| I will admit, reluctantly, that I am not a world
traveler. I haven't been to Paris, London, Rome, Cairo, or Moscow.
(Perhaps one day it will be so.) But, what I have seen in my life
is quite a variety of small towns and big cities throughout the United
States. Enough to fill canvas and paper for years to come.
I celebrate in oil and gouache, watercolor and pastel the accomplishments
of man (and woman), from Miami with its
"I celebrate in oil and gouache,
watercolor and pastel the accomplishments of man (and woman)"
tall ocean front towers and bustling seaside energy, to Milwaukee in
the snow, with glowing street lamps parading in orderly regimentation as
passers-by crunch the frosty white sidewalks. Las Vegas glitters
day and night, inviting sightseers to stay and play. San Fransisco
and Los Angeles seem to be beehives of non-stop activity. And,
oh!, the appeal of rainy streets in Portland, Oregon and Seattle, Washington.
I visit railroad yards with acres of automobiles in rainbow colors waiting
to be carried across the nation for distribution in small towns and big
cities. I have driven backroads and lingered in small towns with
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names that cause reflection upon those who lived
there so long ago and why they named it thus. Twisp? Mist?
Drain? Pe Elle? What about Lebam?, or Olalla? or Liberal?
The homes and farm buildings bear witness to hardy folks who loved the
land. They still do. From ranches and general stores to old fashioned
gas stations (where an attendant will wash your windows as he pumps the
gas for you), Americans show care and pride and the same spirit as those
who carved out the foundations for the skyscrapers, and tilled the soil
to plant great fields of grain. Can you blame me for wanting to paint
these communities?
"Can you blame me for wanting to
paint these communities?"
I crave to capture moments when children play on swings in concrete
playgrounds or hide-and-seek around haystacks; as fathers mount their trucks
and tractors, and mothers hang laundry on sagging clotheslines to
dry in the warm open air, or carrying baskets of freshly cleaned clothes
from the mid-town laundromat. I will paint the men and
women of small towns and big cities who are going about their lives, weaving
the unfinished tapestry of this great nation.
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