2019 was a wildly challenging year of personal extremes. To set the stage, after three decades of teaching at MICA, I left and went to live for six wonderfully adventurous months in the turbulent Middle East. Then at the end of June, I underwent a brutal, near death experience and was flown back to Baltimore. Then, on August 8th, I again had a near death experience. The extensive recovery time transformed and reset my creative vison, which inspired an unexpected dive into new series of figurative paintings that erupted in January.

As my concepts are born out of living among and exploring diverse cultural and social influences, I foster a free-ranging, intuitive approach to making work that does not consistently follow a set of rules, let alone the politics of the art world. So, my work tends to shift in media, depending upon what goes into the stir-fry. Yet, there are consistent cycles of themes that continue to obsess my heart and mind. The great Russian film director, Andrei Tarkovsky tagged it as "the dilemma of the human condition".

I'm often surprised in my processes, which is fermented by many internalized questions, such as "What am I seeing or not seeing? Is this authentic?" To a degree, the current global political wars are being abstracted and layered among certain longer term cultural concerns, more than at any time in my career. Yet, it is never to mount a soap box, but rather reflect upon elements which transcend such platforms. This hunger generates a vision to reveal common ground. Plus, I believe that most politics in art, as those who know their global art history, often places a short term relevence that too often fails to carry revelence a century from now. The critic George Steiner made that poignant argument among others, in his classic book, Real Presences.

My asthetic often filters through a colorful, abstracted tactility based upon my teenage jungle experiences in Panama, and much later, two years scuba diving in the Philippines while working in military intelligence. Even now, I tend to cycle through periods of stripping down to essentials to returning to overloaded layering. Some works are singular while others become prototypes, possibly for further work. Some series number as low as three, yet others have resulted in as many as 66.

Over the years, certain series or works have been demolished, out of challenging storage problems...as I remain prolific. In turn, I pay careful attention to the fragments and often recycle. This continues to teach me the power of resurrection, where something that was solid or even good, becomes more than what it was before. Early on, I learned this concept through my Recycled Ocean performances which were birthed out of 20 years of Artscape installations and appearances. (a series of DVDs are available for loan upon request.)

Names often reflect key aspects of our character. My last name Zaruba is an old Czech name that loosely translates as 'he who splits wood with an ax'. As Allen means harmonious, then I am the happy woodcutter. Yet, years before I discovered this, I was intuitively drawn to wood as a creative expression, even during the 20 years when painting was my principle medium.

As a consequence, the symbolism of the ax has periodically appeared in my sculptural work. This began with acquiring an eroded ax head in 1991 that had lay buried in a 200 year old apple tree. I gilded it's lace-like form in 24k to translate the way I perceive it's context and resonance. The hollow of the handle suggests a house in miniature, such as the spirit houses of Asian cultures or the sky burials of others. Later this concept inspired two series of cage-like sculptures on legs during the 1990's based on human rights abuses.

During a 2015 residency in West Cork, Ireland, I participated in a fascinating annual bronze casting symposium, Umha Aois, which attracts artists and archeologists who utilized the basic techniques, raw materials and processes of the bronze age to produce new works, some of which were replications of historic artifacts, such as the ax. This was the catalyst that prompted the series.

In January of 2016, this series began with Awakening , which, in turn, bridges the series-A Tent of Stars. Based upon the ax as metaphor and symbol, the ax surface is covered in stars with a 3D form as flame that passes through a small canoe covered in lenticular image fragments of various works of art and cultures. The upper hollow is lined with slices of lenticular images and reflective surfaces.

Why the ax?
Considering the increasing cultural violence as well as our tendency to isolate ourselves through social media, I was initially at a loss as to why I would focus on what most Americans would peg as a weapon of violence, such as the Lizzie Borden murders. The research helped me to see that the ax symbolizes much that is positive and constructive, especially in regards to the building of civilization. Yet, the symbol, like a mirror, confronts us with what is buried in our own make-up.

The ax is an ancient universal symbol of authority and power rooted in many cultures, from the First Nations to Asian, European and African cultures. For example, in ancient China, the ax symbol was often woven into the silk robes of the emperors to signify the decisiveness of their absolute imperial authority. From there, I began to explore other cultural myths which led to the foundation that the first axes were stone. These created sparks and consequently became associated with lightning, thunder, rain, rebirth and...creation! They were often termed 'thunderstones' and held as highly sacred. It is interesting to note that both the Chinese and Pre Colombian cultures periodically created elaborate, non-functional ceremonial axes out of prized jadite and flint.

The metaphor of the ax can operate on many levels, such as splitting apart issues to reveal 'facts' or the truth. The ax is judgment in action, splitting truth from lies, clarity from confusion. It is both tool and weapon. My hope is that the abstraction of the symbol would offer a way of considering how each of us might see authority (vs. the current focus on abuse and fear.), possibly as a way to reflect more deeply upon what our culture is contending with. Above all the mud slinging, what is true? What are the facts? What vital aspects may be missing? Do we believe everything we are fed by the media? Are we selective in the building of our own 'false news' campaign? What do we not want to consider or see?

Gilding the blade edges with 24k gold questions what is eternal against the brevity of life. The moment of now is now past. Getting into the river now is not the same river tomorrow. Gold's stability is a fascinating medium, especially as it is the only metal that visible light can pass through and yet filter out those rays that can harm our eyes. It has been used in the visors of pilots and astronauts to protect their vision.

The origins of my sculptural concepts were heavily influenced by two periods. First, my high school years in the Panama Canal Zone. (1966-1971) Behind our house, the jungle offered colorful adventures, from collecting orchids, bugs and animals to exploring overgrown ruins.

The other major influence was the 18 months I served in the Philippines, during the Vietnamese refugee crisis in 1978-80.

Both served my love for texture and the way I explored abstraction and certain core concepts. This was a distinctly different path than an American art school education.

This samples an array of works that are indicitive of my core concepts.

Within the Tents
In 1966, when I first saw the epic, Lawrence of Arabia, it impacted and inspired my fledgling sense of identity in inexplicable ways that was to later bear fruit, from studio to performance work.

In 2013, when this series began, to my mind's eye there first appeared a nomad's tent suspended in space and covered in stars, as if in camouflage. I did not think of the movie's impact at first. However, I had first encountered nomadic tents during a 2007 visit to the Middle East. As my installation concepts are based upon creating enveloping environments, the attraction was natural.

Bedouin tents often appear as black, or dark brown or gray, looking as if they are of humble means. Yet, they often cover a profound heritage, including layers of opulent rugs and other treasures. Some families are very wealthy, yet prefer to continue living as they do. Again I encountered this during a Fulbright conference in Morocco, especially among the blue clad Touareg.

What became clear during the development of this series was that outward appearances, such as culture, race and gender, are often deceptive identifiers. For example, why do so many of us treat others the way that we do, if not by appearance, actions and gender? Yet, such externals often mask or hide the greater truth and meaning of our inner beings. Can we find a way to encounter each other in deeper ways?

Each tent's golden threshold symbolizes this deeper search for identity, meaning and connection. Each of us contains a mystery, be it darkness, shrouding light or as light manifested in the fruit of one's love walk and talk. I believe each person, no matter how disturbed, disenfranchised or even manifesting acts of evil, contains a core of light and truth.

Looking up to the night stars offers the open mind and heart endless awe and wonder and confronts us with our fragile lives on this tiny jewel called Earth. What do we hope for? What are we looking at? What is the condition of our own hearts in the ways we treat all others, regardless of their external signifiers?

I began painting nature in 1966 while attending high school in the Panama Canal Zone. Over the years my work moved from realism into surrealism and then into magic realism before entering into military service in 1976.

In 1980, I was appointed to the Blue Angels, where the demands and responsibilities of working in public affairs transformed every aspect of my style and technique through a four year phase of exacting aviation painting. After leaving the military in 1984, to pursue my BFA, my focus turned again towards an open ended period of experimentation.

From that time I began to work in a range of disciplines, several of which are not represented online.

My identity as a sailor and global nomad flows from a colorful upbringing amid certain cultural crossroads, from the Asia Pacific islands to Central America.

At nine months old, I learned to walk aboard an ocean liner crossing the Pacific Ocean. Since then I've been aboard supertankers, WWII military landing crafts, yachts, trimarans, speedboats, dug out canoes and outriggers. So, it was only natural that my work often cycles through the ship as an metaphor of life's journey, from the womb to the cradle to the coffin.

In 2000, I began a new series of large-scale, ship-shaped installations built around on-site trees as the sails. Each was intended to serve their local communities as a gathering place or informal social practice. They also served as crucibles for experimental photography, video and performance.

Their interiors welcomed visitors as participants and dreamers, which many claimed as their own. For example, a small girl in Annapolis learned from her parents that she was the captain of her own ship.

Eight years ahead of the Excessivism Movement that started in 2015, Ocean was a sensory overload of a critique on our consumerist culture gone wild. Constructed in March 2007 for one month in the main gallery of the Creative Alliance, it's ship-shaped installation sat on a diagonal across the 2000 sq ft space and contained eight rooms, each with a unique theme. It was a 360 degree shift in materials and concept from the preceding public sited ship installations, each of which were constructed primarily of slab wood around or near existing trees.

Both the exterior and interior surfaces incorporated an eclectic range of diverse materials and found objects. Eight performance costumes hung on stands outside the entrances, which were available for the public to don while exploring the rooms.Inside, five videos of prior performances were shown in various locations. Slide projections of my travels were also projected onto various surfaces. Oscillating fans were located in each space and transition point and softly blew hanging materials back and forth. An inverted antique sailing skiff served as the roof of the Drowning Room, while various rooms included sofas and chairs buried under layers of materials, among other seating options.

The green, silk-lined and padded Sex Cage proved the most memorable with certain visitors falling asleep... until after closing, which then set off the alarm and brought the police.

Created at Quiet Waters Park in 9/2006, this four room interactive multi-level installation was constructed upon the cement ruins of a hunting lodge that predated the park. Made of driftwood and found objects collected from the bay, it was intended as a place of contemplation in order to question humanity's relationship with our collapsing environment. This came about because of a beach I'd been going to since 1989. For the first several years, I would collect and carry out trash I'd find along that mile of cliffs. Then it began to overwhelm the beach to where 20 feet provided more garbage than I could carry.

So, I determined to make a work that would critique this- by using some of this garbage to create a challenging context. What resulted was a surprise in many ways, both positive and unfortunately, negative.

First of all, it's remote location was originally rarely frequented outside of joggers and hikers, even though the site was among the tallest stands of original trees in the park, on a hill overlooking a sheltered cove. As the installation drew near to completion, it began to draw people in increasing numbers. Each time I returned, I found more and more repeat visitors. People brought picnics. Children played. Music happened. The word spread. I was most amazed when I was introduced to a European couple who flew in because their friend said it was worth the trip! An informal festival like air took over. That autumn was one of wonders upon wonders as I almost lived in it, refining details and happily talking with people who often helped with difficult parts. Many spoke that it brought a profound sense of peace and wonder.

However, it proved to be the most controversial project of my career. Within three months, it was condemned by two small groups of wealthy Annapolis people. I met with one of them on site- a most amazing experience of being absolutely hated as if I was the devil. He refused my handshake. Nothing I said was heard. His hatred was so far off the charts as to not touch me. Rather than being offended, I was astonished that this well meaning work of art could provoke such a completely different response from the others I had been experiencing.

They saw it as either an illegal religious Christian chapel on government land- or as a Satanist sacrifice center. It rapidly became the center of a public storm that resulted in coverage by the Associated Press and an article in Sculpture Magazine. Despite hundreds of local people supporting it and a professional offer to take the case to court (for free), those wealthy people bypassed the director of Maryland's state park system (who had visited it and delightfully approved the project)... and managed to get it torn down prematurely- condemned by the State as a building without a building permit!
A DVD is available.

My performance work began in 1995, during Artscape's memorable complex of installations- The Ecstatic Garden of Sublime Delerium, which was located in the former Decker Gallery of MICA's Station Building. After creating a multi chambered installation in a 20' x 20' x 20' square space, I realized that I wanted to integrate my presence into the installation. So, I covered myself in the same stressed and torn plastics used in the installation and in effect, became part of the experience.

This continued for a few years before I began doing solo performances independent of an installation. This was also the first time that I opened the work and invited other artists friends to participate. This led to an increasing interest in collaborations.

The majority of those performances took place in two venues. The first was during the initial seven years of the American Museum of Visionary Art, where I worked on staff. In addition to installing the exhibitions, I led off the museum's parades at their yearly festivals. The other venue was during successive Artscape festivals. Over time, I've traveled as far as Southeast Asia, performing at locations along the Mekong River, up on the Plain of Jars and at Anghor Wat.

During the year that I was a senior Fulbright scholar to Korea, (2003-04), I was invited to a series of festivals, including sold out performances at Theatre Zero, at that time a cutting edge space. I also began to develop an interest in Japanese Butoh, which led to several impromptu performances around Seoul, on the streets and in the subways. One of my primary projects was to have my performances filmed in different locations around Korea and compiled into a DVD- Inbetween.

In 2004, having returned to MICA, I organized Recycled Ocean- a performance at MICA's Falvey Hall with 16 of my students and the world fusion band, Telesma, then just beginning to be recognized. It was well received.

There are ten DVDs of various performances, from dancing among Christo's Gates in Central Park to an appearance on Maryland Public Television.
These performances have since inspired several print series. In addition the costumes have been used as suspended additions to my installations.