be filed in darkness,
For the child left behind
Knows no memory of its blood,
But our crumpled severance list,
Now lying in stiffened pools of wax,
It reminds forever.
I rearrange the news clippings
And align your strangled hairbrush
Overgrown with dead split ends,
And set the drained bottle
Beside the ashtray brimming
With your cremations, embossed
With your red kisses, my orchestration
Embalmed with your fallen smoke, I breathe
And once more search the glass we shared
For your fingerprints over mine,
To sense again, any spare element of union
That might speak to me of genesis.
But there is no redemption in these vestiges
No blood to trace amongst these empty shards,
For grief decants only ritual,
And seance only conjures the lost.
-DR
Pocket (LINE DRAWING SERIES) PEN AND INK 141½”x11½”
As Stu in Sam Shepard’s Chicago,Vancouver City Stage, Fall 1973, post pneumonia
Lack of funds, losing the child, and my career obsessions ultimately sank the relationship. I have often looked back with regret, but also with gratitude for the memory of a passion which over the years has frequently been the stimulating force behind a number of paintings.
My subsequent philandering was both a misguided quest to rediscover the romance of that relationship and a vain attempt to forget the unhappiness of its demise. The following years in Vancouver were wild ones.
By the spring of 1973, after performing and rehearsing as many as four different stage productions at once, recording radio plays in the morning, partying at night, plunging into various female oceans, and painting — often on no sleep at all — my health and my work fell apart. I came down with pneumonia.
It seems an obvious revelation, but during a bout of delirium it occurred to me that if I nurtured my physical self, I could work with greater vitality. I decided that I needed a long life in order to produce all the ideas that glowed beneath the surface of my fevered carcass.
Decadent OIL 24”x18” 1977
Old Boxer WATERCOLOR 28”x17” 19f
I rose up from the cold coals of pneumonia a very determined phoenix. Having already set the precedent for the scope of productivity I relished, I set about amending my life by eliminating the parties and at least fifty percent of the oceanic skinny-dipping. I then introduced a vigorous two hour workout that continues as a compulsory daily regimen and an important cornerstone to the focus and energy behind my work.
I was later to add amateur boxing to my list of physical endeavors. I had always abhorred team sports, preferring the one-on-one (and in this case, the toe-to-toe), as a greater personal challenge. I felt a need to grapple with dangerous forces. After some fifty-odd fights, most of them unofficial, I came to the conclusion that my greatest adversary was me. To engage that force did not require the conscious infliction of violence upon others, but a cross-examination of internal objectives. My devil’s advocate, or doppelganger, has been my worst enemy, for he strikes from ambush, desecrating purpose, creativity, and ego.
EGON SCHIELE Squatting Woman 17/100 DRYPOINT 1914
Park Fool WATERCOLOR 17”x13” 1973
Waiting for Oskar OIL 30”x24” 1990
Along with my decision to improve myself physically, I resolved to extend my knowledge of art history and to study specific artists, both past and present.
I developed a strong interest in several areas of 19th and 20th century art, most notably Expressionism and Romanticism; with a proclivity for the Pre-Raphaelites and the Secession group of Austrian artists: Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, and Oskar Kokoschka. I have also admired the contemporary work of Lucian Freud, Frank Auerbach, and the late Francis Bacon.
Emulating the individual styles of painters has never interested me. There are innumerable forces which incline creativity. I suspect the impact of other artists’ work upon my own to be very slight.
My studies have given me to understand that the strongest influences are usually hidden from the artist but I doubt if this is true of myself
II
TO SEA ...
OR NOT TO SEE
Shakespeare
Macbeth OIL 17” x 11”
Othello WATERCOLOR 24”x18” 1974
I N 1974 I MARRIED FRANCINE WURSTER, a vibrantly sensual actress from Chicago. That same year I joined the Stratford Shakespeare Festival in Ontario.
The characters and scenes of Shakespeare’s plays are so richly layered they breach reality. Similarly, many of the lead players at the festival were burdened with top-heavy personalities, usually perched upon a delicate fulcrum of psychological insecurity. Along with the plays, they became the resource material for a new series of paintings.
Artistic director Jean Gascon introduced the longstanding members of the company as “The Stratford Royalty.” The hierarchy was calculated and it served to intimidate newcomers who might rise too swiftly above their stations.
Richard III WATERCOLOR 24”x18” 1975
The tallish juve Stratford Shakespeare Festival, 1974
I remember one star of very short stature (a legendary giant in his own mind) who, upon noting that he was to share the stage with a tallish “juve,” announced in acid sibilants to the director: “Whenever I make an entrance, I want whatssshisssname, the hulking blue-eyed number in the loincloth, to ssstand well to the back!”
And so I did. I retreated into the world of my art and the honeymoon arms of the vivacious Francine.