Walt Pascoe

The Gift

Sky
A late afternoon sky in Litchfield

 

A routine test recently turned up a fairly advanced cancer in my large intestine. And in a matter of weeks I found myself recuperating from surgery to remove 10 inches of same. Shortly thereafer I was also given the unambiguous post-op biopsy report which determined that the cancer was stage III, in my lymph nodes as well, and began to mentally prepare for 6 months of chemo. This all came as a bit of a shock considering that I am in very good health otherwise. Many people with similar cases to mine have had good outcomes though, and I remain very optimistic! But this isn't a post about cancer. So many others suffer from much more difficult cases than mine, including children. And writers far more eloquent than I have illuminated the experience.

Its simply a heartfelt thank you to all the wonderful friends, online and off, who have reached out to help and support me in myriad ways. The virtual torrent of warm wishes and prayers, not to mention the company and logistical help of friends & family who live nearby, have buoyed my spirit immensely. Its reminded me yet again that deep knowledge, true understanding, is embodied knowledge. The power and glory of loving kindness resides in precisely this. When we grasp metaphoric language as not merely a sign, but a fully animate field, active and impactful, then we step into the light. And when I recount a moment in time when I lie in hospital feeling this love pour through me until it literally almost took my breath away... this is a fully tangible gift of the most profound kind. 

With humility and gratitude,

Walt

 

White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint 
of the tips of its wings — five feet apart —
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys of the snow —
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows —
so I thought: 
maybe death isn't darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us —

as soft as feathers —
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light —
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(House of Light)

 

Savage Uncertainties. Fear and Loathing on the Long, Dark, and Lonesome Road Home

Wrestling with a new piece, "The Secret Life of Wind", another 48"x64" graphite on gesso panel. In diptych format. Its been a classic roller-coaster ride emotionally: elation and misery in equal parts.
Still a little taken aback sometime, even after so many years of this, at the angst and self-loathing that can ride up along side you like highwaymen in the night and steal the joy right out of your heart.

In pieces like this I usually lay-in a framework early...bones...upon which I will then flesh out the raw schema of an image. Recently this has come to include using sprayed graphite to create the ghostly silhouettes of saw blade shapes. (The blade is from a large, old two-man saw...ironic, I suppose.) These initial strokes can have all manner of implications for how the work will unfold, and frequently constitute an interesting and appealing image in and of themselves. Like making art in general, this chapter can be as wildly variable emotionally and aesthetically as the larger context in which it is embedded. And all the crazy vicissitudes of my mental state can manifest just as forcefully during this phase; so much so that at times I find it way too easy to get over-invested in how cool it looks, or in some fun constellation of marks and shapes in one corner or another...and can become disconnected from the larger imperative inherent in the quest for resolution and gestalt in the final work. In plain english: I just start getting more and more uptight about fucking it up! A classic conundrum woven through so many aspects of life besides art. You know instinctively that there is someplace that you must go...and that getting there is going to involve letting go of an awful lot of old forms and attachments...chaos and destruction will likely ensue...pain will be felt... 

And so wild marathon days lately, and cold sleepless nights pacing the studio, knowing I've made a bloody mess of things at this point...and just taking comfort in the one thing I know is true: as long as there is breath and movement...if I can just keep putting one foot in front of another...and endure...then time will be my friend in the end.

@Holly59 sent this link for a show at Gagosian of David Smith's work:  http://www.gagosian.com/exhibitions/2010-02-26_david-smith/ 
He's an artist whose work and life has inspired and informed almost everything I've done for the past 30 years...like no other. The galleries website had a quote from him that is timely and apt: 

Sometimes when I start a sculpture, I begin with only a realized part, the rest is travel to be unfolded much in the order of a dream. The conflict for realization is what makes art not its certainty, nor its technique or material.
--David Smith

* The phrase "savage uncertainties" was planted in my mind recently by @MatthewBattles , who used it in the context of this intelligent and moving post: