Morning at the Mirror
As you grow older, things and money and earthly pleasures begin to lose meaning. You begin to unders...
The funny thing about this painting is this was the visualization I had of the first house I owned, a nearly dilapidated post-war house in Grants Pass, Oregon. A mean oak tree had buckled the driveway, lifing it three feet from the ground, and threatened the converted garage foundation, there was nothing but a three step stoop, by the front door, and the door was actually a delaminated mahogany interior door that was thin as paper.
Two years later it looked almost exactly like this, without the driveway slab but with a square step, rail, and porch railing, every brick carefully laid by my own hand.
As you grow older, things and money and earthly pleasures begin to lose meaning. You begin to unders...
Do you believe in fairies? Neither do I. But if I did, their earthly forms would be hummingbirds. We...
John Pitre was one of my earliest art influences. Before the internet, we already knew of the depers...
Just give me a minute, will you? Can I take a breath, hear and do and think about NOTHING for just o...