The Kubiak Gallery at Wilber Mansion recently exhibited work by French artist Raymond Verdeguer. His thought-provoking block prints are deeply political, commenting upon a variety of global, economic and social issues.

The day our curator, Christina Hunt, hung the show, a passer-by, curious about the upcoming exhibition, stopped in to see the work. While he appreciated the artistry, he was particularly disturbed by the content. "It’s so dark and depressing!" he exclaimed.

Christina later relayed the exchange to Raymond, who was not surprised by the response. He has heard it before.

He told her a story about Pablo Picasso.

Picasso created a masterpiece depicting the bombing of the Spanish city of Guernica, a community that served as the cultural capital of the Basque region. The Spanish Nationalists and Hitler-led German army bombed more than 70 percent of the area, mowing down fleeing families with machine guns. It was a bloody massacre designed to break the spirit of the people.

Historical records show that Hitler considered the attack a successful experiment for a new Nazi military tactic _ blanket-bombing a civilian population to demoralize the enemy.

The abstract images in Picasso’s painting, "Guernica," are exaggerated symbols of war, destruction, death and despair. When the painting was unveiled at a reception for the artist, a German woman at the gathering accusingly approached him, demanding to know: "How could you do that?"

He responded: "I didn’t do it, Madame, you did."

Ouch.

Observers of truth, artists are. They depict what they see and experience. The most accomplished are able to get past the immediate and bring to light what lies beneath.

It can be uncomfortable, for those of us who would prefer to avoid some of the ugly truths that surround us.

Recent circumstances in my own life have given me an overwhelming desire to pick up a sketch book and begin to draw. I used to sketch quite regularly as a student at Hartwick College, carrying around a box of pencils and a pad. When I make the attempt these days, however, the results are not quite the same.

I am a writer. That is what people tell me. Whether it is a grant, a column or an advertising piece, crafting words on paper is how I make my living.

But now I find that words are tricky. Words are the perfect instrument for deception. They have a way of leading one down a path, far away from the heart of the truth. Words foster politics.

I find myself in situations where they tumble out of me without any specific intent or direction. They reveal some of what I mean and nothing at all that matters, really. They make my head hurt.

Have you ever been to the Museum of Modern Art in New York City? In one room is a painting by Monet, "Reflections of Clouds on the Water-Lily Pond." It is an enormous painting that stands alone in its own room. A hush falls over visitors to the painting, as if they are in a temple, sitting and contemplating the work of a master.

I wish I could reach down deep inside and bring up a grand painting on that scale. A portrait of truth perhaps, that would explain to everyone without words all that there is inside of me right now, all that I hope for and all that I believe.

"Here, here I am," it would say.

If I wrote it all down for you, tomorrow it would change. I would edit the words with new information. The adjectives would pale and the narrative would shift. I would endlessly probe for deeper analysis of what I meant to say, until it was entirely irrelevant.

What a blessing to be an artist. It must be a wonderful thing, I imagine, to pick up a brush and put on a canvas exactly what you mean to say, without ever having to say anything at all.

Kathleen Frascatore is executive director of the Upper Catskill Community Council of the Arts based in Oneonta.