THE MORNING AFTER
THE MORNING AFTER (For Nuit)
Original, 2007/ Malibu__ Oil on Canvas_ 36 in. x 48 in.
(SOLD)
Prints Not Available At This Time
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La Nuit ~ (French) Darkness or night. Also the name of one remarkable cat living in the 'Bu. . .
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In many of my works, I view the surface of the canvas as a point in time. When I scribble into the surface (beneath the surface), to me that is another moment of time -- the past. And when I place things "on top of" the canvas, sculpted in 3-D, that too represents a moment of time -- the future. I thought about that quite a bit while working on this painting.
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THE MORNING AFTER (“the morning after the Malibu Fire” of 2007) was started while I was living at the top of Busch Drive in Malibu, California. It was one of those pieces where I just 'got stuck' (I hate when that happens). It's really tough walking away from the work and returning to it - for many reasons, but the main one is this -- the mixed colors can never be exactly duplicated, only approximated, and for a colorist this is a holy catastrophe. But that's where I was when I headed off to New York City in 2007 for a short stay.
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Nuit. Black as night. Filled with light. . .
I watched the News from the City. It was not good. Malibu was on fire. I wondered if my place was still standing. I watched footage of helicopters overhead dumping their payload over the City. I could "smell the fire" and imagined the traffic along Pacific Coast Highway (P.C.H.) And of course, I worried about Nuit and other wild cats in the area. One in particular that had befriended me. She would sit outside my door in the middle of the night howling until I opened the French doors to allow her inside. (Generally speaking, I don't recommend letting in the bobcats. They are wild animals, of course. And yet I had befriended one. . . .) . . … it was entirely my own fault. I left a can of tuna out one night, and I think that that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. She'd cry. I'd let her in. Sometimes I’d fall asleep. When I awoke from her cries, there she was. Other times, she would lie next to me on the bed. I'd rub her back and belly. . . . It was usually at 2 or 3 in the morning, when I had fallen asleep next to the wild thing, she'd wake up and stand by the door, crying to go back out. She'd disappear into the night and several nights would go by. I'd hear nothing from her. I worried about her, but respected her freedom and never tried to force her to be an “indoor cat!” WHERE WAS SHE??
And then she'd reappear, flinging a dead mouse in the air for me to catch. (I didn't). She would toss it in my direction. (It was d-i-s-g-u-s-t-i-n-g). But I knew she wanted me to have it. It was a gift. And when I didn't take it, she'd throw it repeatedly into the air trying to attract my attention and get me interested. (I wasn't). Then she would play with it for a very long time. And soon there wouldn't be much left except for a trail (of guts).
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Fire raged across the t.v. screen. I though of Nuit. And I hoped she had found safe refuge.
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When I returned to Malibu, the house was - remarkably - still standing. Some of the neighbors weren't as lucky. (WHY HADN’T OUR GOVERNMENT LEADERS DONE WHAT NEEDED TO BE DONE TO CLEAR THE DRY BRUSH? ON WHAT HAD THEY SPENT ALL OF OUR TAX DOLLARS?). Devastation in every direction with homes leveled, trees gone, and the earth charred. People were understandably angry.
Many people lost everything.
But over there something caught my eye. It was a small cluster of flowers that grew from the earth. Ahhh, . . … hope. I started to work again on the piece. It became an explosion of fire on the canvas, the yellow and the oranges and reds, but mostly the yellows. But it was quiet all around me and there was no sign of Nuit. This painting was an impression of what it was like here in this place of beauty after everything disappeared and then new growth started to reappear and take the place of the old. (And I waited. And I listened. But I heard nothing.) There is one small cluster of flowers in THE MORNING AFTER that represents life and hope for the land after the fire.
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Night fell. And in the sunlight, The Morning After was finally complete. It was beautiful and deeply meaningful. There is always hope even after the darkness. Those who survive can always start again. Yellow as the fire. Yellow as the sun. I drifted off to sleep alone in the dark in the hills over Malibu. And then in the middle of the night I heard a familiar sound. And I jumped from my bed and ran to the French doors leading out into the garden. I flung the doors wide and she sauntered inside, aloof and casually as if nothing at all had happened. And I lay there awake on my bed with her next to me. And I rubbed her back and her belly.
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* Archival Prints No longer Available *
* Original has found a loving home in a Private Collection in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan *
