I decided to give this painting the title, “FALLOUT,” which seemed appropriate. I started it in 2021, while sheltering from COVID19 and dealing with the FALLOUT from The Insurrection of January 6. At the time it seemed like an antidote to the bleakness I felt was consuming everything. I wanted to use vertical lines to somehow express opposition.
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An American | 2007 | Gary Perrone
Something amazing happened recently. I was contacted by a relative I did not know existed. She shed a little light on my maternal grandfather with whom I grew up, but did not know much about. Like how it was he came to America in the 1950s with his wife and teenage daughter. I vaguely recall he had a brother. That man, who had also come to America from Italy sponsored the emigration of his brother and family to the United States. My connection to an Immigrant is direct – my mother. That is not a revelation. I watched my mother navigate the tricky currents separating her conservative Italian side with my father’s conservative American side. And I do not mean conservative politically. My mother’s parents were proud JFK democrats – and faithful to the Pope. My parents were, for the most part liberal and open-minded. Lord knows I did a lot to change their minds on many issues and certainly opened their eyes on several occasions to subjects they probably would have chosen not to have to consider in the first place. But that was the point.
Flag of United States of America | Wikipedia
I am a globalist but not a world traveler. It is inconvenient and expensive and I object to being labeled a tourist. If I were to travel to Italy, I would spend time in Ascona to soak up the energy of Luigi Pericle or in M.C. Escher’s Corsica and Calabria. I think it is terrible that people cannot travel freely to Ukraine. Hell, I think what has happened with Canada and Mexico are awful enough. I can say I have been to Canada several times both as a child and as an adult. I thought it was a great adventure to pass through the gates and be in a different country, in our car! Now it is all different.
Flag of Canada | Wikipedia
Flag of Mexico | Wikipedia
Flag of Ukraine | Wikipedia
It is easy for me to be outraged about how the US administration has behaved towards Canada but today I take a tiny bit of hope that Canada and the European Union will have a meaningful union that brings peace, economic stability and security – I want that for them. The current administration despises Europe and obviously Canada, I am just not sure why. Other than they are intractable and spiteful. Not very good qualities for doing business in good faith as far as I am concerned. As a matter of fact, the US Admin was largely omitted from the “real work” that was going on at the NATO conference in Stockholm today and left after four hours. The United States presented an air of incompetence and ignorance with disdain and a bad attitude.
Flag of Europe | Wikipedia
There is a city an hour’s drive from where I live. I go there routinely for mundane things like doctor’s appointments (it’s an insurance thing). On the way, there is a house on a hill with a lawn that sweeps down to the highway. Directly in front is a sign, now somewhat faded that reads: “GET THE U.S. OUT OF THE U.N. God Bless America.” That kind of ignorance bothers me. The United States helped usher in the United Nations Organization as well as NATO. Now, when it matters most we turn our backs on it all. DOGE is allowed to gut USAID causing starvation around the world and effectively ending US goodwill. The Department of Health and Human Services is being run by a non-medic who ended HIV programs in the US as well as abroad. Once again, lives ruined and further marginalized.
I stopped waiting for an HIV vaccine long ago. However, I do not think scientists and researchers should stop working on it. Maybe the DHHS should try properly funding and encouraging the scientists and researchers instead of lying to the public as the current secretary does, badly. It has been sociologically fascinating to watch Congressional and Senate Committee Hearings. It is must-watch TV. In particular, I find Forbes Breaking News very interesting. Seeing the back and forth exchanges of congresspeople, senators, appointees, department heads, litigants, witnesses and lobbyists has been enlightening, infuriating and at times cause for hope.
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Unfortunately, hope is easily shattered. One only need look at the situation in a place like Santa Ana, California. One example of thousands in the last six months. Forty-eight year old Narciso Barranco was chased and viciously assaulted by seven masked men claiming to be federal agents. He is now in a federal detention center and is being charged with attacking the heavily padded and armed “officers” with a weed whacker. I saw the video in which the “officer” knocks the weed whacker right out of Mr. Barranco’s hands. Two of his sons serve in the US Military and the other is a US Veteran. Who is to blame for this outrage? Stephen Miller? Noem or Patel? “Whiskey Pete” Hegseth? God help us.
Where is God in all of this? I find myself asking this question the most of all. I am put to the test every day and some days I fare better than others. A couple of weeks ago I noticed a man in the local grocery store. Typically, I consciously try not to take notice of the other shoppers or grocery workers but this man’s red “I love Trump.” cap caught my attention. Not to mention the beats style headphones, which were odder still. Later, at the checkout his counterpart was waiting on a scooter provided for handicapped shoppers. She had the same red hat and headphones as well as a t-shirt that loudly proclaimed:
First of all, what a poor fashion choice and what does that say about her as a human being?
Second, what company would produce an article of clothing with such a contemptuous message? With utmost humility I tell you this couple are white, decrepit and uneducated. Angry? Perhaps. Bitter? Maybe. That kind of broad spectrum intolerance makes me angry. Racial profiling and targeting are wrong and there are ways to properly and lawfully administer immigration and a path to citizenship. Kidnapping, assault and detention with a lack of due process by masked and unidentifiable “officers” is not it. No wonder so many immigrants are terrified to engage in the citizenship process. The ones who do are very brave.
Lacking divine intervention what choice is there but to turn to our elected state and federal representatives? I have done so in fourteen letters (so far) to my Congressman and one of two Senators. I do not waste my time writing to Rafael “Ted” Cruz as he is lost and broken. The other two are equally tone-deaf to legitimate concerns regarding ICE raids and detentions, not to mention deportations to third countries. They support the administration’s agenda of arresting 3000 people per day as well as many other awful policies and aims. I cannot imagine what would happen here if ICE raided the car washes, laundromats, schools, iglesias, Walmart, the chicken plant, the steel factory, the trailer manufacturer (largest in East Texas!!!) Who do you think welds those trailers together? It ain’t the retired white folks coveting their ranches and proudly displaying “Cowboys For Trump” signs.
Speaking of the chicken plant, it is no longer American-owned. It is Brazilian. In case you have not noticed, Nabisco (i.e., Oreo, Ritz, Chips Ahoy!, you get it) – Mexican. Oh, the crackers and cookies are still made in the USA, but by Mondelez Bakeries, LLC. Not a problem but it is supremely hypocritical to deliberately go after Americans who are not obviously white and clearly not criminals. Here in Our Town, USA I see a lot of diversity. I also see religious intractability and exclusivity. I see a functional public education system that really tries and a robust regional medical center, which many of us rely upon. What I do not see are masked ICE “officials” raiding our communities as they are in many other so-called blue places such as Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, San Antonio, etc.
Family Photo
Thinking about my grandfather, coming to a strange country I wonder if he felt any fear. Surely there had to be some trepidation of venturing into the unknown, no matter what his new American family might tell him. His wife and daughter trusted him and followed his lead with fortitude. I have always believed most people emigrating to America feel the same.
They deserve better at this moment and in the future. I pray ICE will run out of money soon. – GP
Spring of this year was remarkably different. Winter was cold but tolerable then one day everything was green. The trees were covered in flowers and the ground was pink, white and yellow. As I bicycled around town I rode under a canopy of cascading wild wisteria that was so amazingly purple I had to stop and check it out. A few days later storms blew across Texas into the midwest and Appalachia causing untold destruction and loss. Thankfully the area in which I live was not severely impacted as far as I know. However, I noticed there was not a speck of color outside of green. The heavily flowered trees had been washed and blown. The tiny pink and white flowers that covered lawns and fields were drowned and washed away. I rode back to the wisteria cave and it had vanished. It made me sad to think no one had really noticed the flowers and colors and so did not notice their absence.
Wisteria vines growing wild | Gary Perrone
It has been a few weeks and some of the ground wildflowers have returned. Mostly the ones that can survive the summer and lawn equipment. I have taken to transplanting some of them from perimeter areas to my personal space and they seem to flourish. Yellow daisies, wild violets, pink phlox and a unique wild iris that only blooms for two weeks in one spot, every spring. So cool. I will not know until next spring if the pods I buried will emerge.
Tiny Wildflowers 2025 | Gary Perrone
This is not the first time I have expressed myself about flowers. I am not a florist and I am not really a gardener. I have a deep appreciation for natural beauty and I constantly seek it out. As an artist I have considered this and concluded if this is a subject that moves me to create a painting it must be important. Polemonicae is a tiny springtime wildflower that blooms in profusion. It can be difficult not to trample them. Much like the way people are being treated around the world.
I did not paint this picture in order to recreate the natural beauty of these plants. I studied the intricacy of the flowers and the grass which they were among. Unless one is on hands and knees it is a pink carpet. I was looking for energy, patterns and connections. I used a magnifying glass to ascertain these things and interpreted them in my own way.
When I first started painting with intent, about 25 years ago, I was overcome with enthusiasm because I believed I had found a way to visually express my stream-of-consciousness that was unique to me. Not a rehashing of wishy washy blandness or nightmarish dreamscapes, but the raw, basic element of thought. I painted with the speed at which I perceived my thoughts to race and I never painted over any area. Over the years my paintings have become more deliberate. They have become much smaller as well.
If I say my painting is allegorical I think Jacques Louis David or Eugene Delacroix would roll over in their graves. But it is true. My painting represents the idea that humanity is very much like the tiny wildflowers – beautiful yet vulnerable, desperate to survive, carelessly trodden and largely overlooked. They grow among invasive weeds and poison ivy. They harbor both butterflies and mosquitos. They get mowed away only to return next year. I relate to this.
Polemoniaceae | 2025 | Gary Perrone
Art does not mean the same thing to me today that it did in 2004 or even 2014. I do not know what art means to me at all. I have observed that Americans, in particular, do not seem to care one way or the other about art or artists except as decoration needs require, or a status symbol of wealth. Usually both. Frankly, I think Americans have become less creative because real creativity is hard work.
If you think my recent paintings are just a way for me to get lost in some meditative state you would be very wrong. If any of my paintings invoke a calmness in you or some kind of entrance to a deeper consciousness, that is accidental. My painting is borne out of frustration, cynicism and anger. I paint in opposition to thoughtlessness. My focus is on color, form, transparency and pattern. The natural reality of the flower is meaningless in the aggregate – a confusion from afar, madness perhaps, no differentiation of individuals. Just erratic patches of color.
Some days I firmly believe in my purpose as an artist and I cherish my painting sessions. Sometimes it is a drag and I think spending time on art is purposeless and wasteful. It is a fact that art is not regarded as a serious profession. More ambitious creative types can work at ad agencies, production studios and the studios of well-funded artists but they must learn to subordinate their personal artistic or creative ideas or figure out how to subtly work their ideas into their given situation. Otherwise, the purists are on their own. I wonder how the academic artists are faring, those who receive and depend on governmental grants in order to freely explore and develop their creative concepts at high schools, colleges and universities.
Somehow, America decided to allow a criminal to become President of the United States. And in his usual fashion, Donald siphoned off the easy money and gutted administrative agencies along with staff. He diverted congressionally appropriated funds to his own opaque purposes such as his vanity birthday parade. He seeks to strip the agency from Americans through authoritarian executive orders and sycophantic department secretaries and aides. It appears he wishes to assist in starting World War III.
As you read this Congressional leaders such as Mike Johnson from Louisiana are pushing Donald’s agenda, which unfortunately seeks to cut spending on vital social programs that largely assist veterans, seniors, the disabled, children the poor, the sick the hungry. All Americans. For what purpose? Evidently to fund the wealthy in their efforts to create a master class. Huh. That is what Donald means when he refers to “citizens of the world.” I am not sure why, but somehow I do not think this includes me. Personally, I do feel I am a citizen of the world in my own way. I am open-minded and intensely interested in world culture, art, music, food, language and politics. It does not matter whether or not you are “into” politics. Politics are in you and there is no purpose in political apathy. Everything a politician says and every legislation that is passed affects me and you. When people abdicate their civic duty the parasites and invasive species take over. Like the Trumps.
Polemoniaceae | Gary Perrone
So let me be selfish. This matters to me. I am going to be sixty-five and am being encouraged to start my application to Medicare. They have already prepared me that this service will most likely not be free although I paid Medicare taxes nearly my entire working life. As I paid into Social Security all those years I am now eligible to receive the benefits I earned. What our Congress and the Senate do this year matters immensely to me, as it should to you.
One other thing regarding politics and politicians, they have no creativity. They fundamentally lack imagination. I wonder whether they engage in any cognitive reasoning at all. Especially conservatives. They are so laser focused on being anti “woke” that they come off as uncultured. I hear their rhetoric and it is dissonant, hateful and vulgar. There is no sense of color, light or joy. The idea of having a parade of any kind without marching bands and musicians is really lame and boring. Like I said, no creativity.
The Trumps like to think of themselves as executive producers. Of what? Some new scam? Donald Trump ruins things. Full stop as they say, and he takes down those around him who end up bearing the brunt of his legal, financial and societal disasters. I find it unfathomable that the man has been given a second chance to ruin the entire country and possibly the world. Do I have “Trump Derangement Syndrome”? Are you surprised if I do? Really?
When I journal it is cathartic and it also summons episodes from my past. Not my romances or immature situations but momentous happenings in my career path that strike a chord deep in my soul, even to this day. In the late 1980s I was a freelance graphic designer. I had been involved with the cosmetics industry in New York City and the work I did centered on packaging, displays and such. I did creative work for a company that showed potential as a client. The CEO was a Frenchman who loved perfume and he announced the “major launch” of a new fragrance in honor of a world famous celebrity.
They invited me to participate, which I did with fervor. I presented designs, comps, sketches all of which they kept. Then the celebrated person got involved and the parameters changed. And changed, and changed. As if that were not bad enough, somehow Donald Trump became involved in the “major launch party,” which would be held at Trump Tower in Manhattan. It was at that time the client told me they did not think I was taking the project in the direction the celebrity wished and a new designer was assigned to the project. The consolation was they would be using several of my ideas like type treatments, color palettes and merchandising sketches. The launch party at Trump Tower was awful. We had to pay for drinks in the lobby and when the star arrived, she was immediately whisked up to the penthouse.
I did not stick around. I walked home embarrassed, wondering if I would be paid. I held a grudge and a bitterness that my psyche is inclined to nurture. Now, observing what has become of the presidency in this country, which I hold so dear I am soulsick. When I observe the cruelty, the insincerity, the greed I am soulsick. When I observe Donald and his scions casually flaunt their corruption and phony popularity I am soulsick.
So, what will I do? My right of free speech allows me to express my frustrations, socially and politically, and I intend to continue to do so, especially as these topics are woven into the fabric of my creative mind and my art. I have been a purposeful observer for a long time, if not vocal and it is a significant choice I make to publish my journal, unfiltered. Please leave a comment, good or bad. If you think I am full of shit, fine. I have days when I am brimming with anger and hate – I know how it feels to be outraged. Mostly, I live with peace and empathy. I try to be kind and understanding, but I will not be bullied. I know the hard work I put into my art as well as finding enlightenment. I think being thoughtful and precise are excellent qualities for all human beings and I am grateful that today no one is dropping bombs on our heads nor firing missiles at us. – GP
Metamorphosis • Acrylic on canvas • 30” X 40” (76.2 X 101.6 cm) • 2023
It has been one year to the day since I last wrote about my art. In that time I have created exactly two paintings, each of which took months and untold hours of energy, intention and execution. I am not telling you this to laud my achievement, as a matter of fact it is shocking to me and at times disheartening. However, it is a piece I felt convinced to paint and in its execution was transformative.
Several years ago, while cycling with my life partner in rural east Texas I came upon the butterfly lying on the side of the road, one wing damaged and decided to preserve it knowing it would surely die and most likely be crushed. It was magnificent and I knew it was one of many that would survive and live out their biological destinies. I felt sorrow for this particular insect because I have a supreme reverence for nature in all its forms and I speculated its demise was caused by a passing vehicle.
Upon our return I found the creature lifeless and as I examined it I realized the mysteries of nature and the fleeting qualities of existence. I was amazed to see the positive/negative coloration on either side of the butterfly and I was captivated by the idea that it had begun its life in a completely different form, transforming into the glorious creature I beheld. That is not to denigrate the phenomenal aspect of its period as a caterpillar, which had to be equally spectacular.
I kept the specimen for several years. I often thought about the transformation from its leaf-chomping form, instinctively cocooning itself, then emerging as this enormous and beautiful pollinator. I imagined it fluttering among blossoms sipping nectar through its now permanently coiled organ. I was reminded of a hike, many years ago to Napatree Point in southwestern Rhode Island where I grew up. A narrow spit of sand about one and a half miles juts out from Watch Hill separating Stonington, Connecticut from the Atlantic Ocean. It terminates at a mound of rocks that contain natural vegetation as well as the ruins of WWII bunkers. That day my friend and I found ourselves in the midst of a massive gathering of Monarch Butterflies apparently in migration. I will never forget that moment although the timeframe escapes me.
This metamorphosis is deeply significant to me. When I decided to use the butterfly as a subject for a painting the first question I asked myself is “Why?”. The answer was transformation. I like to think of myself as a commercially viable artist but I appall the idea of commodifying my art. I create with intention and introspection in the hope of being transformed myself. Unlike the metamorphosis of caterpillar to butterfly, my transformative process is much slower. I made a small sketch of the subject in a notebook, then using a proportional grid, transferred the sketch to the large canvas in pencil. Square by square I transferred the image, visually correcting any misalignments. I blocked in a base coat of color as a guide. That was the easy part.
It may be hard to imagine, but this painting, as most of my paintings consists of literally thousands of deliberate and uniform brushstrokes. The layering of marks occurs repeatedly until my desired effect is reached. Glossiness, vibrancy of color, depth of black, whatever. Then begins the process of limning each of those marks with a contrasting mark in which color is added and removed, leaving a single line. In this manner, the painting metamorphosed to its current incarnation over a period of five months.
People who see my paintings, this one in particular point out the tedium that must exist in such an endeavor. To them I say, “Yes. That is true.” To myself it is akin to The Rosary. A devotional practice of repetition and introspection in order to achieve a connection with a higher power. I will admit throughout the work on this painting I experienced various levels of depression, from mild to extreme, occasionally debilitating as well as a wavering of faith. But I am a dedicated artist and most often I worked, regardless of my circumstances, mental or otherwise. Four to six hour painting sessions, day after day for weeks and months gave me time to examine my mind and adjust my mindset.
This time allowed introspection on many levels. A great deal of it was devoted to the butterfly. Its miraculous existence and untimely death as well as its purpose. My own purpose, perceived failures and unrealized potential also crossed my mind. I found when my mind obsessed on the bitterness of my past my hand erred. With each hour I worked on the painting everything in my life came to mind; my brothers and their families, my upbringing, my friends present and lost, relationships, the plight of the world and all its inhabitants. Also, my struggle with being HIV+ and my own mortality. These ideas along with my duty to my life partner and the ever present threat of his epilepsy. I reflected on these things both when and when not painting but my painting sessions gave me time to think about them deeply.
If I were to ascribe any sort of symbolism to the butterfly it would symbolize my mother, Sara. She would have celebrated her 84th birthday on June 11 had she not been so cruelly taken from us thirty-three years ago, due to illness. I think about her always and especially when I am painting because she always encouraged my artistic-ness. In my younger years I routinely drew for her – cards, letters – I believed she loved me although I did not always make that easy.
Memory of Sara • Acrylic on canvas • 30” X 40” (76.2 X 101.6 cm) • 2006
For me she was a tacit example of metamorphosis. An Italian immigrant, she arrived at Ellis Island with her parents at the age of fifteen. Her story is one of absolute assimilation and metamorphosis. Her name was Americanized and by all accounts her marriage to my father was arranged by both sets of parents. She had but a high school education but was extremely well-read and spoke beautiful English, never speaking to her own children in her native language. I am not saying that is right or wrong, just how it was. She was a devoted wife and mother, held blue and white collar jobs when necessary, and was a devout Catholic.
She was born Rosaria Sarandria and when I sat by her bedside in her final hours she expressed to me her devotion to God and her fearlessness of death. Even then she was beautiful, like the butterfly. It is like each of the tens of thousands of brushstrokes I have ever painted is a tear shed for her. That is why I think of her when I see the butterfly and why my art has always been dedicated to her.
For many days I arose with Uvalde in my mind. I went to bed with Uvalde in my mind and indeed the crime that occurred there has invaded and consumed my thoughts for weeks. I was catching up on the news of the day when it was being reported and as the day progressed I thought about my first day of school.
I was among the first students to attend Dunn’s Corners Elementary School. I can recall walking to my first day in first grade with my brother who was in third grade. That was in September of 1967. The school was less than a half mile from home and I would make that walk every school day until seventh grade.
Study for new painting • Watercolor • 2022
My first days in public school made a lasting impression. I remember the way the building smelled when I walked in, the newness of it. I can recall the way the cafeteria smelled and the odor of school supplies. I did not know any of the other children but I was just as anxious as they were. By the end of that year we knew each other and many of us graduated from high school together years later.
Of all the things we had to worry about as children the threat of gun violence was not one. There were bullies but never a danger of someone walking in with an assault weapon and trying to kill everyone. Neither were there over four hundred million guns in America. We had three TV networks and public television was just emerging. By 1969 my toddler brother was learning to read and count by watching Sesame Street.
Killings and terror happened in other places. Far off places. We thought it could never happen here but over time we became radicalized and insensitive to violence. Now we eat up blood and gore in television shows, movies and games. We practice killing with joysticks and get lost in dungeons with our dragons.
When the massacre in Uvalde happened I was still reeling from the killing of innocent Americans who were grocery shopping in Buffalo. The year 2022 has been a festival for the violence-rabid among us. Even worse is to watch impotent and unwilling lawmakers dither over and deny common sense gun laws in the United States. It is excruciating to hear Texas leaders openly express their willful ignorance on so many consequential issues. Whether the subject is responsible gun ownership, equality, women’s rights, racism, protecting the poor and indigent, providing support to the mentally ill, you name it, Republicans and stunningly some Democrats are in opposition and denial. The stories from victims and witnesses have repeatedly made me cry.
Study for new painting • Watercolor • 2022
All of it depresses me. A few weeks ago I had a check-up. I told my doctor how I felt about these things and how they affect me. Her advice was to not watch the news. I told her I would rather not live in ignorance and unawareness. That doing so is precisely what will lead to the erosion of democracy and our fundamental freedom as citizens and humans. That before you realize, you no longer have the precious rights you once took for granted. Living in this state of existential uncertainty has an impact on my creativity. I do not know how other artists cope, what I can tell you is I find it difficult to paint blithe landscapes and wall adornments. I am entirely too angry and at times utterly hopeless.
Have I made you sad? You should be. Having your rights taken away to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness should be a big deal to everyone. That is why it is so important for each of us to be a Voter in every election and understand what the candidates who represent us stand for. Apathy on Election Day will be the demise of Our Democracy.
Ah well, I do not have to be happy to paint. I worked on the painting, Time from December 2021 through April 2022, nearly every day, sometimes five or six hours at a stretch. For me, it was a daunting project on many levels. Early on I worried it was dark and manic. While I worked I processed the things I was aware were happening here and around the world. Dark and manic things. Invasion and war. Disease, overwhelming poverty and suffering. Mass shootings and violent weather. I realized this painting was a reflection of my processing of those things and I had to accept that it was emblematic of my unhappiness.
Detail of the painting Time by Gary Perrone.
It sounds like bullshit, even to myself but I can assure you it is not. And it is not like I painted furiously in a state of ire and outrage. To the contrary, I found I could not be distracted from the painting for a moment without making mistakes. I relied on music to give my mind something to grab on to that did not require the effort of thought. The painting was deliberate and intentional, not slow but determined. It was a diffusion of the negativity that emanated from the heart and soul.
I began the painting, Time just as Putin invaded Ukraine and led the world further into chaos. I could not believe what I saw. I thought my painting was going to reflect the previous year! The pandemic perhaps or The Insurrection. To be honest, the pandemic did not affect me as it did others. I got vaccinated and really did not see anyone nor travel. I wore a mask everywhere and did not let it nor isolation be an issue. The Insurrection was a different matter. It is an issue for America and will remain one until there is full understanding and accountability.
Handmade frames and stretched canvases.
After I finish certain paintings, especially large pieces like Time I experience a reckoning. I cannot objectively tell you how severe this is as it is second nature to me. Often it is a combination of awe and disappointment. I see the result of my obsessiveness and I wonder why I could not paint something happy. I ask myself why I feel guilt and even shame for having spent the time painting this. I think it is a valid question considering I did not paint it for money. My painting made me uncomfortable because it revealed me. The shock to me was thinking I could hide behind abstraction. Now I see the painting as an object of unique beauty and presence. It is a record of my thoughts, mentality and action during a time of collective distress. In the grand scheme I think, who cares about this or any painting? To me, however it was a wonderful achievement. Time gone perhaps but certainly not lost.
One day last December I had an idea for a painting involving concentric circles. It was an idea I had attempted several times before as it appealed to me on different levels. To say it was a challenge would be an understatement.
Read MoreIt has been a long time since I last published my thoughts online. The pandemic and political unrest in the U.S. and around the world soured my attitude. I felt (and still feel) out of touch with my own place in society. It is not the first time in my sixty-one years I have felt that way. Frankly, I am surprised to be in this state of mind at this time in my life. However, I am an artist and this is part of my journey.
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