It’s intimidating and kind of pointless for a painter to write about Paul Cézanne. It’s like trying to describe or explain God. Why bother? No words suffice. It just is and what I do couldn’t exist without what this guy did over a hundred years ago. It’s not a debt that can be repaid or even adequatelyContinue reading “Cézanne”

My Brother’s Room

When I visit my parents in Brookline I usually stay in Boris’s old room. It’s dark in there due to the brick-print wallpaper and tree cover out one of the windows. The walls—as in every room in the house—is plastered with my pictures. That’s never not weird to me, but after decades, I’ve learned howContinue reading “My Brother’s Room”

Better than a mirror

The drive east goes swimmingly until I hit the Pennsylvania part of I-80. Time slows to a crawl as roadwork alternates with roadkill punctuated by rain and wind.  A couple hours away from the North Bergen, NJ Super 8 where I’ve reserved a room, the highway becomes a parking lot. I ignore the electronic billboardContinue reading “Better than a mirror”