I grew up with this Lalique vase in the entryway to our home. It was one of several pieces that my Grandmother bought in Paris in June of 1929. I know this because my father told me. The time of the purchase seemed significant as it was only a few months before THE CRASH. Later I discovered a receipt, which seems to be about the delivery of several other Lalique items — an ashtray, a box, and a perfume bottle — to her room at Hotel Crillon.

I’ve been dealing with having an artist website since the days of dial-up. No matter how beautiful your site is, or how much work you have done on it, no one is going to see it if you don’t pay attention to how you website is found and recommended in the search engines. This part of my job makes my eyes bleed, but I have finally decided to tackle the nemesis of SEO.

This is what I have learned so far.

The blog post describes how the author's experience at Giverny inspired a series of boxing paintings, influenced by the colors and atmosphere of the impressionist style.

The blog post discusses a photograph of a glassed-in advertising kiosk in France, which the author interprets as a trompe l'oeil painting and compares to the works of Kandinsky, emphasizing the importance of subjective perception in photography.

The nature/nurture question has been applied to artists at least as often as it has to athletes. And the verdict is still out. While I am distantly related to Stefan Lochner, a Northern European Gothic painter, his genes did not make an appearance in any of the intervening generations.  As for nurture, there are some things in my background that, while not predictive, at least didn’t halt my development as an artist.

In 1981 I worked on a documentary with Michael Marton on the not-yet Pulitzer Prize-winning composer, Henry Brant. Marton’s approach to documentary filmmaking was to embed us with his subjects for a long period. This documentary coincided with when I was working on the drawings featured here, which ultimately led to a collaboration between Henry and me on a piece he did for the Holland Festival called Inside Track.

Here is a story I wrote at the time about just how embedded things could get.

I aspire to being anal compulsive, but I have to hire-out. I create chaos when I work. Things are moved and abandoned on the floor.  Since I dip my hands into the paint as I work, I'll pull multiple gloves off and leave them on my paint table. But I like to have everything in order when I start. Paints lined up by color. Brushes by size and type. A place for everything and everything in its place. It's largely because once I am completely engaged in painting, the last thing I want to do is stop and look for a tool or find out I don't have the paint that I need.

My surgery took six hours. The narcotics kept me comfortable, and the hallucinations were entertaining. At one point I imagined the pillows under my arms were jewel-encrusted, and that they were also paintings that I was working on. And they were coming out so well. (Yes, that was the drugs talking.)

In 2018, I developed bilateral trigger thumbs, which meant I could not tie my shoes, write my name, or hold a brush, much less paint. I wanted to keep painting while contemplating the possibility of surgery, but with both hands in metal braces, I had to devise a new way to work.

Kyoto is an ancient city in Japan that is home to several important Buddhist monasteries. On a rainy day ,I was walking through the grounds on one such monastery. Cherry blossoms had fallen on the sidewalk and were held in place by the moisture of the rain. I photographed the pattern it created. Then years later as I worked on this painting it reminded me of that moment, and, in fact, of that whole extraordinary day.

I've been having conversations with Giotto di Bondone (c. 1267 - 1337, born in Florence, Italy) since I was twelve years old and my class studied the Renaissance. The conversation became obsessive when in 1987 I created a cycle of paintings recreating the paintings of the Arena Chapel on seven shaped canvases, the largest of which is 18 by 24 feet.

I lost the use of both thumbs and my hands were in splints for several months.

I knew that my ability to paint was not just in my hands, nor was I the first artist to face this limitation. Renoir suffered from rheumatoid arthritis and his brush had to be strapped to his hand. Chuck Close became a quadriplegic but regained use of his arms. He, too, strapped his brush to his hand and paints, sometimes guiding the right hand with his left.

Over the last year I have had several versions of an exhibition that I call, Continuous Flow. The first in Boston at Soprafina Gallery, the second and largest at SUNY Oneonta, and in April, a third at Gremillion and Company, Fine Art, Inc. in Houston, Texas.

These shows came at an interesting time for me. In 2017, as I was preparing for these exhibitions, I lost use of my hands for six months. I had double trigger thumbs, which meant I could not bend my thumbs, write my name, or hold a brush. What to do? I kept working.

One day I was moving paintings in the "gallery space" of my studio  and I heard the words, "French Revolution". We had just been through a long spate of Trump tantrums and I believe it was that, as much as anything, that brought the French Revolution to mind. I love French history, and while I haven't studied the Revolution in many years, I spent the afternoon in a revery of free association. I was working on some large paintings that are mostly abstract, but with a representational association. And I was using a lot of metallic paint. I decided that I wanted to paint one of those wide, diaphanous skirts worn by Marie-Antoinette

I live in a very rural part of New York State surrounded by farms. The landscape influences my work, but not always in the ways you might imagine. I pass this farm on a back road to the next town. I have stopped a few times to photograph it. What I really love is how the corn crib looks in front of the silo. It is a curved grid in front of a curved grid. In this photo it appears quite abstract. I love a subject that is completely real and seems completely abstract.