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What’s in a Name? A Closer Look at Thea

Fri, 05 Sep 2025 00:26:24 GMT

What Comes First?
Ah, the age-old question: What came first, the title or the painting? For every artist and every piece of art, I'm sure the answer is different. For me, it changes almost every time too, unless I'm working on a series like my "Nocturnes"—a collection of ambient and minimal landscapes.

When I approach a blank canvas, one of two things is usually true. Either I have a crystal-clear idea of what I'm painting, down to the meaning of every element, or I just go with the flow, letting the forces of inspiration do the heavy lifting. The muses never explicitly share their thoughts, so sometimes I'm left to wonder about a painting's meaning myself. Of course, the truth is never so black and white; each painting is a combination of these two scenarios. No matter how well-defined an image is in my mind, once I'm at the easel, the painting takes on a life of its own, and those pesky forces have their fun if they feel the need.

I'm reminded of the quote by Salvador Dalí: "If you understand your painting beforehand, you might as well not paint it." And while I see the merit in this, I also enjoy having a bit of a roadmap, especially for my more elaborate portraits. But once the painting is finished, that’s when the real fun begins: the interpretation. It's not uncommon for me to find new and deeper meaning in my work after the varnish has dried, the frame is on, and it finally hangs under a proper light. It's only then—when the final piece stands miles away from that initial thought or doodle—that it takes its first breath. And it's at this point that some of my works are truly christened. That was exactly the case for my portrait, which I named Thea.

Title: Thea

Available HERE

First Thoughts

I knew many things about this painting before I applied the first brushstrokes. For instance, I knew she would represe nt divinity, a s she'd have a halo of some sort. I also knew she'd be one of my more signature works, with an elongated neck that plays with the idea of the spiritual and worldly natures within all of us. This duality would be expressed more fully through a color scheme rich in greens. Green has a particularly dualistic meaning in classical art: it can represent nature, birth, and even eternal life, but it also symbolizes death, the darker side of nature, and jealousy or envy—think William Shakespeare coining the term "green with envy."

It was only then, as I delved into the process, that the forces threw me an idea: why not make a subtle nod to this duality and the play on beauty and death by adorning our would-be saint with a medallion over her heart? What if it were a gold relief of Medusa's head? Sure, why not? And why not place her head within a multi-petaled flower while you're at it? Okay, okay, muses, I get i t.

Medusa, marble sculpture by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, 1630;

in the Capitoline Museums, Rome.

Thus, a medallion of Medusa emerged over her heart. This, in itself, has symbolic significance, as the heart chakra is c onsidered the bridge between our spiritual and worldly natures. The color associated with this chakra is, wouldn't you know it, green, and it's represented by a multi-petaled lotus flower. Medusa herself is a poignant representation of beauty and ugliness, as well as the transformative power of a victim reclaiming their power—even if it makes them monstrous. In ancient Greece, her head was even used as an amulet to ward off evil and avert malevolent forces. I can’t help but think of the Versace brand and its use of the symbol.

Mother of God

The painting was complete, and it was time to give her a name. I knew she was powerful, a personification of divinity. And that's when the muses gave me the name Thea, from Theia, which literally means "goddess" or "divine." That worked.

As one of the twelve Titans, Theia was the goddess of sight and shimmering light. Along with her brother Hyperion (times were different back then), she gave birth to the sun, the moon, and the dawn—Helios, Selene, and Eos. It was believed that she was the goddess who endowed gold, silver, and gems with their brilliance and value.

In the frieze of the Great Altar of Pergamon (Berlin),

the goddess who fights at Helios' back is conjectured to be Theia

As a side note, and this is my own conjecture, I can’t help but wonder if there isn't a close, if not exact, correlation between Theia and Theotokos. The latter is a combination of the Greek words Theos (god) and tokos (childbirth or one who gives birth) . Thus, Theotokos literally means "the one who gave birth to God," or "the Mother of God." For this reason, it is the official title of the Virgin Mary in Orthodox Christianity.

The exact interpretation of this term in Orthodoxy has been a point of much contention, even leading to a schism in the Church. But I can't help but see the similarity between the mother of the sun and the mother of the Son of God.

There’s much to be said here about the esoteric meaning of the "virgin" birth and the birth of "Christ," but that's a topic for another essay altogether. What I will say is that my initial interest in the Theotokos began decades ago when I immersed myself in learning about Orthodox Iconography, an interest that culminated in my taking an intensive workshop in which I learned how to “write” an icon myself.

My first Icon, taught to me by

the Prosopon School of Iconogrpahy

Meaning from the Void

An icon is meant to be a window unto Heaven, and the first step in creating one is contemplating nothingness. As the blank panel sits empty and ready to accept anything, we ask ourselves, "What do I understand of Nothing?"

As a secular artist, I can’t help but see a parallel and view the blank canvas as a primordial void, the role of the artist being a microcosmic act of creation, bringing order and meaning into being. The act of painting is an act of revelation of the artist’s soul and, in a sense, is the living, breathing manifestation of a spiritual truth.

But this isn't something relegated only to those of us who consider ourselves “artists.” I believe that we are all called to be the creators of our world, to be the architects, to have agency, and to reveal our soul through our own individual means, whether that be in our work, prayer, meditation, hobbies and play, or family and relationships. For some, this revelation might even come by way of resonating and falling in love with works of art, paintings that, for a lack of better words, simply resonate. I can’t help but think this is the viewer's soul recognizing a bit of itself in a work of art, that work being a mirror.

I’ll end with this final thought: while the gods and goddesses of the Greeks might seem like myths a million miles from our modern world, maybe, just maybe, they represent spiritual truths that transcend time and can find meaning in our daily lives if we just take the time to listen.

Little did I know that the title, Thea, had most likely been assigned to the painting well before I applied the first brushstrokes, with the muses gently whispering it in my mind all along.

You can learn more about Thea HERE

A Beautiful Paradox: What Is Haunting Beauty?

Wed, 20 Aug 2025 05:52:31 GMT

And How I Came to Use it to Describe my Art

When A Volkswagen Is My Best Option
With sweat pouring down my forehead I position the canvas, it’s framed in one-inch pine trim boards and leaning against my candy apple green Volkswagen Super Beetle. The hot summer sun bounces off the chrome of that finely designed German auto, casting glares and glints in my eye. I struggle through the 95-degree heat. But it’s not the heat that will get you, it’s the humidity. So they say.

Title: Forgotten to the abyss of time.

Available (I think)

Nonetheless, I line up the artwork as close to center as I can in the viewfinder, stabilized only by my hand. How centered can one make a work of art and how stabilized can one make their hand when shooting with a Polaroid? Not very. Still, I proceed. I click the button, and out ejects a piece of flat plastic. In minutes, it reveals an image—ideally it’ll be as close of a representation of what I was attempting to square in my viewfinder. Did I mention the Super Beetle has a flat black steel spoiler, you know, to keep the car from lifting off the ground at top speeds? I suppose that’s neither here nor there.

The image ejected from that contraption was just one of nearly 60 that day, each capturing a different painting. The total of which, en masse, would represent my "portfolio" for shopping around to galleries for that elusive solo exhibit. This was somewhere around 1997/98, and the details, well, that’s for another time. The point is, the images that appeared on those sheets of Polaroid film that day could hardly be described as “hauntingly beautiful.” Far from it.

Artistic Evolution
As a young artist, “haunting beauty” was not a part of the lexicon I used to describe my artwork. Truth be told, I didn’t have much of a lexicon, period, whether to describe my art or anything else for that matter. Okay, that’s not exactly true, but what is 100% true is that my artwork at the time wasn’t easy to pin down by way of description and aesthetic style. It was in many ways a conglomeration or patchwork of various influences and experimentations.

Not exactly knowing what I was aiming for, I painted from the hip, borrowing from Picasso’s Cubism, Miró’s Surrealism, and Calder’s… mmm, whatever that was. There was even a hint of Francis Bacon lurking in there somewhere, albeit highly disguised by bright, vibrant, almost neon at times, colors.

Title: Also forgotten to the abyss of time.

Not available (I think)

While I thoroughly enjoyed this cacophony of colors and shapes, the binding agent—if there was one—being music, funky, jazz-fueled, bass-driven, saxophone, and drum-tastic music, I had no idea what lay in store for me just a couple short years down the road. I hadn’t yet discovered the Atelier Lack and Bougie Studio, two places where students could still learn the classical techniques of Renaissance masters. Nor had I learned of the likes of Nerdrum and Beksinski or fully learned to appreciate the likes of Munch and Bosch. The fact is, I had much learning to do and a lot of practice and skill to master at the easel. (I’m still in that forever learning phase all these years later.)

Haunting Beauty
Fast forward to today, and in many ways, I believe my artwork continues to elude a clear, cookie-cutter, elevator pitch sort of description. I suppose if asked and an elevator pitch was absolutely necessary, I imagine it could go something like:

“Hey Nick, what do you paint?” Asked So and So.

“Well, So and So,” replied Nick, “I paint hauntingly beautiful and enigmatic portraits th rough a lens of magical realism and equally hauntingly beautiful ethereal nocturnal landscapes. Wanna a business card?”

Title: Thea

Available

Is the example Shakespeare? Not really. And, okay, it probably wouldn’t go down exactly like that, but you get the drift. But here’s the thing, although I now use it often, I didn’t come up with “Hauntingly Beautiful” to describe my artwork. In fact, I didn’t start using that sort of language until a number of years ago, after that term had, for all intents and purposes, been given to me, or rather, assigned to my artwork. It was a term I appropriated from several people over time whom I’d overhear talking about my work or who were explaining their reaction to it, to me. If there was a Google trending word option for all of my conversations over the past several years, as it relates to my work, these two words in conjunction would be the number one results by a landslide.

Being the astute observer I am, it only took several years for me to realize not only that these words were being used regularly with regard to my work but that this was the underlying core element that I so loved about other artists’ work that resonated with me. From Francis Bacon and Odd Nerdrum to more local visionaries, Michael Thomsen and Caitlin Karolczak, they all have a similar aura that could most easily be summed up as hauntingly beautiful.

What is it, Anyway?
What is haunting beauty, anyway? While hard to pinpoint exactly, I tend to align with the notion that it’s the tension created when something aesthetically beautiful is infused with a sense of unease, mystery, or melancholy. It’s art you can't look away from, not just because it's lovely, but because it also makes you feel something deeper and more complex.

In some ways, the “beautiful” part is the hook. It’s the artistic mastery that initially draws the viewer in. It’s the skill, the composition, the color palette, and the meticulous detail that make a work captivating and aesthetically pleasing. It’s the elegant rendering of a portrait or the tranquil light in a nocturnal landscape.

To “haunt” is the subtle, unsettling element that makes a piece unforgettable. It’s the story behind the subject's eyes, the surreal light in a landscape, or the quiet sense of foreboding that hovers in the background. It's not about ghosts or horror; it’s about a feeling of mystery, nostalgia, or a feeling that something is not quite as it seems. This is the lingering emotion.

Title: Nocturne (Night Garden)

Sold

When combined, these two elements create a powerful effect in which a work of art doesn't just decorate a space; it invites a conversation and leaves a lasting impression.

With this understanding, haunting beauty has become more than a descriptor I’ve adopted; it has become an intention, a goal behind each work I create. And rather than comparing myself to other artists who seemingly occupy that realm with ease, my intent is to hopefully join them in that space—to create works that transcend décor and interior design and become almost talismanic, central pieces of one's environment, continually drawing the viewer back for a pause.

It's from this headspace that I curate the Rogue Buddha Gallery as well, inviting artists to exhibit that I believe do this very thing: transcending decoration and in so doing, elevating the human experience.

A Final Thought
I think it’s important to make a caveat with regards to that art which I so proudly photographed against my candy apple green VW Super Beetle all those years back. Do I think that work is less than or somehow not as good as the work I make today? Absolutely not. While completely different and while occupying an entirely different realm of the art world stylistically so to speak, it is far from me to say what is or isn’t meaningful or good. The fact is, once the paint was dry and the work hung for the public, it ceased to be mine. It occupies the minds and in many cases, the homes of those with whom it resonates. And I’m sure that to some, the term haunting beauty may even apply.

And therein lies the beauty of all art: we as individuals get to decide what is good, what is meaningful, and what is hauntingly beautiful. So don’t let the magazines, news articles, auction houses, internet wanna-be-influencers or the critics and historians tell you what you must like or what a work of art must mean. If something resonates with you, spend time with it and see what it reveals to you—about the work itself as well as about your own soul. You are, after all, peering into yourself when you fall in love with a work of art.

NOTE: A number of my more "haunting" works, quite literally, are now on exhibit and available at a new tattoo sho p in Hudson. My dear friends Doug and Josh have recently opened Rivertown Tattoo right on main street. If you’re in Hudson, be sure to pop in!

Dining Among the Quiet

Tue, 12 Aug 2025 20:25:58 GMT

My Weekly Lunch Date with the Dead

It all began about seven years ago. My trusty, weekly afternoon ritual of dining on the go was in a bit of a crisis.

My favorite parking spot, once a haven with a magnificent view of the Minneapolis skyline, had slowly but surely succumbed to nature's relentless creep. Trees and foliage, like an incredibly slow-motion documentary, had gradually devoured the once-stunning panorama.

And it wasn't just nature. The parking lot, despite its generous number of spaces, had become a hot commodity. What was once a quiet escape for me was now a bustling hub for countless others. Finding a decent spot, especially one that still offered a fleeting glimpse of the city, had become a premium. Not to mention, it brought out one of my biggest pet peeves.

When I settle in for the occasional meal in my car, I crave the simple pleasure of having the windows down, letting the glorious summer breeze waft through. Summer in Minneapolis is, after all, a precious, fleeting gift, and basking in that warm air, even when it's 90 degrees, feels like an absolute luxury we should savor and not take for granted.

So there I'd sit, windows down, trying to soak in the last vestiges of the skyline before nature claimed it entirely. And then, the parade of pet peeves would arrive: cars pulling in, presumably for the same reason as I, but with their windows sealed shut, AC on high, and subsequently, the motor, often loud and obtrusive, running. So much for my quiet moment of solitude. And don't even get me started on the music that inevitably bled through their glass cocoons.

I'd often find myself wondering, "where I might be able to go to enjoy some peace and quiet, yet still enjoy the beauty of nature juxtaposed with an urban skyline backdrop?” I desperately needed to ditch these intruders. These folks were clearly not my tribe, seemingly dependent on artificially controlled climates, constantly distracted by music and news radio and unable to tolerate their own thoughts for a single second. (A bit snarky? Maybe! It’s just that that constant buzz of car motors can really get under one’s skin...��)

Gated Community

Then, it hit me! A brilliant idea sparked. I knew of a potentially perfect spot, though I wasn't sure if it would work or if it was even "allowed." But why wouldn't it be? Even if the view wasn't exactly the same, of course I could go; it was open to the public, and it was oh so close. And so, on my last visit to the old parking lot, even before unwrapping my wrap, I turned the car back on, backed out, and said goodbye to the lineup of idling cars. Each was a little micro-environment that had spilled out and, like the shrubbery and trees, slowly overran what once was a perfectly great location to enjoy some peace and quiet, nature, and even the urban city, albeit from a distance.

Not that long after, I found myself entering a gated community. No guards, but a gate nonetheless, with rules and specific open hours. Noted. Instinctively, I turned right and drove respectfully, slowly, up a long hill. At the summit, the road curved right, then offered an option to the left. I turned, and there it was—an expansive and incredible view of the city!

Even better, there was a large tree off to the side of the one-lane road—perfect for shade on hot days and for cutting the sun's glare, allowing me to fully appreciate the vast, green hill cascading before me.

I pulled under the tree, turned off the engine, and... I listened. Moments stretched into long, silent seconds. Nothing. Silence. Beautiful, majestic silence. Except, of course, for a few birds, the rustling of leaves in the surrounding trees, and an occasional plane overhead. But other than that, pure, unadulterated quiet. And the breeze! It swept up over the hill, strong and constant. You could say, I was in heaven.

My Tribe

But truth be told, I wasn't alone. Far from it. I was, in fact, in the midst of a great throng of people—people of every race, color, age, and gender. There had to be at least a few thousand within throwing distance alone. And they, too, were settled into their own private micro-climates, but car engines, talk radio, and teeth-rattling bass weren't going to emanate from their abodes anytime soon. I was, of course, in the middle of a cemetery. And where the living were concerned, I was absolutely alone. Blissfully so. And the ones underground? Well, let's just say I had found my tribe.

I bring this up because the Twin Cities Death Cafe, normally hosted at the Rogue Buddha Gallery on the last Sunday of every month, recently forayed outside of the gallery walls and into a local cemetery a couple Sundays ago. The cemetery walks have become one of my favorite Death Cafe rituals, which take place every summer. As per usual, we met at a designated spot and then dispersed, roaming the grounds either with others or on our lonesome, only to reconvene an hour later to share our thoughts, experiences, and observations for an hour before taking our leave. For me, this is the perfect way to celebrate life, death, community, and summer. And we couldn’t have asked for a better location than Lakewood cemetery in South Minneapolis for that days romp.

The Wisdom of Quiet Places

And so nearly every week I bring a lunch to this particular spot and enjoy a meal under the tree, watching nature and the city move slowly into the future. I’m reminded by my location that the future isn’t a promise; it’s an expectation. And that, as demonstrated by my old location, even the view can’t be depended on forever. Everything has a shelf life, everything, a “must consume by” date.

Where those tall skyscrapers now stand, off in the distance, there once was a building of smaller stature on that plot, and before that building, something else and someone else called it home. And before them, maybe just pure untamed woods and fields visited only by animals and insects. And maybe that’s where it will eventually end up once again, that is, before the next iteration of, well, who knows what, moves in.

As I sit in my car, windows down on these beautifully precious summer days, I'm reminded that we only have so many summers left in each of our lives. I hope to enjoy at least another 50 or so myself. (Optimistic much? You better believe it!) So, it's best to take full advantage of them while they're here, not push them away with air conditioning so me thinks. Hmm, there's a weird metaphor in there somewhere—air conditioning metaphorically being a mechanism to push away thoughts of our mortality, our eventual demise. I'll have to work on that one!

We also only have so much time to think and be with our thoughts, to figure out who we really are or who we want to become. So why push that away with overly constructed pop tunes or equally manufactured news shows? No. For me, silence is truly bliss. This approach has even seeped into my ritual at the easel, but that’s for another time perhaps.

In the End, Live!

I should admit, I'm not at this spot every week. No, I've taken to visiting other abodes of the afterlife for my weekly meal. Most don't have a city view, but what they do offer is just as interesting and beautiful. And all of them, large or small, manicured or dilapidated, each and every one offers a glimpse into the future, a prediction with 100% accuracy. Each whispers the words... "This is your future, so take advantage of your present while you can. Every moment you're not dead, live! To whatever extent and in whatever way you can, find a way, no matter how small, to be alive and live!"

And so it is that I sit for a few moments each week in various cemeteries, sharing a meal with my tribe, sharing time in their home, and enjoying a little slice of Heaven on Earth while I still can.

(To learn more about the Twin Cities Death Cafe at the Rogue Buddha Gallery, CLICK HERE .)

Behind the Curtain: A Look at "Aria"

Tue, 05 Aug 2025 07:18:27 GMT

" All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." These immortal words from Shakespeare's As You Like It feel particularly resonant when contemplating a painting like Aria. The canvas itself is a proscenium, and in it, a lone figure stands poised for her big scene, her moment in the spotlight. She's about to perform her aria.

In the world of opera, an aria is more than just a song. It's a dramatic, emotional soliloquy where a character's deepest thoughts and feelings are laid bare. In this painting, our subject, whose head is tilted with a defiant pride, is about to begin her own. She is the star, the focal point, and yet, she's not quite center stage. She's aligned to the left, and to her right, the luxurious red stage curtain is pulled back just enough to reveal something unexpected: a glimpse of the world beyond the theater's carefully constructed reality. As viewers, we're allowed a glimpse of a truth that lies just beyond her periphery.

It's as if a tear has opened in the very fabric of her stage, a tear that challenges the illusion she inhabits. We're left to wonder: Is she aware of this truth? Does she see the world waiting just outside her periphery, a world far more real than the one she's performing in? Or does she knowingly reject it, clinging to the safety and comfort of her artificial stage?

Her arms clutch a glass egg, and within it, a crow is visible. The symbolism is rich with paradox. The crow, so often a harbinger of death and temporality, is contained within an egg—a powerful symbol of birth, new beginnings, and creation. In breaking this fragile egg, will she unleash death, or a different kind of death—the death of her ego, her artificial self? She holds it protectively, a gesture that seems to defy the world beyond the curtain, perhaps hoping to control it. There is a connection to be made between this crow and the world just beyond the curtain, linking the physical, artificial world with that of the divine and the transcendent.

But crows are not to be trifled with. Known for their devilish intelligence and their long, vengeful memories, they are tricksters and keepers of secrets. The crow within the egg embodies wisdom, mystery, and the potential for profound transformation and rebirth. By holding it so tightly, our protagonist plays a dangerous game and tempts fate. The pressure she applies to protect the egg and control its contents may be the very thing that shatters it, releasing the crow to enact its bitter, never-ending revenge.

This tension brings to mind the powerful sentiment of Thoreau who went to the woods so that when he died, he would not discover that he in fact, had not lived. Is our subject on the verge of this realization? Is her inner despair a reflection of a life lived for the stage and the trivialities of an artificial world wrought with distraction, and not for herself?

And what of the aria she sings? What is the name of the opera that casts her front and center, so desperate to hold onto the glass egg? What is her character's name? If art reveals something of the viewer, then perhaps we might find a part of ourselves at home on that stage, in her place—careful not to drop the glass egg and our own name prominently displayed on the playbill.

A great work of art, I believe, often asks more questions than it answers, even if much is known about the artist's intent. Once the final brushstroke is made, the painting ceases to belong to that artist. It becomes a mirror for the viewer, a canvas for their own stories and interpretations.

My hope is that "Aria" does just that for you. That you see something entirely different from what I, the creator, imagined. What title would you give the song she sings? What is the name of her character? And what do you believe is her ultimate fate? The stage is set, the curtain is pulled back, and her story is yours to write.

A final thought to consider: what about the crown perched atop the crow's head? It's a detail I have my own meaning for, of course, but the canvas is yours now. What story does that crown represent to you?

For more details about "Aria" by Nicholas Harper, Click Here .

Win Some, Lose Some

Thu, 31 Jul 2025 17:36:12 GMT

"He must not like women."

That gem of a comment floated my way at an art fair a few years back, overheard as two ladies analyzed one of my portraits. Their critique? I was "cutting off the women's arms." What they didn't know was that the artist himself was standing mere feet away, silently eavesdropping. Ah, the perks of relative anonymity – getting the unadulterated, unfiltered truth about your work.

When I decided to become a full-time artist, to lay my soul bare on the regular, I didn't fully grasp the amount of thick skin I'd need to cultivate. While my mom absolutely loved my art (as is the case with most mothers and their artistic children), the harsh truth is my art isn't for everyone. And, yikes, some people just plain won't like it.

It's a lesson you learn quickly, and for the most part, you adapt just as fast. So, when that rejection email from the Great Minnesota Get-Together's Fine Arts competition landed in my inbox, it stung, sure, but the bite was quickly shrugged off. The numbers, after all, tell a story: I've got about a one-in-four chance of getting into the MN State Fair arts competition. Over the past 30 years, I've been accepted roughly once every four or five times I submit. And I've only snagged a spot two years in a row a couple of times.

Having been accepted last year, my odds for this year were already slim. This is all the internal monologue I play to suppress that cauldron of boiling rage deep down in my psyche, of course. Really, it's no big deal. You win some, you lose some. Besides, thick skin, remember? ��

The same applies to art fairs. I'll admit, I was a little spoiled, getting accepted into the first three fairs I applied to this year – Edina, Stone Arch, and Wayzata. So when the "no" letter came for the Edina Fall into the Arts Fair this September, it caught me by surprise and definitely stung a bit. Being on the "short list" (in case someone drops out) feels a lot like getting a hard no but still hoping for a drunk dial. Best to just move on and assume it's a no-go.

All this is to say: yeah, thick skin is non-negotiable if you're going to be a professional artist. While you could argue the same for other professions, I genuinely believe the creative fields hit different. They're perhaps a bit more vulnerable.

Sure, the head accountant at a firm might face quarterly reviews or criticism for a mistake. But they'll likely never hear that one of their reports is "derivative or lacks originality." And while a CEO might get an occasional derogatory whisper, they're probably not fielding critiques that their "work lacks emotional impact or soul."

One of my favorite art school critiques from my days at the University of Minnesota came from a professor who loudly declared in front of the whole class that I was "showing off." Why? Because I dared to draw something with a bit of technical proficiency, while he was pushing Drawing Two towards a more postmodern – and dare I say, ugly – aesthetic. Point is, I don't think many bankers, coal miners, or middle managers get accused of "showing off" for attempting to be good at their job.

And don't even get me started on what professions are "essential." But I digress.

While it never doesn't hurt or sting a little to be rejected from a fair or competition, or to hear harsh criticism, it simply comes with the territory of sharing your soul with the world. Just as not every two people are a romantic match, not every soul is a match when it comes to artwork, for any of an infinite number of reasons.

And that's why, when someone does resonate with a painting, finding beauty and connection with it, well, that's an unmeasurable gift. As are the lessons an artist must learn about themselves in dealing with both the wins and the losses. I talk about thick skin, but really, it's more about developing an inner peace, trust, and self-worth, alongside an understanding and wisdom about how souls cross – sometimes connecting, sometimes not.

So, while that State Fair rejection letter might've stung, I know there's always next year. Same goes for the Fall into the Arts fair. And who knows, maybe, just maybe, I'll still get that drunk dial...

P.S. About those "cut-off arms"...

Not that I feel a need to "defend" myself, per se, but for clarification: I paint mostly women because I was raised by my mother and surrounded by five sisters – all incredibly creative and influential. My portraits are painted through a lens of magical realism, distorting the human figure to imbue it with allegorical and metaphorical potential.

The head, representing divinity and spiritual potential, is elevated on an elongated neck. The arms (not cut off, but repositioned) and hands are placed lower in the composition, symbolizing our worldly nature, thus drawn closer to the ground. The idea is that we, as humans, possess both divine and worldly aspects. When seen from a distance, or from outside ourselves, our lives – much like the portrait – while sometimes seemingly chaotic and wrought with internal struggles, are in a weird and perfect balance. It's from this "1000-foot view" that we can gain perspective on our lives, seeing where we want to go and how best to get there.

But that's just my take... Ultimately, what a painting means is fluid. I can tell you my intentions, the symbolism I built in. But once the painting is done, framed, and hung, it belongs to you, the viewer. It's up to you to decide what it means to you, to find your own connection, or even your own critique. And that's a unique part of the artistic journey.

To learn more about the painting I submitted to the MN State Fair Fine Arts Competition, Click HERE

A Haunting Homecoming: When Art and Childhood Collide

Wed, 23 Jul 2025 03:19:50 GMT

Market of the Beast Dark Art Market

The Minneapolis sky was a perfect, crisp blue, a shade my Catholic mother would affectionately call "Mary's Blue." Perfectly pillowed clouds danced in the distance, a serene backdrop to a profoundly nostalgic moment. There I stood, in the heart of the Hollywood Theater – not just any theater, but the historic Hollywood, the legendary Hollywood, the fabled Hollywood. The very same Hollywood that, until recently, had languished in dilapidated silence.

As a child, I spent countless hours here, utterly transfixed by the stories that flickered across its slowly molding screen. Movies like E.T., Raiders of the Lost Ark, Ghostbusters, and Back to the Future weren't just films; they were vibrant pigments that colored my childhood, imbuing it with flavor and magic. Sure, not every cinematic gem was a masterpiece – I’m looking at you, Breakin’ (though I admit, my friends and I did attempt some cardboard backspins the next day, a brief, fleeting homage). Still, in those days, Hollywood held a magic that feels far rarer now.

Decades later, I found myself back in this sacred space, a witness to its glorious rebirth. The theater had endured years of decay, patiently awaiting the love and substantial investment needed to reclaim its former glory. A quick walk through confirmed it: she was back, in all her majesty. No longer primarily a movie house (though they do host screenings occasionally), it’s now a versatile rental venue. And on this particular Sunday, I was participating in one of its new chapters.

It was the day of the Market of the Beast, a dark arts market perfectly suited for my most haunting creations. I call them, collectively, "My October Collection" – a gathering of ghouls, mystics, demonesque figures, and magicians. I'd just finished unloading my pieces, and the two-hour countdown to setup had begun. A quick glance at the other thirty artists’ work confirmed it: my art was right at home.

While the load-in itself is never glamorous, I genuinely love the process of building out my booth. It’s like breathing life into a miniature gallery. My secret weapon? A meticulous layout planned and photographed in my own studio the night before. Today, however, presented a delightful curve ball: a corner spot! My initial design hadn't accounted for this, but it was a fantastic problem to have. More wall space meant more visibility, and I could open up one corner of my 10x10 foot "sacred space" for better foot traffic. Sacred space, you ask? Absolutely. For me, galleries are temples, holy ground where the human soul reveals itself. My booth was no less.

The unexpected corner did demand a quick flip of my design and a bit of rushed rearranging, but with moments to spare, my mission was accomplished. Just enough time to sprint to the local store for snacks before the doors swung open. Returning, I was met with a glorious sight: a sizeable line of dozens of hardcore dark art enthusiasts, practically vibrating with anticipation.

There’s something truly invigorating about seeing a line to get into an art event. This is how it should be! Art, in all its forms – whether an intimate gallery opening, a bustling market, or a grand fair – is one of culture's greatest gifts. It’s where countless hours, days, even months of solitary creation finally meet the public, a moment of profound communication and celebration. So, yes, the anticipation, the desire to be first in line – I applaud it wholeheartedly.

It brings to mind other lines: the immense queue for the Van Gogh exhibit at the MIA when I was a child, stretching through the museum and down the block; the lines for fashion shows during Fashion Week, immortalized in the BBC documentary The Look; even, if I’m honest, the lines for Cabbage Patch Kids in my youth or the recent frenzy for tech gadgets at Walmart. Okay, maybe not all lines deserve equal reverence. But for the arts? I’m all in!

Even as a gallery owner myself, nothing fills me with more joy (and simultaneous stress) than seeing people line up ten minutes before an opening, knowing I still have forty minutes of work left. But no matter how rushed I feel, the doors always open precisely at 6 PM, and I eagerly, gratefully welcome every single person. And so, with mere minutes to spare, after quick chats with fellow artists, we entered and unveiled our individual sacred spaces to the public.

This was Minneapolis’s first Market of the Beast, and while the market for dark and haunting art, and oddities, is rapidly growing, a new event in a new city always carries an element of uncertainty. Yet, the organizers had done their job exceptionally well. I’d seen promotions plastered across multiple social media platforms, and coupled with word-of-mouth, the turnout was a massive success. Did I mention the line to get in?

From 1 PM to 6 PM, it was a near non-stop flurry of conversations about art, answering questions, and, of course, selling. As someone relatively new to the fair circuit – this was only my fourth event, and my first indoor market – I wasn’t sure what to expect regarding sales. I’d brought my most signature, often larger and more intricate, pieces (reflected in higher prices), alongside smaller works and, a new addition, signed prints in three sizes.

Prints, by far, were the biggest sellers by volume, and I couldn't be happier about that. I’m a passionate advocate for the democratization of art, making it accessible to everyone, regardless of background or income. When I buy original art (which I try to do once a year), it’s almost always through a payment plan. And if an original is out of budget or no longer available, a print is a fantastic alternative. So, yes, prints are my new jam!

As the market wound down, I took my time breaking down my booth. Other than the organizers, I was the last artist to leave. I wanted to savor every last moment in the venue that had delivered so much magic in my childhood. I also had the chance to chat with the woman who now manages the theater. It turned out our paths had crossed many times before – which, considering where we were standing, made perfect sense. Northeast Minneapolis, if you know it well, has a curious way of weaving divergent paths back together, facilitating the oddest connections, not over months or years, but across decades.

And so, to the universe, thank you for a truly magical summer Sunday afternoon in NE Minneapolis!

Cheers!

The Genesis of "Drift": A Journey Through Space and Self

Wed, 16 Jul 2025 19:42:24 GMT

Memory as Muse

Have you ever wondered where an artist finds their muse, or what narratives unfold in their mind as they bring a canvas to life? For my painting, "Drift," the inspiration emerged from a memory back to my teenage years, a time steeped in cosmic wonder and introspection.

Imagine a 13 or 14-year-old me, tucked into bed on a Sunday evening, precisely at 10 PM. The air would fill with the ethereal sounds of "Hearts of Space," a radio program dedicated to ambient electronica, designed to transport listeners to the deepest recesses of both outer and inner space. As the music washed over me, I'd pore over the latest issue of OMNI magazine, my favorite at the time. Its pages were a gateway to the unknown, brimming with articles on astral projection, out-of-body experiences, UFOs, and alien encounters.

All of this unfolded against a backdrop as equally captivating: the lights dimmed, my bed, nestled against a wall adorned with a vast wallpaper mural of the Space Shuttle, effortlessly hurtling thousands of miles an hour, hundreds of miles above the sprawling expanse of Earth. This blend of auditory immersion, speculative reading, and a visually inspiring environment fueled a boundless sense of wonder about the universe. It was from this potent cocktail of memories and sensations that "Drift" was conceived.

"Drift": Embracing the Infinite
In the stark monochrome of "Drift," a solitary figure stands at the precipice of the infinite. Her bowed head and the gentle slip of her blouse below her shoulders don't convey vulnerability, but rather a profound surrender to the vast abyss that lies both within and beyond. This is the edge of self, the quiet release of ego into the boundless present moment.

Within this act of letting go, a deeper strength emerges—a quiet courage drawn from the wellspring of consciousness itself. As you gaze upon "Drift," I invite you to feel the pull of the infinite, to experience the unwavering faith born in the heart of surrender, and perhaps, to glimpse your own boundless potential in its profound stillness.

Learn More HERE

Digital Prints Are Almost Here!

Wed, 09 Jul 2025 05:28:19 GMT

Only a few days away!

I get asked all the time if I have a prints of particular works of art that I've created. While I made prints way back in the day, I haven't really had prints as an option for numerous years, until recently. Last month I debuted a number of digital prints for the first time at three different art fairs, Edina, Stone Arch and Wayzata. And they were a hit! And so... not only will I have prints available once again in the Rogue Buddha Gallery, not just at art fairs, but I'll have them available here online very soon! And I have a pretty awesome pricing breakdown for those that are interested in building a collection or starting a gallery wall! I can't wait to share this all with you!

You might have already seen it promoted on the home page although the buttons aren't yet working. I'm only days away from launching the prints online so keep tuned!

I also have a few other announcement to make soon so keep an eye out for those!

Cheers!

WORK IN PROGRESS

183:812901951 (Nicholas Harper) — Fri, 25 Mar 2022 06:06:39 GMT

This is a photos taken at an early stage of a portrait commission featuring a mother and her two daughters. As you can see, I begin a painting with a reddish tint to the panel and then draw my composition directly on top before applying the oil paint. While I usually have a fairly refined sketch to draw from, when applying that idea to the panel it often changes considerably as I bring the image to scale from the sketchbooks.

Until next time, Cheers!

BREAK TIME IS OVER

183:812901951 (Nicholas Harper) — Sat, 25 Sep 2021 03:26:38 GMT

Everybody needs a break from time to time, even from doing that which one loves to do. Certainly this was the case for me. While I have been honored to have so many people help with the gallery over the years, from interns to volunteers, family and friends, the operation of the Rogue Buddha over the past 21 years has very much been a labor of love and an all consuming vocation for me. And so when the world took a nap, I found it to be a great time to do the same, to shutter the doors and rest my weary self for a bit. But alas, all good things come to an end and break time is over.

It isn't exactly true to say that I've been "resting" over the past 18 months. Actually the opposite is quite true. If anything, I've still been hard at work but with more of a focus on my own career. I was honored with a solo exhibit at Gallery 360 which saw the release of a new body of nocturnal landscapes for example. I have also been hard at work putting the finishing touches on my first full length album which will be released under the moniker of Bleak Paris in just a few short days. In addition to that I've been back and forth at the easel, working on commissions and some paintings for myself as well as building an entirely new body of work. This work is sculptural with a painting component. I refer to these works as Tabernacles and they are highly inspired by my best friend and favorite artist, Michael Thomsen. Speaking of Michael, he will be exhibiting along with me in a new exhibit which opens in tandem with a Halloween Ball on Saturday October 30th! The event is called Mysterium. Tickets are now available through this website. If Halloween is your season, and you want a super special experience, I highly encourage you to snag one of the few available VIP Experience packages that we're offering! The package includes a private tour of the exhibit, a three course meal prepared by the NE Social and an exclusive VIP Lounge on the third floor!

Lastly, I've also been busy writing. Whether these writings will ever see the light of day is anyone's guess. Perhaps I'll use a nom de plume for that... ;) Speaking of writing, I have crafted a few new episodes for the Art Wunderful Podcast and am looking forward to getting back to the microphone. I'm hoping to release a short episode this coming week followed by an episode that will feature a listening party for the new album release the week after! I also have a number of great artists lined up to be interviewed including Jana Komaritsa and artist, long time friend and now gallery owner, Heidi Jeub.

And so my break/un-break is officially over as we once again open the gallery to the public on Oct 30th and thereafter. There may be some changes to the gallery hours and lighter exhibition schedule for the near future as I continue to focus on my own art and music. Who knows, there may be other surprises in the works that will see the gallery taken to new and exciting heights... ;)

Hope to see you all on the 30th!

Much love to you all and Cheers!

NO SNOBS ALLOWED

183:812901951 (Nicholas Harper) — Tue, 23 Mar 2021 00:59:49 GMT

It’s true, sometimes the arts can be a bit stuffy and dare I say, even elitist. I’m sure we’ve all had that moment of cringe when reading some arts related article talking about a such and such painting or sculpture that sold at auction in the millions and when we look at the art that fetched the money and notoriety, the first words that come to our mind are “Is that all there is?” In such instances one can’t be blamed for feeling a bit out of the loop, like maybe the joke wasn’t for us or maybe we just had to be there.

Or perhaps you’ve experienced the cold shoulder and raised nose of an especially snooty gallery attendant while visiting a gallery so pristine, and dare I say, sterile, that one could both eat off the floor while simultaneously conducting open heart surgery on it. Believe me, I’ve been there. And as open minded as I try to be when it comes to the arts, nothing sets me off more than a gallery that screams, “you’re not one of us.”

Luckily we’re blessed in Minneapolis in that that’s just not how we roll. I think you could walk into almost any art gallery fresh off the street and find yourself being greeted and welcomed with open arms. Perhaps it’s our midwest charm, the fact that we actually care about each other or perhaps it’s because we don’t ever take ourselves too seriously in this neck of the woods.

Whatever the case may be, that doesn’t mean that the arts can’t be intimidating, especially to someone new. I know I deal with that quite a bit at the Rogue Buddha Gallery. Often times it comes in the form of a friend being dragged in by another friend as they walk by, the one really wanting to see what’s up inside, the other a bit timid and cautious, often times exuding an aura that screams “I don’t want to intrude or maybe this is private space.”

It’s pretty obvious when this is the case and when it happens I go out of my way to make sure they feel welcome and free to roam and ask questions all the while maintaining a bit of space so as to not hover. I’m available, but I’m not pressuring or smothering.

In this weeks episode of Art Wunderful, Katie and Blaine Garrett of Mplsart.com shared their views on buying art for the first time and the value of brick and mortar galleries. A lot of what they said boils down to the simple fact that art and experiencing it and even buying it, should be fun. Going to galleries is a unique opportunity to do something free in a setting that is unlike any other. It’s a great time to meet new people and to do something different, especially if you’re new to the scene.

And buying art, well, it should be equally fun and free of pressure or complications. The only real question that one has to ask about a piece of art is whether or not they like it. And if they find it moves them and speaks to them, well then, they should consider living with it. The more one is exposed to living with art, the more one is likely to see how it effects their lives, in a good way. But really, there is no pressure to like anything or to buy it for that matter. But for those who do, the benefits are sure to make themselves known.

And if you are new to the arts, it’s always great to have a friend who can help guide you or introduce you to things. Knowing what to expect before going to a gallery opening for instance, can really help prime that potential for fun and engagement. Knowing a bit about the gallery, it’s history or the artist on exhibit can all help fuel what is sure to be a great time.

Now perhaps you might be thinking that you don’t have any friends that can help you navigate the local art scene. Well, you’re in luck as that’s exactly how Katie and Blaine approach their website mplsart.com. It’s meant to be your friend in the art scene. A visit to their website will let you know where the galleries are, when they’re open and what to expect when you go by providing information about the various exhibits. You can also visit the gallery websites directly via their page as well if you want to do a real deep dive into that particular venue.

We talk all about this in this weeks episode of Art Wunderful. I hope you can take some time to listen HERE or wherever you listen to podcasts. I also hope to see you at the Rogue Buddha and out and about on the art scene in the near future! Cheers!

HELLO TO SORROW

183:812901951 (Nicholas Harper) — Sun, 14 Mar 2021 07:56:45 GMT

It's with great anticipation and excitement that I'm announcing a new project that is coming to fruition in the next month or two. Actually, it's been around, and in the making, in some form for about 6 or so years. It all started when I began making small soundscapes to accompany distorted videos I was making of my paintings and posting to IG. Each soundscape, although short in length, was inspired by each particular painting. Over the years, I expanded on each of these little tidbits until they were full fledged songs.

In 2018 I released a demo CD featuring 6 songs. This CD was part of a larger project which I envisioned as a 3 CD set or an auditory triptych. It was under my name and I called the project Paint Sounds.

Fast forward to today and I'm proud to say the first track and first single from this project is now available on Bandcamp.com There have been a few revisions to the project in this time. In addition to adding another track to the first album and remastering each track, the project as a whole is now under the moniker of Bleak Paris rather than my personal name. Each of the albums in the auditory triptych will also have it's own name rather than Paint Sounds 1, 2 and 3... The first of the three albums, due out March/April of this year is entitled Borromeo.

I'll be talking more about this project as it's full release draws near. The song which is currently available is called Bonjour Tristesse and is named after a painting I did of the same name. It means Hellow to Sorrow or Hello Sadness.

You can listen below or via bancamp directly HERE. If you have an account on bandcamp I would love it if you followed me and do shoot me a message.

I hope you enjoy and Cheers!

GALLERY SOUL MATES

Tue, 02 Mar 2021 00:23:45 GMT

I've often talked about art being a sort of soul mate. That is, when you see a piece of art that instantly touches you, moves you and reaches deep into your insides, it's because that work of art is a sort of soul mate, a piece of the puzzle that is you. One could also liken it to being a mirror, one that once peered upon, reflects the self looking into it. But rather than reflecting the artificial or superficial exterior of ones self, our body suit if you will, it reflects a deeper sense of self, whether that be our soul or spirit, who knows. The important thing is that it goes deeper than the surface and has the ability to touch us in more than trivial means.

Well if ever there was a soul mate to the Rogue Buddha Gallery, it just might be Gamut Gallery, also located in Beautiful Minneapolis. I recently spoke with Gallerist and friend Cassie Garner of Gamut Gallery and over the course of our conversation it became blaringly obvious that we have tons in common both as gallerists and as galleries in general. While our aesthetics may be different, both galleries pride themselves on being a space for building community, tangible brick and mortar galleries that understand the value of in person interactions with and surrounded by artwork. The commonalities only begin there.

To hear more and to hear what Cassie has to say about the value of art, what it is and the need for brick and mortar galleries, be sure to check out the newest episode of Art Wunderful Monday, March 8th. You can listen HERE or wherever you listen to podcasts. I highly recommend it if only to hear how they came up with the name Gamut...

Cheers!

HIBERNATION

Tue, 23 Feb 2021 00:55:19 GMT

Have you ever felt like you were in the doldrums, unable to find your motivation or find a reason to get moving? I have. In fact, every winter I seem to find myself needing a bit of a break from most things life, art included. It's then that I slip into what can best be described as hibernation.

At first this used to bug me as I didn't really know what was going on. All I knew was that I felt lazy and that I couldn't help but compare myself to other artists who didn't seem to be feeling this same way, or at least show it. Worse yet, I would compare myself and my situation to the "civilian" world, the world where people have 9 to 5 jobs and the like. This would lead to self doubt, not only about my art, but my role as an artist.

It took years to realize that not only was I not the only artist to have these experiences and doubts, but that hibernation and the need for a break is quite normal and honestly, quite healthy. I discuss this and more, including a sure fire way to bring yourself out of a state of self doubt in the newest episode of Art Wunderful available Monday, February 22nd. Listen HERE or wherever you listen to podcasts. Hope you enjoy and Cheers!

NOCTURNAL CREATURES

Sun, 07 Feb 2021 02:54:19 GMT

One of my favorite things to do is roam aimlessly in various MN State Parks. Oddly enough, usually as I'm just arriving to begin my adventure, most others are concluding theirs, leaving me most often to my lonesome in the park, many of which roam for miles and miles. See I usually arrive with just about 30 to 60 minutes left to go until sunset. This gives me ample time to get fairly far from civilization and parking lots and to witness all of the varying phases of dusk, twilight and sunset. For me, it's these transitory times that evoke deep emotional responses, memories and states of wonder. As I find myself walking, shrouded in the liminal phases between light and dark as the sun drifts deeper over the horizon, my mind wanders and I can feel my spirit sort of let go of the earthly plain and just sort of, well, exist, or be.

It's these transitory moments that I try and capture in my ambient landscape paintings, which I call Nocturnes. It isn't so much about capturing real places or documenting them in any literal sense of the word. Rather, it's about conjuring forth their emotional imprints and relating to them on the same plain as where memory exists and lingers, somewhere in the recesses of our minds.

It's on these walks that many of my inspirations are born for these Nocturnes although to be honest, some are purely reconstructed from my own deep memories. You can hear one such memory from childhood in the newest episode of Art Wunderful, Episode 20, on Monday, Feb 8th at 7pm. In this episode I delve even deeper into this body of work. You can listen HERE or wherever you listen to podcasts.

Cheers!

WHAT NOT TO DO

Tue, 02 Feb 2021 00:15:50 GMT

Generally speaking, a cardinal rule for artists to follow when desiring an exhibit, is to not approach the gallery director during an opening and ask about how one should get said exhibit. An especially bad no no is to pull out your cell phone and ask to have the director look at your images on your phone or to peruse your Instagram feed.

While it's entirely appropriate, even encouraged, to introduce yourself and make yourself know to the director, even going so far as to say you're an artist yourself, leave the self promotion to a bare minimum. Perhaps instead of talking about yourself, make a substantive comment on the current exhibit or the curatorial programming of the gallery in general. Then, be off with yourself. That is unless you're going to buy some art.

While it's also OK to give your card or to ask if it's alright that you follow up with the director down the line as to how to submit for an exhibit, during an opening simply isn't the right time for this. The director needs this time to do everything in their power to work for the benefit of the exhibiting artist. Of course they should make time to speak with as many people as possible regardless of buying intentions, but the goal that evening is to sell art. This is true, even if the art being sold is that of the director himself...

All of that said, and as is the case with every cardinal rule, sometimes they're meant to be broken, as was the case with Eli Libson. Eli approached me during an opening to talk about an exhibit idea that he had in mind. The exhibit was for myself, not at my gallery, but at Gallery 360 in South Minneapolis. It was opening night and, if I do say so myself, it was a rather well attended opening and work was starting to flow off the wall sales wise.

It was at about the very peak of the opening that Eli approached and introduced himself. Being a tall person himself, it was actually a bit of a relief to talk to someone similar in stature as bending down to hear and converse throughout an evening can play it's tole on a persons lower back region. Perhaps that helped his cause. It also didn't hurt that he had a great personality and so his approach didn't come off anything like an intrusion or rude in any way. But whatever the circumstances, I found myself in the mood to hear what he had to pitch, even if it was for other artists and for my gallery and had nothing to do with the evening in question.

Eli's idea was right up my alley, a group exhibit of four like minded artists with a bent towards the fantastical and wondrous. Two of the artists he named I knew well and instantly knew would be a great fit for the gallery. Eli's work I wasn't familiar with, and so out came his phone with images at the ready... A year later, The Unloved Creatures exhibit opened at the Rogue Buddha Gallery, spearheaded by Eli.

If there's any moral to this story, it's that sometimes the rules are to be broken and chances taken. That said, if you try such a tactic on your own, just be cool if it doesn't work out the way you hoped and don't take anything personally. Keep showing up to openings and making yourself known and the right time will present itself, even if it means sending your work via email as is the standard approach. Also, it doesn't hurt to offer to buy the director a meal... ;)

Listen in as I and Eli converse all things art in the newest episode of Art Wunderful on Monday February 1st @ 7pm. In episode 19 Eli Libson discusses his work, influences and new book, Mysterious Creatures Field Guide. You can purchase a copy of his new book as well as select paintings in the gallery STORE .