"Erin & Craig." Acrylic on wood, 36" x 48".

A woman named Erin commissioned this painting as a Christmas present for her and her husband. She invited me into her home and showed me the spot where it would hang. She had a dark windowless corner over her fireplace. I was talking to her for the first time and found her to be sunny, positive and reaching for the sun. So I extrapolated how her and her husband must tower over their two small children, aged 3 and 1. I placed their reaching growing yellow heads against the watery blue sky that is Portland. Erin said she liked the picture. I was glad.

"The Man Behind the Bindi."

Watercolor over ink on paper, 12" x 9".

I call the Third Eye the Bindi.

This is a portrait of my friend Tony, who is blind, but who's third eye is incredibly insightful.

I actually saw it beaming from his forehead.

Wikipedia says: "The area between the eyebrows (where the bindi is placed) is said to be the sixth chakra, ajna, the seat of "concealed wisdom". According to followers of Hinduism, this chakra is the exit point for kundalini energy. The bindi is said to retain energy and strengthen concentration."

Some sources say that in the ancient traditions of India and Nepal, only women can wear the bindi. I bend traditions.

Stephen Spyrit

Stephen Spyrit, Watercolor on paper, 12" x 9". 2010

My good friend Stephen Spyrit died yesterday, November 11, 2010. I met Steve in 1986, when I was adrift and feeling friendless. He welcomed me into his newly opened tavern, called the Stadium Inn, at 20th and West Burnside in Portland, Oregon. He gave me a job there. Stephen and I hosted a rollicking open mike night every Sunday, inviting all of the neighborhood denizens, young and old. We believed everybody deserved their say. It was a successful artistic endeavor, but a financial burden for Steve.

By the time the Stadium Inn closed down in 1988, Stephen had established himself as a poet and organizer in Portland's Underground Music scene. He started an experimental musical group called "Hitting Birth", which amazed and inspired thousands of creative people in Portland, playing for huge crowds in elaborate costumes, playing outrageou instruments like and electrified shopping cart. I believe this was primarily a vehicle for Steve's humanistic poetry.

Stephen was a great humanist. Steve knew and remembered hundreds and hundreds of people. He was politically outspoken, advocating for the common people. HE was almost always strong, positive - and humorous in his extemporaneous orations both on and off the microphone.

Stephen was a yoga teacher, and organic farmer, and a world traveller. He went to India several times in his quest for enlightenment and fellowship.

I did not see him for several years, but we rekindled our friendship in 2005. He encouraged my art way back in 1986, and continued to encourage my efforts for as long as he knew me. I will miss you, Steve.

Marble Flag

I am inspired by poetry: strings of images and symbols. These strings may be used as stepping stones, leading one across a chaotic world into a place of some understanding.

I collect things. I surround myself with fragments of images, art materials and collage parts. My art is a string of thoughts I condense into one single composition.

When I collage I reach for whatever my eye catches, collect and move these pieces around until they please my eye, then glue them and paint them. Later I am often surprised by what the assemblage reveals, as if it is a strange map into the abyss of my emotions.

This piece started as a chunk of tile I found somewhere. It looked like a flag - a white field with blue lines. I restated what I saw.

I have always loved labels on bottles.

Sit Up Kitty.

This is a sticker stuck in a phonebooth in Mumbai, Maharashtra India. Peel it off. Stick in in your journal.

1966

Collage, 10" x 6".

When I was 4, we left Portland for the Arizona desert. We rolled through Southern California at the time of the Sunset Strip Rock and Roll Riots. When we opened the car trunk in Phoenix, all my sister's vinyl records were melted in half. She cried. Music was changing. TV was going from black and white to color.
When we came back to Portland in '67, the world was different. More beautiful. I was different. Within a month I was enrolled at Kennedy Elementary School, where little girls started wearing yellow print dresses with large lavender flowers. Full color consciousness was reaching the blue collar neighborhoods.

(Note the distressed "Phillips 66" gas station sticker in the center of this collage. A proud symbol of a brave new world.)

Change is a Pendulum Which Undoes Itself

Pencil and ink on paper, 9.5" x 7.5".

Sometimes I am afraid to draw.

I draw anyway. My reluctance creates wobbly distortion.

I began this drawing with no plan. A round head and small body. I thought of President Obama, and threw his face in there, surrounded by a broken halo. His body became a reaching hand with crippled feet. The halo became a clock. This president was inaugurated with such high hopes. Time has distorted him, as it distorts us all. The change he promised has changed.

This clock has a pendulum, swinging then negating that swing. This impermanence is the action of our pumping heart, pushing blood out and drawing it back again, the nature of life itself. Creation and destruction.

Sculpin

"Sculpin." Inkpen on paper superimposed over photograph, digitally enhanced, 8" x 14".

Some people call the sculpin an ugly fish. "Ugly" is a judgement thrown by those at things they have no room for. The sculpin asks not for room. She would rather hide, perched on her elbows, in her water. She keeps secrets. When given a rare glimpse of something, as when a fish jumps, it may be difficult to appreciate. Most of the universe's beauty is introverted. Listen carefully. Find the beauty.

My Upcoming Art Exhibition

I am assembling a collection of my pictures for all to see. I would like to invite everyone to come and see these pictures in person, at the school I attended many many years ago: Kennedy Elementary School in Northeast Portland. The school closed in the 1970's and sat vacant for many years. The ghosts ran free.

The building was then rescued from the wrecking ball and transformed into a restaurant and tavern and bed and breakfast and movie theater and live music venue. There are paintings all over the walls and the halls echo with music and children's voices. It is a disarming realm for the serious adult.

This is a great return for me. The idea for this exhibition was inspired by my old friend and fellow Kennedy student Molly Young, and my new friend and fellow Kennedy student Ed Knowles. They devised this event and let me run away with it.

At Kennedy everybody called me Eddie. As a young adult I shortened it to "Ed." Finally, upon reaching middle age, all of my identification and bills are labeled with my legal name, "Maitland Jones." Maitland Jones is more unique and I like it. Ed is my nickname; almost everybody calls me that. "Ed Jones Dream Language" is an unpretentious stripped down version of myself. I am letting the hidden child run free again.

My pictures are a language. As a language, it is a device for exchange between people. My art is a two-way street. It is important for me to hear what people say in response. Then I will respond.

Then this event will pass to the phantom world.

Western Oregon Water Elegy (For Victor).

Acrylic on paper, 12” x 9”.

I met Victor when were 5 or 6 years old. He was like a big brother to me. He punked me on a regular basis. Mom called him “A little snot.” He was full of mischief and I loved it. He amazed me with his deep thoughts.

Then I moved away. The kids in the new neighborhood weren’t like Victor. I became the neighborhood snot over there.

Victor and I found each other again 10 months ago, 42 years after we met. He took me rafting. The years have polished his mind like the river polishes square rocks round. He is white water become calm. Victor loves the water.

I am so glad I found my friend again. So glad.

Thunderbird Over the Columbia

"Thunderbird Over the Columbia." Ink on paper superimposed over photograph, digitally enhanced, 11.5" x 11".

This is the Thunderbird, mythical creature associated with indigenous peoples of the Columbia River plateau. I am emulating their petroglyphs. I have camped many times along the cliffs near submerged Celilo falls, their forgotten Manhattan.

When I was 14, Mom moved us to Hayden Island in the middle of the Columbia River. Lewis and Clark called this Island “Image Canoe”. On the island was a large late 1960's resort hotel called "The Thunderbird". Along the roofline were backlit bands of magenta and blue squares – tacky but beautiful at night. Soon this hotel will meet a wrecking ball.

I am commemorating both of these Columbia River cultures with this picture. I savor relics.

Grasshopper

Ink on paper, digitally colorized. 11" x 14".

An image from late last summer. Where are these little fellers now? Sleeping.

Día de los Muertos

Pencil on paper, 7.5" 11.5".

Fire Flower

Ink on paper superimposed over photograph, digitally enhanced, 10.5" x 9".

Love makes things grow. This is what all my art is about.

People are inherently timid - because we are all so vulnerable. We throw weed killer on the things that burst through the cracks on the sidewalk. But, in a moment of hunger or loneliness, a person may be receptive to something different. This is when a weed becomes a fruit. This is when fear turns to love.

Caterpillar

Ink on paper, superimposed over photograph, digitally enhanced. 11.5" x 4".

Based on a sculpture by Isamu Noguchi, "Even the Catterpillar", 1952.

A Glimpse of Summer

Ink over pencil on paper, 11.5" x 8.5".

Today the battle between color and grey took place in the skies over Portland. It began with a huge tear in the black sky at 5 AM, through which a giant cream moon rolled out. Throughout the rest of the day, the sky was grey, then gold and blue and pink and white then grey then yellow, etc. The blossom bearing fruit trees bursted fluffy, in rows, staring skyward. The people in my taxi rallied when the sunlight was winning out over the clouds. Funny how this feeling is so universal among people.

Ezra Pound

Pencil on paper, 10" x 8.5".

Milk Carton

Acrylic on paper, 7" x 5".

Safeway

I went in looking for breakfast this morning. I found oatmeal but couldn’t find soymilk.

The aisles were full of people working. I braved my social anxiety and asked a petite girl with an inventory gun. She said, “I don’t work here!” in her frightened Slavic accent. I asked a fast-walking guy in a blue poly shirt and tie, but he didn’t work there either. I found no employees except the too-busy baker, butcher and cashier.

The PA system hard-pitched standard groceries, trying to make them sound sexy and more expensive. I had to get out of there! I surrendered to an over-priced pint of cow’s milk.

It wasn’t even 8 AM yet, and Safeway clipped me for 10 bucks. How can I redeem this feeling of being lab-ratted on the third rail of a corporate conveyor belt? I know: I’ll paint the milk carton!

Phantom Beauty

Acrylic over collage on paper, 7" x 5".

Junk Food Molecule

Acrylic on paper, 14" x 11".

At the beginning of each week I make a mammoth shift out of cab driving and into art making. Eating is a distracting necessity, so I ate some fast food today. At my easel, my body was protesting as this entered my bloodstream. Drawing then painting this was cathartic.

Kachinas Flying Among the Saguaros

Watercolor and ink on paper, 11.25" x 8.25.

When I was a little boy, I lived in the Arizona desert. My father worked at a desert resort hotel, and we lived within the compound. I used to wander of into the desert and play by myself. I loved the heat and the roadrunners and the Saguaros. Later I studied the Hopi culture. Hopi art has great resonance.

Little Jerome is a Heavy Sleeper.

Ink & pencil on paper, 8.5" x 11.5"

Some Clowns Will Do Anything for Attention

Pencil and ink on paper, digitally enhanced, 11.5" x 8".

The Rebeginning.

My name is Maitland Jones. My friends call me Ed Jones. Welcome to a collection of my pictures. I am sometimes unable to explain my thoughts with words, so I like to use pictures.

Sometimes I do not know what I am feeling until after I create an image. The picture then speaks to me like a crystal ball.

This is a dream language. Before there were words, there were pictures.