A Burnt Orange 🧡🤎

Since my dad has been facing an overwhelming number of health issues over the past couple of years, I’ve been thinking about the things he’s loved throughout his life, particularly in art. So today, I want to share something about his favorite painting here. Dad’s not who you would call a “fine art” kind of guy. His passions are more rooted in old, jazzy music and classic Hollywood movies. He doesn’t collect paintings or follow anything related to the visual arts. He once commented that he found Toulouse-Lautrec’s life extremely tragic and he gets a big kick out of Al Hirshfield's celeb drawings, his daughter's name ( Nina ) always hidden somewhere within those swooping, thin lines.  His favorite color is Kelly Green , which happens to be the color of his favorite basketball team, the Boston Celtics. Who knows if that was fate or a happy coincidence?  Dad doesn’t have curated opinions about art movements or theories. But ask him about Frank Sinatra? He can tell you wha...

                                                       Practically every New Year's Eve and 4th of July for over 20 years now, my family and I have been tuning into The Twilight Zone marathons. Whether it's on  Syfy, Heroes and Icons, MeTV , Decades , or going to my own DVD collection to play the ones we've missed in the marathons or  simply want to see again, it's been a great pastime for us. There’s something timeless and chilling in the way Rod Serling’s eerie little tales still speak to us today. This year, I challenged myself to portray a few episodes by creating collages. I thought I’d get through a lot more of them by now, but life doesn’t always move on a perfect schedule. I’m still glad for these four though. Here’s what I made, what inspired each piece, and some of what I discovered along the way.        ...

In Bitter Herbs , a haunting little book I’m reading by Marga Mingo, one chapter is entitled, "The Stars." The family quietly sews yellow stars onto their clothing. There's no outrage, just cooperative, casual compliance. It's a slow, eroding of their freedom disguised as everyday, routine chores.  I'm reminded of Anne Frank’s world- and how insidious and gradual the oppressions were that piled up on her family throughout time and that eventually led to their total and utter demise. And Anne Frank reminds me of the day my mother and I fervently went out of our way to see The Diary of Anne Frank at The Music Box Theater . It had snowed the day before, and the streets of Elmhurst, Queens were still heavy with un-shoveled snow. Mom and I were bundled in layers, walking briskly (but trying not to slip) toward the footbridge that led to the Grand Avenue train station. The sun was out, but it offered little warmth. As we trudged up the hill leading to the bridge, half-...