Brian J. Guttman: "High Speed Afternoon"

HIGH SPEED AFTERNOON

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by Brian J. Guttman

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The Montreal Review, November 2010

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My heart is pounding faster than ever before as I sit here in the passenger seat of a speeding bullet. This huge heap of metal was flying somewhere around the rate of 105 miles per hour, a perfect way to spend a sunny summer afternoon on the back roads. The warmth of the sun beamed on my skin as the constant overwhelming gusts of wind tore through the car. For some unexplainable reason I felt completely comfortable in this death trap I found myself riding in. The seatbelts to this contraption were nonexistent so any accident would most likely be fatal, but this meant nothing to me as I sped around the various curves and hills of the country. With every hill the car took to the air gliding gracefully for a short while until brutally slamming back to earth. Those short seconds spent in flight were the most exhilarating. The time spent in suspension was like walking the thinnest tight rope. That unmistakable realization that you are on the border of pure existence. Your blood pumps through you and your adrenaline kicks in. At that moment all that's running through your head is the gruesome scene of the crash that could ensue next. The time in the air is comparable to a lifetime, pure anticipation as your wait for the reaction that's guaranteed to happen. When the car finally hits and you're bounced out of your seat as you exhale that breath you held in the whole time while you were up in the clouds.

After that everything gains a remarkable beauty as you realize you made it through. The feeling is comparable to some street drugs and most humans are born junkies. The only difference comes in tolerance; most folk are satisfied with small amounts of stimulation. But not me, this high speed endeavor through the country was just another desperate attempt at getting my fix. I longed for something to get my blood running. Those moments where you just say fuck it and let nature take over. It runs through your head that this is as good a night to die as any. And in some fashion that was true, at least in my case so why not take to the road and push the brink of recklessness? I had a natural high and the scenery was breathtaking. The sun reflected off the leaves and gave a glow to everything around, and the sky was filled with low flying clouds that fooled me into thinking the sky was closer than previously perceived. Yes, it was days like these when I saw the world for what it really was. I saw the world for its true simplicity and observed the subtle beauty. It's only when you step back and take a look in on the world that it unravels to you. It was certainly clear now that the world was beautifully pointless, and although there was no reason for me to be here, I was here and in the end that was all I possibly could ask for.

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Illustration: A Miraculous Outcome (2008, oil on linen, 76 x 90 inches) by Bo Bartlett.

A leading force in contemporary American representational painting for the past thirty years, Bo Bartlett was born and raised in Columbus, Georgia. Bartlett's paintings reflect Benjamin West's epic narration, Thomas Eakins' psychological realism, and Winslow Homer's subtle revelations. Combining a historically Baroque sensibility with a powerful contemporary stance, Bartlett alludes to both ancient and current events in an ongoing balance between past and present.

"Life, death, passage, memory, and confrontation coexist easily in his world. Family and friends are the cast of characters that appear in his dreamlike narrative works. Although the scenes are set around his childhood home in Georgia, his island summer home in Maine, his home in Pennsylvania or the surroundings of his studio and residence in Washington state, they represent a deeper, mythical concept of the archetypal, universal home."

--Tom Butler, excerpt from the book Bo Bartlett, Heartland

Bo Bartlett's works can be purchased at Forum Gallery (730 Fifth Avenue, suite 201, New York, NY 10019).

Bartlett's website: www.bobartlett.com

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