A Frank Stella black painting from the early 1960's was the first contemporary painting my father introduced me to at the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan. I was all of 11 years old but the sheer size of it and its simplicity made an impact.

How could his flat black surface with precision thin bone lines be so powerful. Being totally devoid of any imagery seemed brilliantly new to my young mind. It was a statement that was outrageous and free and spoke to me.

Growing up in those crazy times with all the rituals of home, school, sexuality and politics being torn apart in front of us daily was a lot to digest. Today we are still bombarded by endless 'noise' as we yearn for quiet in the storm. Which is where the constructs of simple lines and pattern can bring steadiness within the chaos. Paintings can start out too sketchy and agitated, colors can be too hot and loud, so the challenge is to hold onto some of that tension while balancing the ball on my nose.

It's a journey of seventy seven years.






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