HOT SHOWERS

My father was a very clean man with a ruddy complexion that always glowed. He'd stand in the shower until the water ran cold, then emerge crimson. As weak as he was from the cancer, he insisted on taking a shower daily, and did so right up until his last week of life. He'd pad up the stairs and get the water running until steam filled the room. I'd help him out of his clothes and watch him lift his edema filled legs and feet up and over the edge of the tub. I'd stand outside the shower juggling his morphine pump with one hand and the shower curtain with the other - just praying he didn't fall.

The shower's steam blended the existing smells into a dank, musty mix: morphine, medical adhesive, the plastic shower curtain, the recently flushed toilet, acrid body odor, and the rubber feeding tube with its incessant leak. I had inherited my father's acute sense of smell - making it a mutual and unspoken appreciation for just how pungent this blend truly was. I know it pissed him off being the source of such malodor. I'm not sure if this was the actual "smell of death" they speak of or just death's overbearing cologne.

I'd help him wash his back, legs and feet; he'd wash his face and genitals. And like every shower he had ever taken his entire life, he'd stand there until the water ran cold.

* and excerpt from my cancer memoir CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

THE SUMMER SEA

I've been dreaming of the summer sea: rolling above - roiling below - lifting and leaving pebbles in layers (who knows how deep) to bake in the sun like salted potatoes. Russets, Red Rouge, Yukon Golds, Peruvian Blues, and Purples - fat, waxy, and round; it's a balancing act walking atop their warm, arched backs in search of the perfect shell.

As the sea tumbles in, they grumble and moan - sounding as if they are tired and a little fed up. As the sea washes out, they seem to have had a change of heart... they're singing! They seem lighter on their feet - more rested and hopeful - as if they are willing to give it another try. 

* I sculpted, then painted these pebbles and shells - trying to capture the summer sea. 

CUTE-SEA

It can be a real challenge to paint children. Their bone structure hasn't fully developed yet - making it difficult to distinguish planes. Their skin is perfect - not a wrinkle or fold to help tell the story. Plus, they are so darn CUTE it's a hindrance; it's tough painting "cute" without painting "cutesy." These two guys were fun to paint. The contrast of their skin tones was helpful; the eye glasses were a nice hard edge contrast to all the unblemished skin going on. And whatever was happening that was causing their little hands to fold like the gentle waves behind them was "cute" without being "cutesy." 

 

MARTIN LUTHER KING

"Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."

* I did this 18"x24" painting this past weekend to say "Happy Birthday" to Martin Luther King.

DIGGING UP BONES

A rare moment of downtime afforded me the luxury of snooping through my parent's attic one afternoon. Boxes of old books, cards, pictures, letters, school projects, and homemade Halloween costumes filled one corner of the room. Trunks were stuffed with moth-eaten regalia: my Nana's ratty fur coats, my father's old army uniforms, and my mother's Beaver College varsity jackets. There were two dead television sets, a few small appliances waiting for rewiring, and numerous dusty mousetraps - some sprung, and some still set and baited with oily, fossilized cheese. A century of attic heat had kiln dried the rafters - raising the grain and fraying the knob and tube. There was a single window sill, thick with bat droppings and hollow bug carcasses. One bare bulb cast a weak yellow light that created a fading evening ambiance no matter the time of day.

* an excerpt from my cancer memoir "CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER"

PROUTS PERSPECTIVE

I rarely paint landscapes. I've managed to tuck a hint of vista into the background of a portrait, and I've sculpted realistic nature models, but rarely do I paint full on sweeps of land or coast. It's not for lack of attraction to nature; I'm far more interested in Mother nature than human nature, but it seems most of my paintings are figurative. 

*Here's a 3'x4' portion of Prouts Neck in the works. 

IN THIS CORNERRRRRR - WEIGHING IN AT 147 lbs. - OSCAR DE LA HOYA!

There's the big welterweight fight at the MGM Grand Garden Arena tonight: 35 year old Oscar De La Hoya and 29 year old Manny Pacquiao. If I had any money, my bets would be on "The Golden Boy," and I'd be watching it couch-side (if I had a couch) on PayPerView for $49.95. Good luck Oscar, I'm in your corner.

* This is a 5'x6' painting I did of the 1996, Oscar De La Hoya / Julio Cesar Chavez fight which ended in the 3rd round - a TKO De La Hoya.