Monthly Archives: September 2006

Maine Fish House


I think this painting is from 1992. It’s a fish house along the coast in Maine, probably near Thomaston which is where my grandparents lived. This one does make me cringe a little bit. But hey. Here it is.

Maine Fish House


I think this painting is from 1992. It’s a fish house along the coast in Maine, probably near Thomaston which is where my grandparents lived. This one does make me cringe a little bit. But hey. Here it is.

Umbrage: Early sketch


Unlike “Mind and Body I” which began as a black charcoal sketch and then became a color pastel in the finished piece, “Umbrage,” which appears a couple entries down, began as a color oil pastel sketch before becoming a black and white painting in its finished form. I don’t know why. They take their own path, that’s all I can say. I first sent this “Umbrage” pastel to my brother David, thinking he would enjoy it. He didn’t. He sent it back, and I sent him what I now consider to be an insipid image called “Under Liberian Skies,” and sent this one off to my friend Bill who loved it.

It’s been fascinating for me, these last couple of days, revisiting images that I created more than ten years ago. The creative urge in me then was something exciting and frightening. I often made images that I hid away, fearful that anyone would ever see them. I felt as though I were crossing a line… a taboo, and yet, the urge to commit them to paper was greater than my fear of them being seen. Now I laugh, and revel in what I did, and wish that a benefactor would be so moved by my work that he/she would mount a retrospective of my creative journey, and that everyone could see what I kept hidden. Yes, I cringe at the thought of who I was, but more importantly, I validate and honor the journey and celebrate who I have become.

Umbrage: Early sketch


Unlike “Mind and Body I” which began as a black charcoal sketch and then became a color pastel in the finished piece, “Umbrage,” which appears a couple entries down, began as a color oil pastel sketch before becoming a black and white painting in its finished form. I don’t know why. They take their own path, that’s all I can say. I first sent this “Umbrage” pastel to my brother David, thinking he would enjoy it. He didn’t. He sent it back, and I sent him what I now consider to be an insipid image called “Under Liberian Skies,” and sent this one off to my friend Bill who loved it.

It’s been fascinating for me, these last couple of days, revisiting images that I created more than ten years ago. The creative urge in me then was something exciting and frightening. I often made images that I hid away, fearful that anyone would ever see them. I felt as though I were crossing a line… a taboo, and yet, the urge to commit them to paper was greater than my fear of them being seen. Now I laugh, and revel in what I did, and wish that a benefactor would be so moved by my work that he/she would mount a retrospective of my creative journey, and that everyone could see what I kept hidden. Yes, I cringe at the thought of who I was, but more importantly, I validate and honor the journey and celebrate who I have become.

Mookie On The Edge


I was always a cat lover. I got my first cat when I was 9 years old, and her name was Minnie. This is an entry that I will probably come back to and add to since it is the doorway to unlocking so much of my life. Minnie was the subject that allowed me to finally open up to my therapist about 13 years ago, and turned me into an emotional person. I told her “it’s too late to mourn anything from my childhood.” She insisted it was not. But it was too big for me. So she gave me this “homework assignment.” Go home and write about just one thing you lost as a child. That thing turned out to be Minnie. She died when I was 14. I went catless for about 17 years, then I got a kitten for Holly for her birthday. She had never had a cat. Mookie was a tailless cat that was colored like a holstein. So we named him “Moo Cow Kitty” or “Mookie” for short. Mookie died very suddenly one morning in 1993, laying a patch of sunlight in my living room, and left us all broken hearted. We loved him so much.

This large pastel hangs in Madeline’s bedroom.

Mookie On The Edge


I was always a cat lover. I got my first cat when I was 9 years old, and her name was Minnie. This is an entry that I will probably come back to and add to since it is the doorway to unlocking so much of my life. Minnie was the subject that allowed me to finally open up to my therapist about 13 years ago, and turned me into an emotional person. I told her “it’s too late to mourn anything from my childhood.” She insisted it was not. But it was too big for me. So she gave me this “homework assignment.” Go home and write about just one thing you lost as a child. That thing turned out to be Minnie. She died when I was 14. I went catless for about 17 years, then I got a kitten for Holly for her birthday. She had never had a cat. Mookie was a tailless cat that was colored like a holstein. So we named him “Moo Cow Kitty” or “Mookie” for short. Mookie died very suddenly one morning in 1993, laying a patch of sunlight in my living room, and left us all broken hearted. We loved him so much.

This large pastel hangs in Madeline’s bedroom.