The image burned into my psyche since I was about 3 years old was of my mother, dressed in her mink coat walking me into a make-shift pre-school at someone’s house.  She sat me down at the kitchen table with four or five other children. The woman in charge set out in front of me my own large, heavy paper and 4 cups of colored paint. As I dipped my hands into the brilliant yellow and blue and red and green paint, I can still remember the excitement of making a mess creating this wild image of a green house with a brilliant yellow sun and red people and blue grass. It was pure excitement. When it was time to leave I put on a tantrum because I found something that I wanted. My mother said we could come back another day to calm me down.  I was too young to understand the compulsion or the feeling of pure exuberance that allowed me the freedom to lay down anything I wanted. That emotion never left me, even though my mother did when she died a year or two later.

The passion remained and I began to sell my art at age 8 for candy money.  If it weren’t for my sweet tooth, I would have given it away for free just to be able to do it. I’ve studied art for more than 50 years from my early college days to I working with successful artists from every continent and learning something from each of them.  Now, decades later, I have the freedom to pursue that which I enjoy and create art in any style that interests me without being obligated to adhere to gallery standards that quite often require monotonous repetition to be recognized.  Now I’m back to the beginning enjoying the freedom again.







My mother, Rusty, (she had rust colored hair, but her real name was Rose)