Mind in Exile

The onslaught of subtle autumn sounding , rendering the natural results .

Hiraeth

A few days of subdued summer , the beginning of September , and you might somehow forgive one for allowing a wistful nostalgia to permeate the mind . The Welsh have a word for it , Hiraeth , which the English can offer only a rough and pale translation - a longing and yearning for home .

Yet another (detail ) from a piece for The Deserters . . .

Somewhere Weatherside

Have nearly completed work for " The Deserters " . Have been working on some new ideas derived from some personal research and speculations from Reformation era living , will possibly post the first completed painting for my next update . I have a few recordings near completion which could beget some distraction , or occupy the premises of my redoubtable list of extensive projects . . .

Flodden Field

If memory serves , Flodden Field was the sight of a tremendous slaughter of valiant , yet overmatched Scots who followed the over -confident James IV to a massacre in Cumbria . This painting has nothing to do with that battle , but the name for me , always held a resonance of heroic failure .

Sooner Than You Think

Sweeping changes on the horizon . The lucid , tidy maps and outlines of how we sometimes envision life will play out . . . another phase or era looking to begin . Ready or not . . .

This sketch is from an old sketchbook from a few years ago . The man was a former cook in Glasgow who had been fired for drinking .

Lead a Quiet Life

The return to lino - cuts is near . Here is a recent painting .

The Sacred Journey

"Each life is not just a journey through time , but a sacred journey ."

F. Buechner

Christopher Andrew Renner

1962 - 2009

The Return

It has been a fluid , prolific season - completing a succession of work for "The Deserters " exhibition . I have neglected the other " fields " - music and printmaking , and I know I must return .

I remember when I was very young , I would rise before my parents and brothers and walk out to a certain space in the pasture behind my father's barn . There was a certain pleasure in knowing that small slice of the world was mine alone to enjoy . Even at that young age there was a sense that the moment must be made the most of , that I would soon be summoned back to the beckoning of that other world .

My Path

"My path has long hours,jolts and pains . My path has peaks and sea-troughs,sand and sky . Mine or thine . "
Edmond Jabes

Terrae Filius

A son of the soil .

Fecundity

In the clouded hours before dawn , contemplation and creative energy always seem the strongest . Silence has it's gifts - an undisturbed fruitfulness .

Teach Us To Number Our Days Aright

Little time for soliloquy . Resisting the tyranny of abandoned notions . Flashes of pencil in notebooks , hastily scripted on backs of envelopes . Prone to wander . . .