Oyster River
"Oyster River" 8"x16" oil on canvas © 2000 Brian Kliewer
This painting came about in a rather unusual way. It's an extremely personal painting but it was something I simply had to do. At first glance it appears to be a very natural scene. My father died a few months before I painted it. About a year and a half prior we shared a life or death scare...our second one. Some of the memories that went into this painting actually go back to my childhood as well.
A word of caution...some of you may find the following "offensive." I'm sorry if you do but you can't know what's behind the painting without an explanation of these events.
When I was about 10 years old I saw something that scared the life out of me. It looked like something from a horror film. My father had "bad veins" in his legs and one day, one of them popped. I remember looking out toward the bathroom and seeing a large stream of blood crossing the floor. I screamed to my mother that she'd better get out there fast. He was fine in the end but it was just so scary.
Fast forward to 1998...
I got a call from my father one morning. He was living in the apartment below us at the time. He told me to come down quickly because he had an emergency. When I entered the hallway, I saw a trail of bloody footprints leading to his apartment. When I got in, I found him sitting at his kitchen table in a very large pool of blood. It measured at least 4-5 feet in diameter...and there was another one just as big on his bedroom floor. It looked like a double murder scene. I couldn't believe that he hadn't passed out, as he looked so pale and weak. I called 911 and my brother. When the paramedics arrived, even they were taken aback ...which is a scary thought itself, considering the things they see on a regular basis. One of the paramedics asked if I could lay down some newspapers so they could walk around and better tend to him.
They took dad to the hospital and my brother went along while I stayed behind to clean up the mess. I remember using five full sized bath towels and as many old newspapers/paper towels I could find to soak up the blood. After I got most of it up and disposed of, I mopped the floor. What got me about this was after mopping it all up, I kept seeing blood seep back up through the floor boards. This happened three or four times before it finally stopped. I described all of this to the doctor and he said that it can sometimes look like more blood than it actually is as "it can spread across the floor like a spilled cup of coffee. This is especially true when it's thin." The only problem with his description is that it wasn't "thin" at all....it was thick! The blood that seeped up through the boards was thin as it had mixed with the mop water. But those pools that I had soaked up with the towels, etc., were nowhere near being "thin."
After things settled down and dad got back home later that day, I had to go for a long drive to get some fresh air. I was feeling sick to my stomach from it all.
A few months after dad died, I came upon the scene in the painting and took several pictures. The river is on the Thomaston/Warren line here in Maine. In the actual scene, the trees and river weren't nearly this dark. As I was painting this, I realized I was using a very deep red for the underpainting of the reflection and forest. I never did try to go lighter or hide the "red." I was subconsciously painting my father's blood. The reflection you see in the river became a metaphor. It's his blood seeping up through those boards and spreading out across his floor. I had to get it out somehow, though none of this was planned...it just happened. In the end, the painting became a tribute to him.
On yesterday's post, one comment was made... "I'm a big believer in painting from life - all the answers are out there...." As you can see, this isn't always true...sometimes the answers are within.
A word of caution...some of you may find the following "offensive." I'm sorry if you do but you can't know what's behind the painting without an explanation of these events.
When I was about 10 years old I saw something that scared the life out of me. It looked like something from a horror film. My father had "bad veins" in his legs and one day, one of them popped. I remember looking out toward the bathroom and seeing a large stream of blood crossing the floor. I screamed to my mother that she'd better get out there fast. He was fine in the end but it was just so scary.
Fast forward to 1998...
I got a call from my father one morning. He was living in the apartment below us at the time. He told me to come down quickly because he had an emergency. When I entered the hallway, I saw a trail of bloody footprints leading to his apartment. When I got in, I found him sitting at his kitchen table in a very large pool of blood. It measured at least 4-5 feet in diameter...and there was another one just as big on his bedroom floor. It looked like a double murder scene. I couldn't believe that he hadn't passed out, as he looked so pale and weak. I called 911 and my brother. When the paramedics arrived, even they were taken aback ...which is a scary thought itself, considering the things they see on a regular basis. One of the paramedics asked if I could lay down some newspapers so they could walk around and better tend to him.
They took dad to the hospital and my brother went along while I stayed behind to clean up the mess. I remember using five full sized bath towels and as many old newspapers/paper towels I could find to soak up the blood. After I got most of it up and disposed of, I mopped the floor. What got me about this was after mopping it all up, I kept seeing blood seep back up through the floor boards. This happened three or four times before it finally stopped. I described all of this to the doctor and he said that it can sometimes look like more blood than it actually is as "it can spread across the floor like a spilled cup of coffee. This is especially true when it's thin." The only problem with his description is that it wasn't "thin" at all....it was thick! The blood that seeped up through the boards was thin as it had mixed with the mop water. But those pools that I had soaked up with the towels, etc., were nowhere near being "thin."
After things settled down and dad got back home later that day, I had to go for a long drive to get some fresh air. I was feeling sick to my stomach from it all.
A few months after dad died, I came upon the scene in the painting and took several pictures. The river is on the Thomaston/Warren line here in Maine. In the actual scene, the trees and river weren't nearly this dark. As I was painting this, I realized I was using a very deep red for the underpainting of the reflection and forest. I never did try to go lighter or hide the "red." I was subconsciously painting my father's blood. The reflection you see in the river became a metaphor. It's his blood seeping up through those boards and spreading out across his floor. I had to get it out somehow, though none of this was planned...it just happened. In the end, the painting became a tribute to him.
On yesterday's post, one comment was made... "I'm a big believer in painting from life - all the answers are out there...." As you can see, this isn't always true...sometimes the answers are within.
2 comments:
Thank you for telling us the personal story behind this painting. It has a melancholy mood and great depth.
Thank you, Carol Lee.
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