The Song of the South
A brief history of why painting intrigues me.

A native Texan, I have lived in the area from Dallas, Texas eastward to Atlanta my entire life. Leaving Dallas when I was nine years old and moving to Atlanta, (Marietta), the Old South has always had a place in my heart. Living a year in Georgia, then several years in Tennessee, and then back in later years to Texas, I am, in one sense, a product of the South.

The summer days I spent as a child at my Grandparents in Lafayette, Georgia (on my dad’s side) and outside Lafayette near Nobel (on my mothers side) are an integral part of who I am. Working on my Grandfathers farm increased my love for the working man, animals, simple things like tractors and a good shade tree on a hot humid day. I remember the smell of Ivory soap when I washed my hands, in preparation for Grandma’s excellent dinners (noon meal), after hoeing corn all morning, . Those unplanned breaks when a thunderstorm would blow in and we would sit on the huge porch and listen to rain pound the tin roof. I remember walks in the woods at my Grandpa’s on my dads side, whose house was backed by hills and woods and the view from the front door towards the road was that of Sand Mountain. I spent many summer days with my cousins cutting trees with an ax to build a cabin, swimming in the creek down by the spring house and driving those old country roads when I couldn't even see over the steering wheel, while Grandpa sat in the passengers seat acting like he wasn't worried at all, but ready to grab the wheel should the ditch find its way into the middle of the road..

And I remember those walks when a cold wind was blowing and the leaves were beautiful with color; and as they fell and were blown around they seemed to cry out some deep question which was mingled with some unmet desire, some longing beyond my mortal reach. Later having moved to Tennessee, north of Chattanooga, many of the same feelings and emotions accompanied me the years I spent there. The woods of the foothills and forest of the mountains seemed to sing a song to me, and I loved to hear its mysterious voice. The beauty of a creek flowing in the solitude of the Appalachian Mountains, a lonely abandoned farmstead, standing silent by a seldom traveled road, an old man sitting on his porch, cane in hand, remembering the days of his youth when the lady he loved was with him and they laughed many summer nights by the light of a kerosene lamp.

This is the South the I remember, the South that no doubt influences what I paint today. Those years burned into my mind images that I love to this day. Images both happy and sad, images that cry out that we live in a cause-and-effect universe. A universe that at times is benign and pleasant, as those long summer days of my youth; and other times a world that is violent, confusing, and relentless, as day in and day out the young get old, the new house is assaulted by the sun and rain and in time is deserted and falls back to the earth.

Life plays itself out like a young woman, fresh and beautiful as a starlit summer night, but in time she wearies of the cold winter days, and the steps to her porch become a mountain she can climb no more, the birds open their mouths, but she hears no song, and she finally lays in the ground near where the kudzu grows.

These images stir in me many emotions and feelings, most of which find their way to the hopelessness King Solomon talked about in the book of Ecclesiastes. Solomon, one of the wisest men ever, said:

"Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun? One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.

Perhaps this hopelessness is summed up a little clearer in our day with these words: "Whats' the point?" If all seems to be vain in its final outcome, then what is the meaning of life?” What gives us and our day to day existence meaning? And as an artist the question puts on another mask but it was still the same question: “What gives the images I paint meaning?” This question brings me back to that desire for something yet unmet that I mentioned earlier. Its' that same desire C.S. Lewis talked about in his book "Surprised by Joy". It is that longing for an unseen place, something deeper than life itself. I believe it is a desire for that great Cause of the universe, that desire for the Creator of light, the Maker of beauty, Him who is Peace, the desire for God Himself. Him, who fills the human race with meaning and brings true joy to humankind as he enjoys the beauty of His creation.

Therefore, I believe the South was the tool that shaped me as I was spun on the Potter’s wheel. As a result I enjoy painting, as do many artist I have known, the effects of light in the universe. How light colors an object or landscape, how light defines the boundaries for the shadows, and especially the richness of color in the early morning or late evening. And more specifically, how sunlight colors an old rock wall or a horse in a field; the complexities of a window pane partly hidden in shadow and partly revealed in sunlight, for and instant mingling two worlds into and image of the South. An image that seems to continually ask the deep questions of life. Questions that can be answered only by the Creator of the universe; and desires, though stirred by a cool fall breeze carrying brilliantly colored leaves, it is desire that can be filled only by Christ Jesus. There is no peace without Him. He is Truth.

Today I live near Dallas, Texas with my wife of 20 plus years. When I search for subjects to paint, I look for those places of the heart, those of the South (though these days it is more the "southwest"). Perhaps, because I am "trapped" here in the city, I have been forced to look for those "southern" places here, even in the thick of the city. For instance, a couple years ago while working for a large company in downtown Dallas, I spent my lunch breaks walking over the downtown area, always in search for a quiet refuge. One such refuge I found was next to the building I worked in. Built over 100 years ago, it was surrounded by huge elm and magnolia trees. This provided shade for most of the well watered lawn around the building. It was a quiet place to drink coffee and relax. The sun had to work hard to penetrate the canopy of leaves. This created excellent cool shadows against the yellow ochre colored building, as it also did on the bright green lawn and surrounding brick wall. To date I have composed 3 oil paintings from the photos I made of this building. With time not allowing me to paint on the spot, I must paint directly from photos I make. Someday I hope to learn the art of painting out in the open air. Until then, I'll use my photos and continue to attack the canvas with color.

Another unique setting near the city is a painting called “Evening Light and Grace”, which inspired the naming of the Light & Grace Press. It portrays an old water tank (unique to flat country) and barns with a horse and the Dallas skyline in the background. An example to the passing of time, the quietness of yesterday with the business of today. So I reckon that is why I paint; to simply try in my crude way to render the beauty of this cause-and-effect universe, to portray meaning in a meaningless world. And to give additional meaning, usually I sign each painting with a scripture from the Bible. Something to perhaps stir the heart to search for the real things of life, which will only bring you back to the cross of Christ.

Steve Miller
1997

Does it matter what you believe?

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