There’s been no shortage of words coming from well-intentioned people trying to explain how we should feel about the devastation we’ve been forced to deal with this year. Words like “unprecedented” and “uncertain.” Words that mean there are no words to describe. Words, when no words suffice.

Yet, here I am, attempting to use words to explore EDGES OF ELSEWHERE - the series of collage works assembled by Rick Midler within the boundaries of the year 2020, during shut-downs, closures, isolation, quarantines and social distancing. When our collective and individual experiences of the world changes from moment to moment like shifting air masses (cold fronts, anticyclones and depressions come to mind) slow breezes and heavy gusts have the ability to create space for beauty to be revealed. Beauty that has been waiting silently and patiently behind the clouds. In this current body of work, feelings of relief, catharsis, possibility and hope are represented by semi-abstract and surreal cloud formations cut from carefully curated patterned papers. These images are feelings pure and simple. No words needed.

But still, I write.

The cloudscapes presented here are made of things that notoriously have a negative connotation. As Joni Mitchell artfully wrote,

“Now they only block the sun / They rain and snow on everyone / So many things I would have done / But clouds got in my way.”

However, it’s easy to imagine being The Cloudman and seeing what he sees when he stops drifting and, in stillness, observes. We’re presented with figures in the act of exploring and enjoying their surroundings. Staring off in wonder. Meditating. Embracing something that they cannot change, yet something that could change at any moment - as vaporous clouds do. As life does. I see beings inseparable from their surroundings, literally made of the same stuff, whether we’re talking about the iconic cloud shapes or the paper used to create them. I see hope. I see connection to something bigger. As Joni Mitchell continued,

“I've looked at clouds from both sides now.”

Whether we’re standing before the cozy embrace in “Sometimes All We Need,” or zeroing in on the hand-holding in “Let’s Wander Slowly Through the Fields” we are reminded of closeness – a nurturing kind of love. In contrast, “The Space Between Us”, (depicting five figures, strangers perhaps, trying to fit together but not touching)brings to mind the loneliness the pandemic must have created. It seems to be about the desire to fit together comfortably. To one viewer the social distance may be growing, while to someone else it may be closing. But, there is a future in that space, and the future is of your choosing.

If we allow ourselves to “Wander Slowly Through the Fields” or “…to the River” with no agenda––if we allow ourselves to be led down the pathways, up the ladders and through the valleys with destinations yet to be revealed––we see the beauty of the journey. And, the more time we take to examine…every…single…element…of that journey, we see Life. Is it bravery, wonder or desperation that inspires the journey? Is there a desire to be lost? To be of the world? Whether the journey feels safe to take, I feel that it’s importance is innate.  We no longer have to desperately look for silver linings when the clouds themselves are beautiful.

These moments are orchestrated with precision. It’s easy to imagine Midler with a paper cloud clutched in his tweezer’s grasp as he floats it around the panel, searching for the perfect spot to be adhered with glue forevermore. Hundreds of paper clouds, hand-cut with Zen-like awareness, some as small as an eighth of an inch, frozen in time.

I’m sure there are hundreds of perspicacious art critics, historians and scholars who can more deftly describe what Rick Midler’s art looks like in relation to composition, how it’s influenced by Japanese art or how he is doing something new and not yet seen in mixed media art. But when something moves me the way this work does, I feel like it’s my duty to express those feelings as clearly as possible to as many people as possible. I don’t see the responsibility as putting words on paper, I see it as my opportunity, as my plea:

“Please, let yourself experience this.”

“Dancing Somewhere in the Music,” caught my eye while searching for a gift for my wife for our fifth anniversary––the wood anniversary. In it, a cloud couple cut from floral print paper embrace and are surrounded by a mixture of clouds made from various prints, sparkle paper and damask patterns. As Rick explained, “It was a rare occasion when that cinematic fantasy of dancing with my wife in the kitchen actually became a reality, just for a moment. Just for one song. I noticed that the kitchen seemed to be filling up with the music and I was curious if I could represent the music by having clouds overtake us.” Music is a very big part of my relationship with my wife. Our shared musical taste has a lot to do with how we met. For the first time in my 38 years of life my home has a one-of-a-kind, original piece of art on its walls. I can now relate to Midler’s piece “A Collector of Moments.” Its meaning and beauty magically grows the more we look at it.

The timing of this opportunity you now have to meet “THE CLOUD-MAN”- a time when our country is suffering from a severe shortage of understanding – could not be better. At a time when you or a loved one might feel lost or left behind, mostly due to things beyond our control, Rick shows us that even though the world around us could be vast, complex, and overwhelming there is still beauty to be seen in the clouds themselves.