I was born in New York City, but my childhood was spent in the embrace of the slice of suburban nature that is Westchester County. I spent my childhood reading and painting and exploring the remnants of the woods that bordered our subdivision.
My mother was a writer, my father an undiagnosed dyslexic who claimed to be a poet, and playwright, but was just an alcoholic. Luckily my mother had the strength of most refuges and thrived as a single mother. She was able to help her dysgraphic younger daughter get into Bennington College. I arrived at Bennington College filled with confidence and curiosity. I was sure that I was at the start of a remarkable journey. While at Bennington I honed my intellect, convinced that the knowledge found in academia would combine with my talent to help me on the complex and challenging artistic journey that faced me in the coming years.
I was naïve to think that talent and intellect and unique voice were enough to navigate success in the art would. The world of commercial galleries and artist colonies are influenced by a myriad of factors beyond talent. The dance of networking and self-promotion, while keeping up with the zeitgeist of the instant proved to be more than I could handle in my twenties. The need to earn a living and coping with the pain caused by chronic fatigue syndrome used all my energy for a few years. By the time I recovered I was married and owned a home. My dedication to my work always remained. That isn’t to say I never grappled with self-doubt. I do feel my uncompromising standards may have led me down a path of isolation and obscurity. My unwillingness to compromise my integrity may have placed me in the category of an unacclaimed painter, but I have never lost the indominable spirit that drives me to create despite the lack of external accolades.
I still embrace laughter and chaos, my paintings reflect the beauty of home, and the enduring magic of well-crafted abstraction. I invite you to see the world through not just my eyes but my heart as well. I am wise enough and strong enough to put my work out there. I am ready to share the magic that is being an artist. And if in the process I can share some laughs, make some new friends, and possibly earn a bit of money, maybe this past decade of grief and stress, pandemic and worry will have given me the tools to place my art in a context that makes sense to the world.
Living in a community that tries to market itself as an enclave of country homes for "Brooklyn Based Creatives" is quite depressing. I work in my studio in 1/4 of a circa 1964 4 car garage, it has wall board, insulation, heat, and extra windows. My work habits have been stressed due to employment. I am currently unemployed after a traumatic and stressful school year. Before this past year, as recently as summer of 22, I was on an upswing in my practice. I had refined the college technique I've been using and had extended my "golden hour" that time of day when I could solely focus on my work all my corporal needs recede and I become immersed in my practice. On an Ideal workday this can last from noon to 7PM. Despite the dampness, daddy longlegs, and mice I am working to make my studio as comfortable as economically feasible. I am also trying to "get myself out there" despite my tendencies to be a curmudgeonly hermit when not in the classroom. since the art market is in such a state of flux right now, I have no idea where I fit in, and don't have a clue how to replace my lost income by selling art. I hope to devote my practice to producing work that brings me happiness, and to use the energy the happiness produces to find my way in the wilderness.
In recent years my frequent travels to Recco Italy have opened my eyes to a more caring environment than upstate New York. My grandparents ran an alternative school there in the years before WWII, it was the place of my mothers easiest memories and where she decided to have her ashes interred. If I swim out beyond the breakwater I can see the hillside the cemetery is on. (Ligurian cemeteries are chosen to give the departed a view of the sea). On my last full day in Recco this summer, I was swimming out to "visit with Mom" but before I even got beyond the breaking waves, I heard her voice loud and clear say "it's about the art you dumb ass". Which is very much her sense of humor and wisdom. So, I am following her advice and making this year be about the art.
