I work in a small, most would say cramped, space. I face north when I write and swivel my chair to the south when I draw. A blank computer page and the blank canvas are not equivalent invitations. Writing is uphill, mostly switchbacks and dead ends; drawing is taking in the view, perfumed air, and singing exuberantly on the stroll back to camp.  I paint the portraits of writers, musicians and animals less as a way to show what they look like on the outside than as a way to feel through color what they are on the inside–both their insides and mine. I aim to convey a spiritual sense of the subject to the viewer, but for me my portraits have a magical or even totemic nature.

        My stories depend sometimes upon a festering memory, an unresolved emotion, a nightmare, a bad joke, a bit of conversation but always upon the craft of others. When their words and sounds alone are not enough, I try to get to know their authors in a different way, a deeper way.  If fiction writing is the serious business of plot, character development, figurative language, coherence, and image making; drawing is a trip to the well.