Thursday, March 8, 2018


Dad claimed he lost his wallet during the movie.  I told him I'd go back to the theater to search with my sister.  It was the rare kind of opportunity to spend quality time with her where because no certain joy was expected we were able to relax.  

The last time I'd visited my grandfather's columbarium was as a kid.  But because I was so young, I was unsure if the visit was a memory or a dream.  It was a white structure that stood like a monument in a stately capital.  It was quintessentially dreamlike.

I crouched with a flashlight to look more closely under the movie seats.  In the beam of my flashlight Dad's wallet stood out against the syrupy skittled floor.  Dad would rest that night, assured his credit and identity were safe.  This was indeed a victory.  

On the way back from the theater we drove by a cemetery with the neoclassical structure on its hilltop.  We pointed to it in disbelief, though we didn't stop.  The winter air was too strong.  We chose to meander the rest of the way through the town, avoiding the fastest route.  We slowed to gaze at the old homes that remind us of something.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018


The organ, I think, creates the ceremony.  I feel more gothic in the pipes than in the stained glass.

 Eugene Gigout composed Grand chœur dialogué (wikipedia: 1881).  I'd never had to choose music for a wedding procession.  But it was my immediate selection to announce my bride in 2005.  

 Until this week I hadn't listened to it for several years.  Memories that my whole body knows.  This recording is not for easy listening, and it's just the sort of thing I enjoy working with.

 I pull the background into the foreground.  This spectacle, often when we travel, overwhelms us if we allow it.  And we take pictures of things we normally do not.  We see the landscape of faraway places more easily.  Understandably.  

Friday, January 26, 2018


I bought a used set of flat files from an office furniture warehouse in 2004.  The horizontal drawers appear organized from the outside, strong and stacked like frank lloyd wright's roman bricks.  A label holder is centered on each drawer face, but I don't find that necessary yet.  I know that four or five drawers contain piles of watercolors from years past, some as old as the late 1990's.

The Spellerberg Project Space on Main Street has three white walls now peppered with tacked watercolors of mine that I pulled from these files.  On the backs of some of these are hand-written words in pencil: "St.Wolfgang field trip", or "painted in alcohol, Evansville, Ind."  Not much of a note taker, I value the few words I mustered then.  They guide me to that crouched painting position I held twenty years ago, cigarettes, loose change thrown at me, watercolor dried by direct sunlight.

Forest green.  It's a representation of green that is averaged from the various leaves of a deciduous forest.  It usually has more grey in it than I at first prefer.  But my eyes adjust, and then I'm calmed.  Like being absorbed into the surroundings, or seeing the cluster of chaos as something unified and singular.

I'm going to hang out at this small gallery space during the next few weekends.  Come in and say hello if you walk by.  Or yell down the street, email me, and I'll be there in two minutes flat.

Wednesday, January 3, 2018


Flooded with memories.  I feel this when I visit my family in Indiana.  The shapes of houses, the height of trees, the negative windchill and its force to remain indoors.  

Saturday, January 20 here in Lockhart, Spellerberg Projects will open at the Masur Building a show of artwork and music and cocktails.  This is my own Bedford Falls hometown and I'm excited to see the people I call my friends and neighbors.  I can walk to my exhibition.

I've been preparing for new things in this 2018.  Not quite ready yet, but I am excited as I try my best to remain patient.  Not at all the way I normally do things.

Please let me know (by emailing me at if you'd like to be added to my contact list.  I'd like to share what I've got cooking.

Monday, December 4, 2017

ladder building

What is an inverted watercolor?

I study the negative of my snapshot and create a watercolor based on it.  I then scan this watercolor and digitally invert the file.

 The result is printed.  The process is a head scratcher.  What I love most is its unpredictability.  One step beyond traditional watercolor on paper.  

I fulfilled the order for lofts in my children's bedrooms.  Building a ladder, a simple one from 2x4's, is deeply satisfying.  Elevating. 

Monday, November 27, 2017

two wishes ranch

The polo field at Two Wishes Ranch is, like all polo fields, large.  300 yards.  
My first impression of it as I walked over the hill was that of land art.  Stanley Kubrick perfect rectangle of green.  

I was invited by Lauren and Skylar to create watercolors for their promotional posters.  Molly Humphrey did the rest.  I enjoyed it all.

These will be for sale soon.

Friday, October 27, 2017


My daughter is musical.  She sings and hums and adopts new words that she's only heard and never seen.  She dazzles me.

Yesterday my son said, "sometimes, when people are talking to me, I just really look at them and I can see their personality." 

 I more closely resemble my son.  I too listen more to a person's mood as their spoken words pass to either side of me.  I often catch myself mirroring another's crossed arms or hands in pockets.

The wind outside is cool.  It is time for garden work, for the transplanting that cannot be done during the other three quarters of the year.

It is also a school break.  My son is requesting I throw the baseball with him.  We stand apart and mimic each others motion.  I hold back in correcting him too often and he's shown improvements with his form.  Nature's way.

I paint them quickly.