At the end of September, Tom & I drove to Les Collettes, the estate where Pierre-Auguste Renoir lived for the last dozen or so years of his life. A 3-hour drive from our rented apartment in Arles, it is located up a narrow, winding road in the town of...
When I was in the 4th grade, on random – but mercifully infrequent – Friday afternoons, we would “have art.” Paper was distributed, crayons were exhumed from the bottom of desks, & an LP was put on the turntable. The mandate: Draw whatever the music, be it...
The other evening – specifically, a gentle June evening blissfully free of wind & high humidity – Tom & I sat out on our patio, gazing at the sky & enjoying what the French call l’heure bleue, “the blue hour.” If you’ve ever wondered, this...
Every now & then, as I’m leaving the gallery where I teach on Saturdays, I take a short detour downstairs to spend a few minutes in front of what I refer to as “my wall.” This is the spot where, at any given time over the past 10-plus years, a half-dozen or...
I once read a quote attributed to Pierre-Auguste Renoir that said something like, “I have painted every day of my life.” I remember feeling tremendously impressed by this statement but also vaguely disconcerted for it simply sets the creativity bar, the passion...
