Thursday, April 6, 2017


tavasz means spring in hungarian.  I don't know its etymology, but I know it's in there.  Just as I know in my bones that the spring deity is upon me here.

My family sat in the concert hall to watch the magic flute.  At intermission I hear magyar from the couple in front of me.  I ask them if they are hungarian.  It's an encounter I seek out nearly everywhere.

It's a touching.  Just enough said that quickens my step.

A flurry of creativity, in the wild mind as well as the loins, the center of being.  

Savor this, I say to myself, it won't last.  No doom in this.  Simply, I know heavier clouds and dust, and they return.

Shipping work off to NYC momentarily.  Show opens June 1 at George Billis.  

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

what if

My workspace is currently tight.  So, I have chosen to work smaller.  Interesting things happen to me when I challenge myself to seek out the effects in less, in set limitations.

I'm visiting Santa Fe again soon.  A trip I've made a couple other times, skiing and visiting galleries.  I'm older, yet still interested in showing my work there someday.  As a solitary artist, I feel I've absolutely no connections to its scene.  Share your suggestions with me.

Friday, February 10, 2017


In a Q&A I am often asked about the places I paint.  I describe them as places I visit frequently, places that are already there on my path that I'd be traveling along anyway, regardless of my watercolor ambitions.  I try to be honest at the risk of sounding uncolorful, undescriptive, unimpassioned.  I know painters who choose to not even show up at Q&A's, out of protest perhaps, and I understand this decision.  

Is painting the only way I know how to express myself?  Do words not come easily?  Are colors my only voice?  No, quite the opposite:  I strive to make colors a mode of expression. I wasn't born as I am now, stubborn and mute.  It's a protesting of my own easy way out, of resorting to explanations.

Is this a watercolor or a painted photograph?  How do I see this?  Why paint this image, this photograph, in watercolor or oil at all?  What does watercolor lend to the photograph?  Why was the photograph not better left alone?  Why don't I paint more people, people with ice cream cones?

If there has been a theme over the past year it is NYC.  But from that point on I disintegrate.  The paintings are based on photos from NYC's various parts, not just Manhattan or midtown or any one thing that is collectively agreed upon as NYC.  

I ask myself what I'd want on my wall.  Do I want to collect images of antlered animals?  Do I have a preference for paintings that only describe aspects of my hometown, as I currently am or am not in my hometown yet want to be reminded of it for sake of my own identity?  

Or, what's my relation to sadness and do I wish to stomp it out or do I wish to know it? 

Thursday, January 19, 2017


Living room, as in space for living.  Surprised I was not familiar with the concept.  Read about this in a book gifted to me by my wife, not this year, last year.  A book that is dark history and that I read and discuss really only with myself, or those whom I know won't judge me.

Germans needed more space, like, you know, for an empire.  They at least thought they did.  In fact, Germans prefer intimate spaces.  Low ceilings, breakfast nooks, tight pants. If you're German and you do not, then you are rebelling, which is ok.

I've been crouched behind my computer for three days straight.  Writing.  In a hallway within a small house.  It's a cave for my withdrawal.  And I feel a need for such a hiding place.  But I feel it's served its purpose as I near this assignment's end.

Last weekend in Houston's Hooks Epstein was wonderful.  My kids are old enough to want to attend my openings, if only for the last 30 minutes.  They are hoping to join me in NY for June 1 opening at George Billis.  We'll see.