ONCE UPON A TIME # 2 (A Detail piece based on the original painting)
Original Oil on Canvas 2003- 2004__ 40 in x 30 in. Full-Size Print
(SOLD)
This is a piece about longing for a more beautiful World. One filled with all things good.
ONCE UPON A TIMEthe World was filled with "truth," and "compassion," "Integrity," and "Love." These are a few of the words inscribed into the drying paint of Once Upon A Time, hence its title. I don't know what possessed me to scribble those words into the painting as I sat staring at it from across the room one late morning. But before I did THAT, I didn't have a title and I knew just from looking at it that it wasn't yet complete. How do you know? Like many things in life, you just do.
It wasn't an easy piece to complete. I had to hold the elbow of one arm in the hand of other for support. I moved one, to move the other. The pain was intense. But the paint would have dried, and I needed to keep going. There was something special about this painting and I could see it even then before it was complete. I worked around the clock. I kept painting. And I cried. The end would not be easy. I cried because of the intense pain. But I continued to paint through the night. Sometimes you have to keep moving forward in spite of the pain. There are sections of the work where you can see (at least I can see) that I was struggling. Movement becomes stilted and any freewheeling passionate energy is suddenly bridled and afraid. The pain caused me to hold back and you can actually see that in the painting. It was intense. I am naked in this painting with my pain fully exposed by the hurtful movements of my brush.
Maybe the end of this period ~ of joy, of love, of truth, of compassion, of 2nd family, of honesty and of integrity -- all of it -- maybe it's supposed to hurt . . . . . . .
** ** ** ** **
The lady from Westward Beach asked me what I thought about when I was painting, or right before I started. I had no easy answer. I stared back at her equally mystified. I wasn't really thinking about anything -- or was I? I'd have to take measure next time before I started. Was I worried if I'd left the stove on? Was I checking the weather report to decide if I was going to the beach for a run or a bike ride? Were the dogs settled in? Did anyone need anything? What painting will you work on today?
I was only able to answer her other questions:
What do you look at, a picture?
No. I don't look at anything.
Do you outline first or put in the shapes in pencil or in paint?
No. I don't draw anything. I just go. I just start painting. I get a feeling, an urge, an overwhelming desire.
And then I just relax into it and it takes over I guess. It's like being in a meditative state, if that makes sense.
She looked mystified. I too was mystified.
(How DO I start? Was it entirely feeling - or was there thought involved?)
The Lady from Westward Beach finally concluded with much certainty that I was channeling the work (whatever that means). She often said things which I didn't understand. It was as if we spoke two different languages. But she had a huge influence on me back then as did her husband, who had trained under Frank Lloyd Wright at Taliesen. So I soaked it all in as the three of us sat there in front of the fire, drinking a cup of tea, with them both commenting on my work and telling me there was an unmistakable graphic element to these early paintings.
(I loved being there with them talking about art and architecture, music and literature. Buster and Simba curled up in the corner close to the fire. It can get v-e-r-y chilly at night in Malibu. It was a world away from my "other (scientific, mathematical & clinical) world" -- and it brought me incredible joy. It sure was nice having a family.)
But then something changed. What happened? Her son David happened. I met him at Thanksgiving dinner. It was the entire family - and me. Four adult children. The youngest was David. Tall, dark, handsome - but not my type. But David (according to his mom) was falling hard. I didn't realize it but his mother recognized the look. She cornered me in the kitchen and told me to "stay away from him" - and at first I had no idea what she was even talking about. Stay away from whom? She told me she "could see the way he was staring at me." She said that she "wanted to have grandchildren" and "You're recuperating from cancer and now you won't be able to have children. I don't want you near him! You're infertile!" I was stunned. Where was this coming from? This wasn't the same woman who befriended me on Westward Beach. She tried to back track. "You know we love you -- but bottom line is - - you can't have children. You can't be with a young man your own age. Definitely not my son. I want grandchildren, so stay away from him." Her hubby looked embarrassed but tried hard not to get involved. He clearly felt uncomfortable with what was said, but he was husband number two and knew his place. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. I choked back my tears fighting hard not to have anyone see me cry. And when I joined the family back in the dining room, I could suddenly feel David's eyes on me. The look that I previously had not noticed -- because I'm pretty dense in that regard. And it scared me - because I didn't want to lose her friendship. But the truth was, everything had changed in an instant and I just didn't know it yet. So I looked away and avoided his gaze. And tried hard to pretend I didn't notice, even though now I did.
Kindness. The Lady from the Beach along the Pacific Ocean out here in California, the one that had made me feel like I had a family, just stabbed me right in my small fragile heart. I already no longer felt like a woman. (I watched as my friends were having children, and I felt empty and incomplete. What of any meaning would I leave behind? is there anything more important than shaping future generations? I couldn't think of anything.) David did call - many many times. But I never returned his calls and never got together with him. But that didn't make a difference to the Lady from Westward Beach whose demeanor towards me had suddenly shifted.
I was lost. I didn't understand at first what had just happened.I did understand her desire for grandchildren. And I was going to 'stay away' from him, because that's what people with integrity do - they don't do things that would hurt someone they are close to. But apparently it was a one-way street. And ultimately, there was no getting over those hurtful words. She could have/should have stopped after just the admonition. But that wasn't enough for her. She had to be certain I would never date him and so she continued using her words in a way that was deeply hurtful.
** ** ** ** **
People don't change over night. Sometimes it's one thing. Sometimes it's many. But the loss of that friendship had a deep and meaningful impact on me that I didn't realize right away. If you can just keep your distance, you won't get hurt. . . . .
Better to put your heart into unconditional love . . .
Better to put your heart onto a canvas . . . .
** ** ** ** **
I recall the first time I saw the movie about Pollack. I recall thinking to myself -- "WHAT is the big deal? The guy is just flinging paint on a canvas. A child could do that!" I had no understanding whatsoever of what he was doing, and all the "experts" to me were just fakers, making something out of nothing and attempting to sound knowledgeable in the process. You couldn't fool me. But I wasn't an artist back then, or at least I hadn't yet started to paint. And then I did.
Some time had passed since my friendship with the Lady on Westward Beach drew to an abrupt end. And I remember being intensely curious about Pollack - over all other artists, but I didn't know why. So I watched the film about his life a second time. And suddenly it made sense. He was "balancing." THAT is what he was doing! He understood inherently that to make it "work" there needed to be a balance -- both in "volume" and in "color." That was - in my opinion at least - what Pollack was doing. And suddenly I understood what I had been doing instinctively. It was all about color and volume. YES! It finally made sense to me.
(I had finally answered her question, but there was nobody to tell this to . . . )
** ** ** ** **
In November of 2003 I was involved in a car accident. Then again two months later in January 2004, in the UCLA Medical Center parking lot. A woman driver slammed into the rear of my car while talking on her phone. It sent me and My Boys flying.
** ** ** ** **
(If only somebody had cared) I sat there on my couch, excruciating pain in my hand. No L.A. orthopedic surgeon had been able to diagnose or treat it. I'd been to a dozen. Several, multiple times. To no avail. I was told that it was going to take time for it to feel better. The Orthopods all missed the diagnosis, leaving me unable to paint (& not unimportantly, also unable to earn a living). I didn't know it then, but I'd have an entire decade of pain and loss of use of my dominant arm before eventually getting an accurate diagnosis - before getting the surgical treatment that could have immediately corrected the problem years earlier. I didn't just lose the use of my hand & arm. I lost a career I'd spent over a decade preparing for. But more importantly, understandably, I lost faith in my colleagues and my profession. But strangely enough, the greatest loss that I felt was of a decade of paintings that will never be.
** ** ** ** **
I woke up at 3 in the morning. The pain was beyond bearable. I yelled aloud for JESUS -- (which was astonishing given my background!) And then I lay in my bed not knowing who to call.
Do I call the head of hand surgery at USC who after being told this all started with trauma, incredulously diagnosed a post-viral syndrome?
Do I call the head of shoulder surgery at Kerlan & Jobe Orthopedics who hadn't even bothered to examine me after making me wait months for an appointment -- but instead sent a Fellow into the room - then relied entirely on the trainee's exam without even checking it himself?
Do I call the hand surgeon from K&J who had me on the schedule for hand surgery without bothering to check the entire upper extremity? (fortunately someone at Hospital for Special Surgery in NYC saw me before what might have been catastrophic surgical intervention on the wrong structure)
Do I see either of the two hand surgeons at UCLA or the one at Cedars Sinai who ordered incorrect imaging study, all three of whom missed the torn tendons, the fractured bones, the avulsion, and a myriad of other injuries of both the hand and wrist not to mention the shoulder? (A radiologist eventually made the diagnosis)
There was no-one to call.
Compassion. Caring. Medicine has become a numbers game. Get the patients in and get 'em out. To hell with accurate diagnoses. To hell with appropriate treatments or solving the problem (unless the patient is one of the Elites) Just one thing matters: Ka-ching! Ka-ching! What has happened to a profession born of curiosity and of compassion? So I just sat on the edge of my bed suffering in pain - for years now suddenly unbearably worse - not really knowing who to contact. I was alone and calling out for Jesus to come and save me!
** ** ** ** **
I sat in the back row at the Autry Museum. There were many art experts on a panel assembled by the California Art Club. It was a
critique and they'd be showing paintings up on the big screen. The room was filled with artists, collectors and art lovers. Then my
work appeared, Once Upon A Time. An audible gasp in the room. That made me smile. I hadn't thought much about my art for
sometime. I couldn't. My arm had been in pain now for several years and it kept me from painting. But I missed it a lot - then the
jurors started their critique. The comments that struck me most were those about not following the rules. (I need to say that my
entire life I've been an ardent "rule follower," so this critique was one I found particularly amusing. . . The Lady from Westward Beach always said 'You
paint who you are." But I was a rule folllower. So how could this be? Was I living a lie? Was I never my authentic self? Was I
trying to fit into a mold that I don't naturally fit into and if so, was that where this awkward feeling of not belonging was coming from?
"Clearly this artist does not know The Rules." (Are there Rules? I wondered) "Yet for reasons that are not entirely clear, she manages
to create this incredible piece of art and it seems balanced. There is not movement up through 'the thirds.' But there is movement.
You can feel it. There is no subject positioned at one of the four intersections of a three by three grid. She doesn't use perspective per se,
nor lighting. In fact, she does not follow ANY of the Rules." (I was beginning to take umbrage to this critique, but then. . .) "And yet,
amazingly, this piece totally works. It appears that she is able to do that with her use of color. And that's unusual. Amazing actually."
A second 'juror' chimed in and added this, "I'm not a huge fan of yellow. I don't like yellow at all. But I sort of like it here. It works!"
And finally, "Can we all agree that this is a Master Colorist and this work is a contemporary Masterpiece?" They all nodded in agreement.
Painting thru the pain was worth it -- if only for a brief moment. It is that moment of ecstasy when you are firing on all cylinders and
everything suddenly spectacularly comes together in one great finale of explosive color -- the composition, the balance, the impact.
Everything is as it should be, as close to perfect -- and even with imperfections wrought by pain, there is still something here filled
with the blessings of kindness and compassion, raw honesty and purity of emotion -- all that is clean and powerful and good, the feeling
that was in that moment and therefore remains to this day because it was somehow captured with a brush on a canvas during a painful
yet wonderful period of creativity - - all that and more became a memory piece of a great experiment, a great Society that once was ---
something that I was crying for because I was starting to feel like it was gone and never coming back - - - if only I could get that feeling
back - - - it was like a fairytale and maybe there would be a happy ending and someone would recognize that what was, was in fact a
Masterpiece. An era now gone. One filled with love. Striving for betterment. Not perfect but trying to get there. Innocence. Honesty.
Integrity. Truth. Compassion. Kindness. That's what this painting is about. WHERE has all that gone? A time when we saw the best of mankind and it was
remarkable and it was beautiful, as if we were living in a fairytale - - - - ONCE UPON A TIME.
I think the piece says everything I wanted to say.
PROVENANCE:
The Palm Springs Desert Museum, Palm Springs, California: National Juried Show 2004 ~ Best in Show (Color Award)
The Los Angeles Times: February 19, 2004 ~ Once Upon A Time (Cited Janai-Ami's "extraordinary use of color")
The Autry Museum, Burbank, California: California Art Club 2004 Critique ~ Cited by panel of art world jurors as
"... a contemporary Masterpiece which breaks all the rules of composition by using color not form to meet those 'rules' in ways never seen before, all this while demonstrating an extreme mastery in its extraordinary use of color . . . truly a magnificent work of art!"
Anaheim Convention Center, Anaheim, California 2005 ~ Art Show, Annual AAO Academy Meeting
Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Cabot Science Center 2016 ~ Digital Exhibition
ONCE UPON A TIME # 2 (A Detail piece based on the original painting)
Original Oil on Canvas 2003- 2004__ 40 in x 30 in. Full-Size Print
(SOLD)
This is a piece about longing for a more beautiful World. One filled with all things good.
ONCE UPON A TIME the World was filled with "truth," and "compassion," "Integrity," and "Love." These are a few of the words inscribed into the drying paint of Once Upon A Time, hence its title. I don't know what possessed me to scribble those words into the painting as I sat staring at it from across the room one late morning. But before I did THAT, I didn't have a title and I knew just from looking at it that it wasn't yet complete. How do you know? Like many things in life, you just do.
It wasn't an easy piece to complete. I had to hold the elbow of one arm in the hand of other for support. I moved one, to move the other. The pain was intense. But the paint would have dried, and I needed to keep going. There was something special about this painting and I could see it even then before it was complete. I worked around the clock. I kept painting. And I cried. The end would not be easy. I cried because of the intense pain. But I continued to paint through the night. Sometimes you have to keep moving forward in spite of the pain. There are sections of the work where you can see (at least I can see) that I was struggling. Movement becomes stilted and any freewheeling passionate energy is suddenly bridled and afraid. The pain caused me to hold back and you can actually see that in the painting. It was intense. I am naked in this painting with my pain fully exposed by the hurtful movements of my brush.
Maybe the end of this period ~ of joy, of love, of truth, of compassion, of 2nd family, of honesty and of integrity -- all of it -- maybe it's supposed to hurt . . . . . . .
** ** ** ** **
The lady from Westward Beach asked me what I thought about when I was painting, or right before I started. I had no easy answer. I stared back at her equally mystified. I wasn't really thinking about anything -- or was I? I'd have to take measure next time before I started. Was I worried if I'd left the stove on? Was I checking the weather report to decide if I was going to the beach for a run or a bike ride? Were the dogs settled in? Did anyone need anything? What painting will you work on today?
I was only able to answer her other questions:
What do you look at, a picture?
No. I don't look at anything.
Do you outline first or put in the shapes in pencil or in paint?
No. I don't draw anything. I just go. I just start painting. I get a feeling, an urge, an overwhelming desire.
And then I just relax into it and it takes over I guess. It's like being in a meditative state, if that makes sense.
She looked mystified. I too was mystified.
(How DO I start? Was it entirely feeling - or was there thought involved?)
The Lady from Westward Beach finally concluded with much certainty that I was channeling the work (whatever that means). She often said things which I didn't understand. It was as if we spoke two different languages. But she had a huge influence on me back then as did her husband, who had trained under Frank Lloyd Wright at Taliesen. So I soaked it all in as the three of us sat there in front of the fire, drinking a cup of tea, with them both commenting on my work and telling me there was an unmistakable graphic element to these early paintings.
(I loved being there with them talking about art and architecture, music and literature. Buster and Simba curled up in the corner close to the fire. It can get v-e-r-y chilly at night in Malibu. It was a world away from my "other (scientific, mathematical & clinical) world" -- and it brought me incredible joy. It sure was nice having a family.)
But then something changed. What happened? Her son David happened. I met him at Thanksgiving dinner. It was the entire family - and me. Four adult children. The youngest was David. Tall, dark, handsome - but not my type. But David (according to his mom) was falling hard. I didn't realize it but his mother recognized the look. She cornered me in the kitchen and told me to "stay away from him" - and at first I had no idea what she was even talking about. Stay away from whom? She told me she "could see the way he was staring at me." She said that she "wanted to have grandchildren" and "You're recuperating from cancer and now you won't be able to have children. I don't want you near him! You're infertile!" I was stunned. Where was this coming from? This wasn't the same woman who befriended me on Westward Beach. She tried to back track. "You know we love you -- but bottom line is - - you can't have children. You can't be with a young man your own age. Definitely not my son. I want grandchildren, so stay away from him." Her hubby looked embarrassed but tried hard not to get involved. He clearly felt uncomfortable with what was said, but he was husband number two and knew his place. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. I choked back my tears fighting hard not to have anyone see me cry. And when I joined the family back in the dining room, I could suddenly feel David's eyes on me. The look that I previously had not noticed -- because I'm pretty dense in that regard. And it scared me - because I didn't want to lose her friendship. But the truth was, everything had changed in an instant and I just didn't know it yet. So I looked away and avoided his gaze. And tried hard to pretend I didn't notice, even though now I did.
Kindness. The Lady from the Beach along the Pacific Ocean out here in California, the one that had made me feel like I had a family, just stabbed me right in my small fragile heart. I already no longer felt like a woman. (I watched as my friends were having children, and I felt empty and incomplete. What of any meaning would I leave behind? is there anything more important than shaping future generations? I couldn't think of anything.) David did call - many many times. But I never returned his calls and never got together with him. But that didn't make a difference to the Lady from Westward Beach whose demeanor towards me had suddenly shifted.
I was lost. I didn't understand at first what had just happened. I did understand her desire for grandchildren. And I was going to 'stay away' from him, because that's what people with integrity do - they don't do things that would hurt someone they are close to. But apparently it was a one-way street. And ultimately, there was no getting over those hurtful words. She could have/should have stopped after just the admonition. But that wasn't enough for her. She had to be certain I would never date him and so she continued using her words in a way that was deeply hurtful.
** ** ** ** **
People don't change over night. Sometimes it's one thing. Sometimes it's many. But the loss of that friendship had a deep and meaningful impact on me that I didn't realize right away. If you can just keep your distance, you won't get hurt. . . . .
Better to put your heart into unconditional love . . .
Better to put your heart onto a canvas . . . .
** ** ** ** **
I recall the first time I saw the movie about Pollack. I recall thinking to myself -- "WHAT is the big deal? The guy is just flinging paint on a canvas. A child could do that!" I had no understanding whatsoever of what he was doing, and all the "experts" to me were just fakers, making something out of nothing and attempting to sound knowledgeable in the process. You couldn't fool me. But I wasn't an artist back then, or at least I hadn't yet started to paint. And then I did.
Some time had passed since my friendship with the Lady on Westward Beach drew to an abrupt end. And I remember being intensely curious about Pollack - over all other artists, but I didn't know why. So I watched the film about his life a second time. And suddenly it made sense. He was "balancing." THAT is what he was doing! He understood inherently that to make it "work" there needed to be a balance -- both in "volume" and in "color." That was - in my opinion at least - what Pollack was doing. And suddenly I understood what I had been doing instinctively. It was all about color and volume. YES! It finally made sense to me.
(I had finally answered her question, but there was nobody to tell this to . . . )
** ** ** ** **
In November of 2003 I was involved in a car accident. Then again two months later in January 2004, in the UCLA Medical Center parking lot. A woman driver slammed into the rear of my car while talking on her phone. It sent me and My Boys flying.
** ** ** ** **
(If only somebody had cared) I sat there on my couch, excruciating pain in my hand. No L.A. orthopedic surgeon had been able to diagnose or treat it. I'd been to a dozen. Several, multiple times. To no avail. I was told that it was going to take time for it to feel better. The Orthopods all missed the diagnosis, leaving me unable to paint (& not unimportantly, also unable to earn a living). I didn't know it then, but I'd have an entire decade of pain and loss of use of my dominant arm before eventually getting an accurate diagnosis - before getting the surgical treatment that could have immediately corrected the problem years earlier. I didn't just lose the use of my hand & arm. I lost a career I'd spent over a decade preparing for. But more importantly, understandably, I lost faith in my colleagues and my profession. But strangely enough, the greatest loss that I felt was of a decade of paintings that will never be.
** ** ** ** **
I woke up at 3 in the morning. The pain was beyond bearable. I yelled aloud for JESUS -- (which was astonishing given my background!) And then I lay in my bed not knowing who to call.
Do I call the head of hand surgery at USC who after being told this all started with trauma, incredulously diagnosed a post-viral syndrome?
Do I call the head of shoulder surgery at Kerlan & Jobe Orthopedics who hadn't even bothered to examine me after making me wait months for an appointment -- but instead sent a Fellow into the room - then relied entirely on the trainee's exam without even checking it himself?
Do I call the hand surgeon from K&J who had me on the schedule for hand surgery without bothering to check the entire upper extremity? (fortunately someone at Hospital for Special Surgery in NYC saw me before what might have been catastrophic surgical intervention on the wrong structure)
Do I see either of the two hand surgeons at UCLA or the one at Cedars Sinai who ordered incorrect imaging study, all three of whom missed the torn tendons, the fractured bones, the avulsion, and a myriad of other injuries of both the hand and wrist not to mention the shoulder? (A radiologist eventually made the diagnosis)
There was no-one to call.
Compassion. Caring. Medicine has become a numbers game. Get the patients in and get 'em out. To hell with accurate diagnoses. To hell with appropriate treatments or solving the problem (unless the patient is one of the Elites) Just one thing matters: Ka-ching! Ka-ching! What has happened to a profession born of curiosity and of compassion? So I just sat on the edge of my bed suffering in pain - for years now suddenly unbearably worse - not really knowing who to contact. I was alone and calling out for Jesus to come and save me!
** ** ** ** **
I sat in the back row at the Autry Museum. There were many art experts on a panel assembled by the California Art Club. It was a
critique and they'd be showing paintings up on the big screen. The room was filled with artists, collectors and art lovers. Then my
work appeared, Once Upon A Time. An audible gasp in the room. That made me smile. I hadn't thought much about my art for
sometime. I couldn't. My arm had been in pain now for several years and it kept me from painting. But I missed it a lot - then the
jurors started their critique. The comments that struck me most were those about not following the rules. (I need to say that my
entire life I've been an ardent "rule follower," so this critique was one I found particularly amusing. . . The Lady from Westward Beach always said 'You
paint who you are." But I was a rule folllower. So how could this be? Was I living a lie? Was I never my authentic self? Was I
trying to fit into a mold that I don't naturally fit into and if so, was that where this awkward feeling of not belonging was coming from?
"Clearly this artist does not know The Rules." (Are there Rules? I wondered) "Yet for reasons that are not entirely clear, she manages
to create this incredible piece of art and it seems balanced. There is not movement up through 'the thirds.' But there is movement.
You can feel it. There is no subject positioned at one of the four intersections of a three by three grid. She doesn't use perspective per se,
nor lighting. In fact, she does not follow ANY of the Rules." (I was beginning to take umbrage to this critique, but then. . .) "And yet,
amazingly, this piece totally works. It appears that she is able to do that with her use of color. And that's unusual. Amazing actually."
A second 'juror' chimed in and added this, "I'm not a huge fan of yellow. I don't like yellow at all. But I sort of like it here. It works!"
And finally, "Can we all agree that this is a Master Colorist and this work is a contemporary Masterpiece?" They all nodded in agreement.
Painting thru the pain was worth it -- if only for a brief moment. It is that moment of ecstasy when you are firing on all cylinders and
everything suddenly spectacularly comes together in one great finale of explosive color -- the composition, the balance, the impact.
Everything is as it should be, as close to perfect -- and even with imperfections wrought by pain, there is still something here filled
with the blessings of kindness and compassion, raw honesty and purity of emotion -- all that is clean and powerful and good, the feeling
that was in that moment and therefore remains to this day because it was somehow captured with a brush on a canvas during a painful
yet wonderful period of creativity - - all that and more became a memory piece of a great experiment, a great Society that once was ---
something that I was crying for because I was starting to feel like it was gone and never coming back - - - if only I could get that feeling
back - - - it was like a fairytale and maybe there would be a happy ending and someone would recognize that what was, was in fact a
Masterpiece. An era now gone. One filled with love. Striving for betterment. Not perfect but trying to get there. Innocence. Honesty.
Integrity. Truth. Compassion. Kindness. That's what this painting is about. WHERE has all that gone? A time when we saw the best of mankind and it was
remarkable and it was beautiful, as if we were living in a fairytale - - - - ONCE UPON A TIME.
I think the piece says everything I wanted to say.
PROVENANCE:
The Palm Springs Desert Museum, Palm Springs, California: National Juried Show 2004 ~ Best in Show (Color Award)
The Los Angeles Times: February 19, 2004 ~ Once Upon A Time (Cited Janai-Ami's "extraordinary use of color")
The Autry Museum, Burbank, California: California Art Club 2004 Critique ~ Cited by panel of art world jurors as
"... a contemporary Masterpiece which breaks all the rules of composition by using color not form to meet those 'rules' in ways never seen before, all this while demonstrating an extreme mastery in its extraordinary use of color . . . truly a magnificent work of art!"
Anaheim Convention Center, Anaheim, California 2005 ~ Art Show, Annual AAO Academy Meeting
Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Cabot Science Center 2016 ~ Digital Exhibition
PRIVATE COLLECTION, USA/UK/Germany
* Archival Prints Available *