The loss of a dear friend

I lost a dear, old friend this week in a road traffic accident. An adventurer and man of strong and generous character, Bernard Fison will be dreadfully missed by many. I felt moved to write a poem as a reminder of our travels together. A loss deeply felt.

Bernard

It rained today.
We’d talked
of art trips down to Spain,
the wine we’d drink,
the bread we’d share.
The easels sit anticipating
in the corner now unused.
It rained today.
My world is smaller than before.
What colours we saw
when we sailed north,
hues of blue and green and pink,
in the same sky
at the same time.
Magical!
And all the while
the music played.
The lark ascending
lifted our hearts and spirits.
Singing, as you played
the grand piano,
made grander still
while you were here.
I’ll play the song
just one more time,
and reminisce
the laughter shared.
It rained today.
The clouds are full.
I’ll paint the colours,
and remember.

Coney Island, Van Morrison and Art

This week I received a number of responses to an email I sent to Robert Genn in regard to 'Bonus Creativity'. Robert's compatriots used an old image of mine 'Coney Island' as an illustration of my work. One person who responded with an email, John McLean, particularly stood out for me. With his permission I have included his letter and the subsequent replies below.

Dear Mr Miles,

While perusing the 'clickbacks' of Robert Genn's latest newsletter I was surprised and delighted to come across your painting 'Coney Island' which I recognized as the place where I had spent all of my summer vacations as a child (about eight weeks) for the ten years or so between the early 1940's and the early 1950's. I grew up in Belfast and my grandparents had a summer house at Coney Island. Those were halcyon days of leisure, swimming, fishing, lobstering, and playing cricket on the beach when the tide was out. What fun to have them suddenly brought to mind again! I was back in Northern Ireland a couple of years ago, visiting my sister, and went to Coney Island to see some old friends who now reside there year round. The place hadn't changed much - some more and newer houses but the same quiet, peaceful atmosphere. When did you do this painting? I remember very well the house with the added-on front porch. I have some old photos which I have thought of using as material for watercolors, but haven't gotten round to that yet.

Anyway, thank you for sharing this painting, and I hope I haven't taken up too much of your time with my reminiscences.

John McLean, Trenton, Georgia, USA

Hello John

Many thanks for your kind comments! It's so nice to receive feedback on my work, and wonderful to hear your reminiscences about your halcyon days. My brother lives near that area and I painted that particular picture what must be 5 or 6 years ago when I had only been a professional artist for a year or two. I have moved on somewhat in slightly different directions with my art since then, especially since I came to live in Spain. Although I will be in the area again in 2 weeks time with my next batch of paintings for my representative galleries around Ireland. Maybe I should take a look at the area myself and see if it has changed even more in the last few years. It's interesting to hear your comments about the fishing, swimming and lobstering etc. and it brought to mind a song by another Belfast boy - Van Morrison. Not everyone's cup of tea perhaps, but I do feel a sway towards his music, particularly since leaving the country. Your words made me think of the song's lyrics, and just in case your not aware of the piece I have copied it below so you can read it. It sounds just like your memories. If you don't have a copy of the song, you should try to get yourself one. Then get the paints out John - and start painting that scene with the music as inspiration!

Thanks again John for your time, and good painting.

With kindest regards

TJ

CONEY ISLAND - Van Morrison

Coming down from downpatrick

Stopping off at st. johns point

Out all day birdwatching

And the craic was good

Stopped off at strangford lough

Early in the morning

Drove through shrigley taking pictures

And on to killyleagh

Stopped off for sunday papers at the

Lecale district, just before coney island

On and on, over the hill to ardglass

In the jamjar, autumn sunshine, magnificent

And all shining through

Stop off at ardglass for a couple of jars of

Mussels and some potted herrings in case

We get famished before dinner

On and on, over the hill and the craic is good

Heading towards coney island

I look at the side of your face as the sunlight comes

Streaming through the window in the autumn sunshine

And all the time going to coney island

Im thinking,Wouldnt it be great if it was like this all the time.

Hi TJ,

I enjoyed hearing from you and thank you for sending the lyrics of Coney Island. As I read through it more and more memories came back to me - I guess at my age (73) I'm starting to live more in memories! The list was so inclusive of the part of the country that I knew so well -Downpatrick, St. John's Point with it's horn that blew so dolefully through the summer fogs, Strangford Lough where I raced a small sailboat out of Whiterock for a few years before emigrating in 1960 to North America, Killyleagh where there was a fleet of Lightenings that the locals had built themselves, and of course Ardglass which we walked to for shopping and where I loved to go and watch the herring fleet come in on mornings that were windy and rough. Soooo... many memories that the song elicited. I had not ever heard of Van Morrison so went to the internet and saw that he had made a lot of recordings. I will try to hear some of his music. I looked for a CD that might have 'Coney Island' on it, but so far have been unsuccessful. I'll search more when I have more time.I looked at your website and see that you have a wide variety of paintings; I looked mostly at the landscapes, which is what I tend to paint, and enjoyed all of them, though I especially liked Coney Island. How is living and painting in Spain? And, how is painting for a living? In my case I don't think I would be eating too well if I was depending on my art to support me!! I admire you being able to do that.

After sending yesterday's e-mail I was trying to tidy my "studio" (I don't know how it gets in such a mess so fast!) and in the process came across a copy of a clickback you had sent to Genn regarding a critic's comments on your boat paintings. I think I had kept it because the address was Belfast, and because you obviously were an enthusiastic, confident sailor who was willing to undertake the delivery of other people's vessels. I've been an enthusiastic sailor all my life and though I've done some ocean passages, I've never been in command; I don't think I have the confidence for that. So I admire you for that!

Well I've rambled on enough for now, I guess. Don't you enjoy Genn's newsletter and the opportunities it provides to interact with artists all over the world?

With my best wishes for wonderful paintings,

John.

Plaster-Cast Profanities

Forgive me. It's been two weeks since my last conf...- oh sorry, blog entry. Sometimes I have so many areas to work on at once I find I just get a bit manic and try to cover all bases a little bit every day.

Over the last two weeks I have been working on upwards of thirty new paintings, have completed three poems about my thoughts and experiences, and I have been continuing a series of short stories which I hope to publish sometime in the relatively near future.

Coupled with this I squeezed a morning painting session down by the salt lake with four other artists. I think for me it was important to do this, as I spend so much of my time locked away in my studio. I got such a buzz of having like minded company and for the first time in a long time felt free to paint without restrictions. I completed two paintings during that two hour 'en plein air' session, the first was relatively recognisable if you know the area, while the second was a loose, quite abstract version of the same scene. The lack of restriction for me was liberating and actually fuelled me with more enthusiasm when I got back to the studio. My thanks to Maurice, Ron, John and Mike for the company. We will do it again sometime.

All this done amid the usual daily email queries from galleries, newspapers and the public. To prove I have been busy and not just supping coffee I will let you see one of my latest poems. Your opinions are welcome.

PLASTER-CAST PROFANITIES

Often talked, but last in line,
eaves dropped on deafened ears.
How can we listen with re-turned backs
against the current of lethargy?

Hope against hope is lost

Each day with hesitations on the rise
carbon footprint, blackened earth.
Sun bleached walls leave traced outlines
of shadows sharpened edges cut.

Caustic comments cut deeper still

Alpha male leads from the front.
Shards of momentary madness flicker forth
and cyclic splashes crown the path.
The old have rounded shoulders now.

Contrition is its own reward

Bright colours trumpet times of joy
then fade with lack of sun.
Round holes in squares in rounds again,
in a thousand different ways succinct.

Life’s internal struggle

Pillars brace the frailty felt.
Comments meant to reach on high,
reality is boxed and put away
and bars deny the few a link.

While chained to imperfection

Locked into a fish bowl life,
observations noted down.
Prying out with cushioned force,
left well enough alone, gives all

an elemental peace

The tri-light laws that govern us
reflect a softer seam above.
Mine it well with careful words
lest its gone in emblematic smoke.

A frame on which to hang

Metered moments ticking by, the
click-clip-clock rhythmic beats aloud,
umbrella’d under internal shafts
and netted close, like spiders web

of deceit and incredulity

Pleasing turns of pages beckon.
Strings align and pull together.
Pink overtones lift melodic curves,
all given freely with a sagging love,

a love that knows its bounds

And yet the sadness washes by
while splashed with urban dreadedness.
“Beat the time lordly now boys!”
With processionary pride it takes

a whining, winding path

Baked and desiccated life
awaits the drip, drip, drip effect -
“All hail!” the handbagged letters cry.
“Release our agony!” they plea.

Performance in the key

Spiked enhancement of the truth
impales the lesser class,
table-topped and speared below.
Drawn blood a crimson pool.

Efforts all in vein

Talk of effortless attempts,
waste the best of what is left.
Cost alone prohibits thoughts.
The pressure of old turgid time

rolls on, for all the same

Give a thought as light begins to fade,
a darkness closes fast.
Columns stripe their colours high,
clear indications make the text

an uncomfortable read

Wearily dragged down by banal reports.
Lives drummed into the ground.
Look square, into the oblong light
littered hopes and dreams lay down

plaster-cast profanities

Equilibrium Interrupted

This week I thought I would subject you all to some of my poetry for a change. Hope you like it....

Equilibrium Interrupted

Like a counterweight unbalanced
and distanced from the centre point
Centri - fugued half beats
offset at orchestration’s core

Like helter - skeltered spirals
and descended to hell’s depths itself
Concentric inward circles known
only in memories now finally left

Like the mind’s eye blinded
and dittoed by the mental degradation
Concentrated by watered down thoughts
oft held aloft by knowing looks and loathing

Like dementia laden bovine
and dented cells encased in cotton wool
Countered words are all around
occulted by the flashes of occasional sanity

Like a Saturday morning head
and the graphic recollection reel
Cantankerous in our deploring
obliterated by mass hysteria’s publicists

Like a painting skewed awry
and amputated dreams cut away from hope
Chastising mental illness robs us
opinions split as wide as the mind concerned

Like a prized melon sluiced
and sold by the pounded portion
Charitable notions abounded
onward step the ignorant footed foes

Like all I have endured entombed
and still no sense of final scene played out
Calling out for help is lost
on the breezes sighing breathlessness