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Arabic text is a crude shopping list that includes apples, bananas, salt, pepper, cheese, sugar, cake and tea.

"When I first saw the bird tracks I was fascinated by the way a dusting of snow erased evidence of what lay under it, the way time can erase memory and events. The bird tracks seemed like a confirmation of that feeling because the birds themselves had already come and gone. This suggested that a way to paint "time" would be to tell a story* and then erase the story by obscuring it in varying levels of overpainting. Some of the paintings have bird tracks, others do not." WM

*See additional images for underlying text!

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A packaging/crating fee will accompany this piece, in addition to the shipping fee. Please contact gallery for a quote.

The David Minors Story (text for #45 below): And in the bay, low azure waves sweep in rhythmic crescents along the bottom of the wind. Not exactly azure, but something like azure. The sky is different here. It gives off different light, an incandescent warmth that makes the bay and the jungle appear artificial.

And the birds are different here. There is an odd pattern to their flight as they dive, swooping down on motionless bass in shallow water. Not exactly bass, but something like bass. The fish and the birds are different here, almost innocent in their disregard for human presence.

And the air is different here. There is an odd quality of decay touching the air with a vague sense of sadness. Not exactly sadness, but something like sadness, a realization that something has gone wrong in this tropical paradise.

New York, six months later. Drink up, the bartender said raising his glass, here’s to David! It was early evening, but he was drinking with a customer who had met David Minors on a trip to the island. David’s been dead about a year now, the bartender continued. I haven’t been back to the island myself, but I talk to his wife Viola on occasion now that she’s got a phone. She talks on the phone a lot now. The phone kind of took David’s place. But what can you say to a woman whose husband was murdered? Drink up.

On the island Viola saw it differently. It was fear that killed David, Viola said, fear of what he’d seen on the mountain that caused a recurring dream in which David returned to the road where the spirits of the dead walk at night.

A customs official explained death in the islands. There are three types of people here, he said, pointing to a sign above the gate. TOURISTS come and go. People who come and stay are called RESIDENTS. The descendants of slaves, people like David Minors with blood ties to the land, are called BELONGERS.
Of those who die here, the remains of tourists and residents are returned to their original places of ancestry. Belongers are buried along the bay, beneath the coconut palms and the turpentine trees.

Conversation between tourists waiting for the boat to St. Croix.
Thin woman: I sure hope our luggage gets on the plane.
Fat woman: I don’t give a damn about the luggage, I just hope the booze gets on.

#45: "The remains of residents are returned to their place of ancestry. Belongers are buried along the bay beneath the coconut palms and the turpentine trees." The horizontal color fields represent a slatted window blind, illuminated from within.

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This specific piece references several themes from the Hotel Aroma series, as well as cultural contacts from Southeast Asia that persist for Mr. Miller, a narrative painter, from his experience as a medic in the Vietnam War. The overarching reference is his longtime friendship with the writer Rob Pollock during Rob's travels in SE Asia, including his stay at Hotel Aroma in Kathmandu. The hotel is still in existence and photos of these letters can be found on Mr. Miller’s website. 

This particular painting further references certain elements of life in Asia; extreme heat, verdant landscapes, the mysteries of Cao Dai temples, and the frank inexperience of young men who find themselves in parts of the world where they do not know the language nor many of the customs of the region.  The significance here is that venturing unprepared into foreign lands — whether by choice, by national loyalty or by forces outside of one’s control — can breed enormous personal growth, often against one’s will.  The text on the pedestal is the word NEPAL in Hindi:  NEPAL, NEPAL, NEPAL, NEPAL … 

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IN A WESTERN MIRROR is a series of paintings about a forty plus year friendship I’ve had with the artist Roger Shimomura. They are about war, race, censorship, imprisonment, youth, age, practical joking, the importance of art and a bad day on Broadway among other things. Some are experiences we’ve shared and others are Roger’s alone. The Western Mirror title refers to the way we see ourselves as Americans and the way America looks back at us. That reflection has been very different for Roger than for it has been for me. The 18 paintings are titled (L to R, top row first): 1/ The Can Company; 2/ Inverhouse; 3/ Inverhouse #2; 4/ Mirror with a Bamboo Frame; 5/ War Puzzle; 6/ Steam on a Mirror; 7/ The Worst Kabuki in the World; 8/ Gaijin; 9/ Okubi-e with Two Mirrors; 10/ The Worst Kabuki in the World #2; 11/ Okubi-e with Three Mirrors; 12/ Gaijin #2; 13/ View from a Window; 14/ Memory & Censorship; 15/ Memory & Censorship #2; 16/ Composition on a Square; 17/ Reflections of a Friend; 18/ The Can Company #2.

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