It’s been said that like Zen, once you start talking about art…it’s not art anymore. As a Jazz musician, this could also be true about the music…either it swings or it don’t. That being said, and in the interest of making some kind of statement, I’ll weigh in on art without reference to my own. When I discovered painting for myself, {one afternoon at the Frick}, it stemmed from nothing other than an emotional reaction to what at the time was the most beautiful image I’d ever seen. At first glance it robbed me of all words. The picture was one of those late silver grey Corot’s that he painted seemingly at will toward the end of his life. Bordering it was a Whistler Nocturne… painted music. Later, I discovered the work of J.M.W. Turner. Like a Heifitz or Rubenstein, this man woke me up to potentials and possibilities that exist…Not so much about the sound they achieve or the image they render, but as George Inness used to say “the purpose of art is not to instruct or edify, but to awaken an emotion”. Art and music that make that quantum leap in time…pushed forward a hundred years. Painting that speaks only about itself, one mark informs the next, notes flows without concern or thought. Artists like these men when asked to comment on their work might refer to it as “claptrap” or “rummy thing” and dismiss all praise and adulation. Painters such as Ruben’s Rembrandt and Claude, musicians Ellington, Miles and Basie are what I’ll call the pointers of the way…not so much as to what they expressed, but by their integrity and unflinching desire to tell the truth regardless of how harsh the consequences. The late portraits of Rembrandt…broke and destitute, unable to buy only earth tone pigments, takes a long hard look in the mirror, paints the life before him… with each impasto stroke…unafraid to say “Here is all that is left, this is who we are.”
