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.

Return to Gallery