciously,

devilish.