Recollections 54 The Art of David Tripp

My new friends at Hideaway Art convinced me to resume my book titled Turvey’s Corner, so here is a story I finished this evening. Thanks for reading.

HANK AND THE BLUE BISON

His heart quickened as Hank gazed across the ranchland at the bison herd gathered beside a stock tank, its derelict windmill towering above. After spending the day hiking Zion National Park in Utah, he decided to leave the park and see what private lands could yield for a plein air painter. He now watched the late afternoon sun rippling across the backs of the behemoths. Slowly they grazed among the tall grasses, some of them ambling down to the water for a drink. Adjusting his easel and quickly sketching the profile of a cow and calf, he splashed water across the broad bodies. Then quickly dipping his brush into the Winsor Violet and Transparent Yellow, he touched with the tip of his brush the new mixture of warm brown, and as the pigment quickly billowed into the water on the paper, Hank tilted the easel just a bit to encourage more movement and watched the color quickly fill the contours of the beasts.

As the bison slowly emerged on the wet surface of the paper, Hank recalled the words of Abstract Expressionist painter Robert Motherwell in a recent interview. The artist had driven his car across France toward Spain, arriving at Alta Mira around sundown just as the guard was closing the gate to the cave with the famous prehistoric paintings inside. Motherwell offered the guard a fistful of paper currency, and with a nod, the employee swung the gate back open and let him inside the cave. Finding the ceiling to be low, Motherwell had to lie on his back on an upraised plateau to gaze up at the wounded bison, lit by a single electric bulb. Finding the presentation disappointing, the artist was suddenly handed a lighted candle by the guard who then turned out the electric light. In the flicker of the candle, Motherwell suddenly noticed the impression of the bison moving, shuddering, and he was filled with an emotion never created by the viewing of the photographs in art history books. Recalling this, Hank looked up at the herd of bison and down at his work of the four he had sketched with renewed fascination. The single watercolor sketch would do for the time being. But tomorrow he would focus on a more primitive composition of a single bison, an iconic figure more in keeping with what Motherwell had experienced.

The following afternoon found Hank in Cedar City. He had read in the Cedar City News of a Spring Fiesta to be held in historic downtown. Artists and craftsmen were assigned spaces in the park to set up and sell their wares. Arriving a few hours early, Hank decided to get out his watercolors and do some experimenting with a “Robert Motherwell Iconic Bison” series of 5 x 7″ watercolors. Within the first hour, he had managed to create three bison in profile with more splashy colors than the day before. Looking over his trio, Hank thought, “Why not a quartet?” Working quickly on number four, he was startled by the voice of a child shouting, “Wow, look at these!” Looking up quickly, Hank didn’t notice his brush loaded with turquoise paint dripping onto the rear end of his latest bison. Oops! The child laughed, and so did Hank. The parents, meanwhile, were looking at the trio. “How much?” the father asked. Looking back at the trio, Hank replied, “Twenty bucks each.” Without hesitation, the dad pulled from his wallet a pair of tens and handed them down to the seated artist. “Take your pick!” was the artist’s enthusiastic response.

After a few more pleasantries, the family went on their way, delighted with their newest acquisition. When Hank looked back at his newest work in progress, he realized the blue paint had already dried enough to set up and couldn’t be removed. “Oh well,” he thought. “We’ll just call this one “Southwest Art”. After it was finished, he liked it so much, he decided to dash out a second one, with a blue butt. He stashed the second one in his backpack and got himself ready for the show.

The Fiesta proved a genuine delight. Large crowds made their way down “artists’ row” and lively conversations ensued. Hank was just as delighted visiting with the other artisans as with the patrons. As the night was winding down, one particular lady returned for a final look at Hank’s bison. “I cannot make up my mind which one to take, they are all so lovely!” Hank soaked up the affirmation. Choosing his latest one from the display, the lady said “I really like the blue on this one. I’ll take it.” Hank was amused and delighted. The “Southwest Art” accident proved to be a success.

As the Fiesta closed and artists began packing up their work, a lady came scurrying down the lane calling out “Where are the buffalo paintings?” The other artists, laughing, pointed at Hank who gladly unpacked his remaining pieces for her to view. Looking carefully at them, she said “My friend bought one that had pretty blue on its hind end. You wouldn’t have another of those, would you? Hank smiled and said, “Well, let me look. There might be another one in my bag.” When he drew out the second blue-butt bison, the woman let out a cheerful shout. “That one is mine!”

The Warhol Corner of Studio Eidolons

One hit requires another, very quickly, or you fast start to lose altitude. . . . So we’re the song factory. We start to think like songwriters, and once you get that habit, it stays with you all your life.

Keith Richards, Life

Factory is as good a name as any. A factory is where you build things. This is where I make or build my work. In my artwork hand painting would take much too long, and anyway that’s not the age we live in. Mechanical means are today, and using them I can get more art to more people. Art should be for everyone.

Andy Warhol, quoted in Factory Made: Warhol and the Sixties, by Steven Watson

Ever the mutable,

Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering,

Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,

Issuing eidólons.

Walt Whitman, “Eidólons”

I like to call my special room Studio Eidolons, inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem. But I also feel a connection when I read Keith Richards’ testimony of cranking out songs, or Warhol’s life in the Factory at 231 East Forty-Seventh Street in New York City, or Walt Whitman composing poems to complete his burgeoning Leaves of Grass.

Before I attended a gallery talk in one of the hotels at D/FW airport years ago, I was cranking out about ten watercolors a year. The gallerist from Arizona challenged the audience, asking “How prolific are you? How many works do you produce in a year?” We had assembled to learn what it takes to be featured in galleries. That day I made a promise to make at least thirty pieces a year. As it turned out, I’ve averaged over a hundred a year since that promise. Currently I am proud to have in my possession ninety framed gallery-worthy watercolors, and one of my resolutions this year is to get them out of my house. I don’t want to allow a large quantity of paintings in my possession to provide an excuse to lag in my production.

Thanks for reading.

Studio Eidolons

Their studios were not the plush carpeted ateliers of successful academic artists, but the spare ascetic quarters of brownstone tenements, the forerunners of today’s manufacturing-loft studios.

Barbara Rose, American Art Since 1900

As the Sunday morning sun floods my Studio Eidolons, I revel in the warmth and splendor of early 2026 stirrings of art in east Texas. Last week thrilled me as I sat among creatives at Hideaway Art League and enjoyed the verbal exchanges. There was a warm dynamic and enthusiasm over the current possibilities of art gatherings in the area. And it was an echo of what I’ve been reading in art history concerning our early twentieth-century stirrings in this culture.

Besides my Wednesday watercolor classes coming up at Gracie Lane (https://www.gracielanecollection.com/art-workshops-arlington-tx), I anticipate with gladness the opportunity of a demo at Palette of Roses Art League in Tyler, Texas February 19, participation in the Annual Dogwood Festival Art Pavilion in Palestine, Texas March 20-21, and a workshop in Paris, Texas April 1.

I still harbor the sentiment of a New Byzantium in East Texas, even though I no longer own The Gallery at Redlands. I’m grateful to have my space in Studio 48 at Gracie Lane Boutique in Arlington, and of course, my own Studio Eidolons here in our home. My intentions in 2026 include strengthening my relationships with the art organizations and galleries in this corner of the state. My “Byzantium” notion was inspired by the Irish poet William Butler Yeats. In response to his poem “Sailing to Byzantium” he once wrote:

I think if I could be given a month of Antiquity and leave to spend it where I chose, I would spend it in Byzantium a little before Justinian opened St. Sophia and closed the Academy of Plato. . . . I think that in early Byzantium, maybe never before or since in recorded history, religious, aesthetic and practical life were one, that architect and artificers spoke to the multitude and few alike. The painter, the mosaic worker, the worker in gold and silver, the illuminator of sacred books, were almost impersonal, almost perhaps without the consciousness of individual design, absorbed in their subject-matter and that the vision of a whole people.

I see our current culture as chaotic and directionless. I am not saying that Art is the answer for today’s woes; I merely say that creatives gathering to share their visions and planning public events to display their works are not hurting anybody. On the contrary, the creatives are merely trying to spread the joy of artful pursuits. I feel that east Texas could contribute to such an environment, and I am proud to join their ranks.

Thanks for reading.

1 Corinthians 9:24-27

Executive Time this morning was different but not wasted. I always enjoy collaging in my journal, then writing out my ideas, then resuming the book I’m reading. This morning was different though. My thoughts excavated, drilling all the way down to my foundations.

I compared my current disposition to the years spent grinding my way through graduate school. What has changed? I’m retired. I no longer sweat under deadlines and potential failures in performance. What has not changed? I am still hard on myself, striving to improve and do my best in my studies and my art. Why? I no longer need to prove myself. I no longer need to do anything. My retirement income will arrive on schedule. No one is demanding anything from me. So why do I push myself so hard in my reading, my writing, my thinking, and my art activity?

I finally arrived at two answers.

1. I owe it to someone. I deeply regret, for the first time, that I can no longer thank my parents or teachers. All of them worked hard and sacrificed to make others better. They gave themselves and gave continually, with not enough thanks from me. And so, every time I push harder, go the extra mile, and strive to do something better, with my mind or my art, I do it because I feel I owe it to them. And I am happy that I spent my career in the teaching profession. I did not choose it. But it seemed to have chosen me when all my other options dried up. I’m grateful it came out that way. I only hope that I gave to my students the way my parents and teachers gave to me.
2. I don’t want to be sidelined. I spent the morning translating 1 Corinthians 9:24-27. The Apostle Paul explained why he was so hard on himself. He did not want to be a “castaway” (King James Version). The Greek word could be translated “unproven,” “rejected,” reprobate,” “base,” “disqualified.”

I thought over my intellectual training, my art, my writing, my music. Now, more than ever, I want to do all of it better. Not for an award, not for a paycheck, but just for the assurance that my parents and teachers did not waste their time on me. And for my own assurance of authenticity. I want to dig deeper into my scholarship. I want to improve my drawing and my painting. I want to write quality material and return to the manuscript of a book I had stopped writing. I want to return to my acoustic guitar, get back my chops, and then write new and better songs.

All these things I wish to pursue, because I feel I owe it to others who made these efforts possible, and because I do not want to be disqualified.

Thanks for reading.

Watercolor. Trinidad, Colorado during ArtFest 2024

During this morning’s Executive Time, memories of downtown Trinidad, Colorado flooded my being. I decided to post my watercolor of the vista I viewed every morning from my booth at the intersection of Main & Convent. That memory will never dim, and the return of it this morning was a lovely gift.

Henry Thoreau in his book Walden quoted the Vedas: “All intelligences awake with the morning.” I acknowledge that my ideas flow with much more vigor during the first morning hours after I awake. And this morning, as I relived the Trinidad mornings with all their sounds, sights and smells, I scribbled out several pages in the journal asking how exactly art arises in the midst of our creative efforts.

The painting above fills me with pride, but it never rose to the level that I had intended. I can look at it now with fresh eyes and see so many details, color selections and specific techniques I could have done much better. And that is true with all my work; no piece has ever reached the level of excellence I had targeted.

As I continued to probe these matters in the journal, I never reached a moment of regret or pessimism. At this stage of my life, I’m grateful that I was given the desire along with the gift to make art. And my criticism never fills me with despair; it just makes me want to achieve a higher level of excellence. And the older I get, the more driven I am to arrive at a theory of what it is that makes something “art”.

The gentle embrace of the morning light whispers it will be alright.

In the Studio

a light that shines in the dark

a light that darkness could not overpower.

John 1:5 (Jerusalem Bible)

The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness did not overcome it.

John 1:5 (Revised Standard Version)

The world’s darkening never reaches

to the light of Being.

Martin Heidegger, “The Thinker as Poet”

As the afternoon winter light fades outside my studio windows, I cannot stop thinking of this morning’s conversation over coffee with my friend Bob Stevens. I am humbled to be considered friends with this amazing man I have known since 1981. Dr. L. Robert Stevens was Regents Professor of English at University of North Texas and was part of the committee that formed the Classic Learning Core. Eventually he would become director of that program. In those days Secretary of Education William Bennett cited the work as “one of four programs in the country leading to renewal in general education.”

In our conversation this morning, Bob expressed his deep-seated concern that our society is “on the cusp of a Dark Age” and wondered if there would be a “Renaissance to follow”. I’m not sure I had anything of value to offer in our conversation, but on the long drive home, and hours spent afterward in the studio, I believe I am ready to address this.

In my seventy-one years, I’m convinced I haven’t endured a climate as dark and troublesome as the one we inhabit today, in our society, right here. As a retired educator, I don’t recall ever witnessing the immaturity of thought and public speech coming from most of our country’s elected officials. I have certainly never heard such hateful discourse.

Two convictions have enabled me to feel there is hope.

1. About 2500 years ago, Anaximander wrote: “Whence things have their origin, there they must also pass away according to necessity.” Everything that comes into being eventually dies. And I am ready for this era of ignorance and hate to die.
2. While darkness lurks outside my realm, I know how to keep the lights on. I am grateful for a quality education, and for many years of life on this planet. I know where to look for quality reading, whom to seek for uplifting conversation, and where to tune in for intelligent and affirming discourse.

As Bob and I continued to visit, we acknowledged that in our history, eras of renaissance and enlightenment followed periods of darkness. It was as though humanity could only endure the trash for so long before turning to solutions to a better environment. Bob and I don’t know if we will live long enough to see that turn, but I believe the next generation will.

On the drive home, I tapped into Youtube and entered “new renaissance.” I found Dr. Adam Walker and listened to him all the way home, posts titled “The New Renaissance is Coming” and “Are We In a Dark Age?” There are many more. I am extremely grateful for that find, and encourage you to tune in if you would like to hear something positive.

Thanks for reading.

“Maxwell House Memories”

Watercolor. 11×14″ framed

What we need is more sense of the wonder of life and less of this business of making a picture.

Robert Henri, The Art Spirit

I could have stayed all day in the company of the Hideaway Art League this afternoon. I have wanted for years the chance to deliver a talk on the artist’s life in the company of creatives, and they extended the invitation. I felt I received much more than I gave. Their questions were genuine and their input has me still reeling hours later back at home. That group has some amazing activities coming up on the calendar, and their residential community is fortunate to have them.

Tomorrow I get to return to Studio Eidolons and push my Route 66 watercolor a little further down the road.

Thanks for reading.

“Colorado Pine” watercolor. Image: 5 x 7″

“Sedona Red Rocks” watercolor. Image: 8 x 10″

Today offers a thrilling day in studio even though I will probably not get around to painting. I will be giving a watercolor demonstration tomorrow afternoon for Hideaway Art League in east Texas. All day yesterday I sorted through paintings done recently but never removed from their stretcher bars. Since I always take new work for display and sale at my events, I decided to mat and frame some of these and am pleased to see how some of them look now.

Today will be given to framing, packing, and loading. I still need to assemble my art tools for the actual demo. While busy in studio, the TV continues to run, mostly Youtube documentaries. I have fallen in love with “Chicago Mad Men” with its history of Leo Burnett and other visionaries that dominated the twentieth century advertising markets. I also run episodes of “Mad Men” since I chose long ago to purchase the entire series. Watching these programs excites me when I see artists working at their drafting tables, seeking to sketch, draw, paint and present their images for advertising.

Thanks for reading.

Imagine today a writer to whom the idea would occur to treat twenty times under different lights the same theme, and who would have the sensation of creating something profound, subtle, powerful, overwhelming, original, startling like the fifty cathedrals or forty water-lily ponds of Monet.

Marcel Proust, quoted in Eric Karpeles, Paintings in Proust

I was always fascinated with the plein air series paintings by Monet and Cezanne, and was recently smitten by this glowing quote from Proust. I respond tonight by posting a few of the twenty-one attempts I made a few years ago in Sedona, Arizona.