I’ve been painting all my life. As the result of a serious childhood illness, my mother had to keep me confined to the bed for over a year. A tutor arrived every morning, for a while, and consequently, I was reading everything I could get my hands on at age 4. By the time I was 5, I’d worked my way through all the Nancy Drew books and moved on to paint by numbers. It was fascinating to watch the image emerge and it was fun to paint with my Mom who was working on a project for an oil painting class she was taking.
Painting happened for the rest of my life. It became a refuge, an outlet and a source of entertainment. If I was bored, I’d paint. If I was overwhelmed by life, I’d paint. If I had too much time on my hands, I’d paint. Now, it’s the Covid pandemic and…of course… I’m painting.
I’m not a tortured artist, smearing my canvases with angst and melancholy.I don’t usually struggle over my work. I enjoy it and find it satisfying. I’m an observer of humanity, a documentarian of the absurdities of life.
I’ve had shows all over town, in galleries and coffee shops and restaurants. I’ve sold paintings directly off the walls of my living room. I’ve sold paintings at the Center of Contemporary Art in Seattle. And, of course, on the internet.
For the most part, fame and fortune are lavished upon artists mainly after they’re dead. The winning lotto ticket seems to be a major perk of the afterlife. But in the meantime, here’s what I’ve been up to.