I was in my apartment on 22nd Street. It was Tuesday and the sky shimmered the purest blue without a cloud in the sky. I was painting and listening to the radio totally absorbed in the marks emerging on the canvas, oblivious to the sirens blaring on 2nd Avenue. I got ready for work and…
Steve and I have friends that live on a mountain near Margaretville, NY in the Catskills. On our way, we pass many red barns, their rectangular bodies balancing a triangular roof, painted a deep Venetian set within a lush green pasture. Wildflowers dot the roadside. A few years ago a little 12×9″ oil painting emerged.
I heard the Attorney General’s decision of Cuomo’s transgressions toward women, documented as unwanted kisses; and/or groping their breasts and/or manhandling their buttocks and/or otherwise acting as if he had the unfettered right to touch his female employees where he pleased when he pleased. I started a drawing about a powerful woman, unbreakable and strong,…
I love this painting because … her eyes are forlorn; but she reaches for the pink and blue ether above. her other hands are as strong and firm as the couch; and yet her body is painted transparently enough that her interior is on view. She is constrained by the massive gated door, but there…
Since March, just about when we were at the anniversary date of living with a pandemic for a year, I began drawing women in cramped spaces. In one series, she is lounging on a daybed. The daybed is based on one located in the Roman galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It is dated…
The other morning I listened to Peggy Lee sing Is that all there is over and over again while I drew a glazed ceramic figurine of a woman with an enigmatic mien of confidence and tranquility, set upon a torso of all hip and stance. She is my Muse of the Moment: She represents a…
The permanent status of coronavirus living for the last 18 months has me feeling discombobulated and unattached. My head and my heart are not in communication because if I think too much my heart breaks and if I feel too much my brain implodes from fires and floods and the playpen politics of the U.S.…
Since 1996, I have worn this pink sweatshirt every summer at the beach. Twenty-five years of daily wear and weekly wash from May to September has impacted the sweatshirt. It grows a new hole each season which by the next season is not only older but bigger. So each summer, before anyone has an opportunity…
I was looking back at some of my drawings from May 10, 2020. We were still fully masked. There was no opportunity to smell the spring air. I drew imaginary dinner parties with 6 at the table. . I drew what it felt like before when I could wander the halls of the Met on…
Imagine the power of light.