Friday, April 28, 2017

For those of you who haven’t yet visited my
virtual gallery, I would like to invite you to see my art.
I do specialize in oil portraiture from my client's photos.
I have a lay-a-way payment plan to meet your needs.
No pressure, Pay as your budget can afford.
If you find yourself interested in honoring a loved one or a memorializing a family member or friend, I will be more than happy to talk to you.
I am easy to work with.

                        Memorial painting of Tonja Gauthier

                I was the Official Portrait Artist for the Sacramento 
                Kings 2002-03 Western Conference  Champions

                                                A Tribute to Vincent

       They are making a film titled loving Vincent. Each frame of the film is a separate painting. I cannot wait to see the finished product.

A number of years back I visited the Cleveland National Museum of Art. And in the basement I found a Van Gogh painting. I stood as close as I was allowed to, and studied the many layers of the painting trying to understand what were his first strokes on the painting, and of course the following brush strokes. 

This painting is a bit unusual for me, only because it incorporates two different styles. I did not take a very good picture as you can tell in the lower left there is a washout.
I call it, 'Old Field Slave.' The man really did exist, I used a picture that was taken in the early days of cameras. I just felt that by doing his portrait in oils, he'd will live on forever.

                                      I call this one 'Cypress Creek'

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Hey folks, I know I promised you I was going to post more poems, but today someone sent me this video, and I feel that I should share it with you as I'm sure you might want to share it with your close friends and loved ones.  Take care...............gil

Between Two Worlds

The world  that a normal person, finds him or herself living from day to day, and that of a writer, who allows their creative side to pull them into the shadowed spaces of his or her mind. The side that is filled with mysteries, and drama that unfolds in millisecond bursts.

Artist captures visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas.

Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale. He withdraws from the chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these sporadic visions.

In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works and reworks the tale, then he re-enters this chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until his imagination has run dry.

Exhausted, he now realizes it is done, it is over, he can do no more.
But he questions himself, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be?  He re-reads it time and time again. 
Will the reader understand what he tried to say?
Will the readers clinch their fist in anger, will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head?

So, what is left when his work is done?  Does he throw it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates?  He is not a salesman.  He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber where he finds comfort, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his soul. 

He’s now hearing voices, and whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, delirium, and reality. Till one day the chamber closes the escape hatch behind him.

No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this darkened chamber echoing on top of his previous cries. 

So be alert my fellow writers, do not let the voices draw you into the abis for no one will understand your babbling script thereafter. 

Saturday, April 8, 2017

I have decided to add my poetry to this blog. I do hope you and your friends enjoy them.
In 1970 I moved to San Pedro, CA to be near my brother Paul.  It was there I found a free-spirited community of musicians, writers, and philosophers. It was amazing to be a part of a community that shared their lives in every manner. Boy, do I miss them.  It was because of them I started writing.  This was my first poem:

 The People of Point Fermin

I live among the giants,
who share their lives,
Their music, and laughter.
They take your troubles and make them their own.
They are the people of the hills,
where the ocean meets the land,
they are the children of the earth,
they are my neighbors.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------         .
My Brother of the Blue                           Picture

My brother Paul was my mentor in the arts, and in so many other ways.
As a child, he made me laugh, as a teen he nurtured my love for the arts, and as a man, he gave me direction.

He and I spent many a day in a small boat sitting off the coast of Newport and San Pedro Harbors.  We talked, we laughed, we had a little wine.  We joyed in our moments of un-regimented freedom.

Those who went fishing with him knew of his fascination with the many colors that made up the ocean hues.  He was at peace out there, sitting over the ocean, listening to the gulls as the water lapped against the bow in the midst of nature's wonders.

I'd give anything to fish with him one more day, or sit in his studio listening to jazz while his imagination flowed to canvas.
Just one more day brother just one more day.

Your brother, with love,


For those of you who wish to see the oil paintings I dedicated to Paul click:
they are called 'Ocean at Twilight,' and  'Morning Tide.' then click on each painting to enlarge.

The Lady Sung the Blues

faces sparkling,
wrinkles smiling,
memories at the ready.

Friends intermingling, while great grandchildren run through the gathering crowd.
Sun streaking through branches, warming joints, and turned up faces seeking the rare appearance of the coastal sun.

The growing color of gray cropped heads blots out the distant green scape as the band arrives one by one.
Blankets spread, picnic baskets, and bottles of wine appear.
Drummer man begins testing his skins, while the Blues Brother look-alike adjusts his mic.
Bass guitar man plugs into his amps then makes a run through his vibrating strings.

memories at the ready.
Wrinkles smiling,
audience’s eyes glowing,
puppy dogs running as great grandchildren do cartwheels on the grass.

Almost ready, drummer warms up with a mixed run of sheepskin sounds.
Baseman vibrates notes that rock nearby windows and flutter our wrinkled foreheads.

A pretty lady arrives on stage and is welcomed by the band like an old lost friend. She sets her music on a stand and adjusts her mic downward.

Anticipation growing, memories at the ready.
Blues Brother laughing, making eyes at the pretty lady.

Puppy dogs running.
Little four-year-old boy in blue striped shirt plays his air guitar in front of baseman who is smiling at the boy’s mimicking accuracy.

Snacks, blankets, and beer,
vibrations fill the air.

It begins _the pretty lady welcomes all.  She announces that we were about to experience a ride back to the sixties, and seventies.

They start _the rhythm of Muddy Waters fills the air.
As pretty lady sings the blues.

Old necks swaying and dancing, hands clapping, as wrinkles smile again.
Eyes connecting with strangers, family, and friends.
Old couples grasping their loved one's hands _remembering when,
as the lady sings the blues.

Before you know it, it is over.
Goodbye hugs and handshakes.
Mamas and Papas gathering their now sleeping children.

Retired professionals, doctors, lawyers and old artisans with memories now awakened begin to leave, _some older, turn their heads downward, walking in tune with their walkers, and canes as their children help them back to parked cars in handicap zones.

Cars back out, but before moving on _ a few of the elder attendees turn their head back to the park to capture one more moment in time, as they gaze upon their dispersing long lost friends, who just shared a ride back to the sixties, and seventies; when the guitar man strummed, and the lady sung the blues.
Till The End of Time

I have left the choking maze of concrete patterns behind me to stand and land's end.

It is here I have found the beating heart of Mother Earth. 
She beckons me at sunset, silently with colors beyond imagination.

The sparkle of the ocean begins its mesmerizing dance that welcomes the sun to come to rest behind her distant edge.

In the sky above are the endless and magical shapes of clouds floating across the golden sky, as the surf continues its rhythmic tones that purifies my mind and soothes my soul.

The distant fog horn beckons to the wayward gulls and guides them home to roost at water's edge.

With my soul now fulfilled and with last light, I reluctantly turn away into the darkness, grateful once again to have witnessed the beauty of Mother Earth, hoping someday to be at peace as my ashes float away with the tide, on their endless journey, till the end of time.

Autumn Leaves

Knowing that the first signs of autumn are at hand, anticipation grows within me.

Soon, leaves of gold, yellow and red will begin their feathered spiral dance as they release themselves to ride the winds of fall.

Leaves that through nature's beauty have given to all mankind a silent gift of cleansing the very air we breathe. Leaves that will now begin to mass themselves below the jagged shadows of barren branches.

They will enhance the soil of the forest floor; lying dormant as their golden warm identities give way to the drab rusty browns and the chill of the winter to come.

The sporadic rains and downpours are soon to follow, giving way to a regal blanket of pure white snow that will absorb all sounds of the valley floor except that of a distant dog or the cawing of a lonely raven. All the other creatures of the forest will shelter quietly in place.

The aroma of burning logs of nearby cabins will add to the ambiance of the woodland and for those seeking its solitude to renew their souls.
Go with your loved ones and enjoy this wonderment that is meant to be appreciated by those who will allow themselves to be still. Go and listen to the silence of this sacred sanctuary that will cleanse away your anxieties, refresh your souls and build memories of moments shared that will last a lifetime.

Go prepare yourselves my friends for the autumn leaves are at hand.
 My Valley

The darkness awakens to a new day over the eastern rim of the valley floor.

The distant highlands sculpted by nature's wind and ancient ice accepts this sun's morning's gift of bright glistening gold crowns along their uppermost edges, as the lower masses blanket themselves in shades of soft blue mist.

Sheared cliffs stand guard as sentries protecting all that lives on the valley floor.  A meadow bounded by an emerald green forest that has given perch to the midnight stars for a million years awaits the first ray of warmth upon its branches where a mountain jay trumpets with joy.

Given this moment of tranquility, my soul returns to its resting place, concealed by time, laid to rest by my brothers of the Miwoks of the Yosemite, my valley for evermore.

It's too late for me to feel the joy of the Rockies one more time.
A place where the silent beauty stands resolutely for all times.
Oh, how I wish that I would have left the suffocation maze below. My spirit has shriveled, my hopes have drained.

How I wish I had as a young man walked the waves of the distant blue mist mountains.
To fulfill my desire just one more time, to sit in the tall winter grass, and watch an eagle soar.
It's too late for me to know the silence of the valleys,
to caress the beauty of a wild mountain Iris, and watch the river wind in sparkled vails.

The mountain nourishes my soul with soft crisp breezes.
I shall feel no regret to be without my fellow man at the moment of my demise.
For if God lives, this is where I'll find him.
He will whisper in my ear 
"Arise and walk, 
arise and see, 
arise and be, 
arise and live."