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To create or not to create, ah what a question. Someone once asked me why I became an artist…then as now my only thought and answer is, because I have to.

It was there when I was young. Drawing whatever image tickled my fancy. Specifically, I used to love to draw or recreate the movie posters from the newspapers. Those wild, sometimes outlandish graphics were thrilling to see every week. Quite often the posters were more exciting than the actual film. But my artistic ability went unnoticed until my 6^th grade teacher recognized that I had a natural talent for reproducing images. To my surprise he asked me to draw several wild animals from a geography book we were studying for a class project. I readily agreed and to my utter amazement, once I finished he adorned every wall in the classroom with my images and there they hung for the entire school year…my fifteen minutes had begun!

As soon as the fuse was lit, it was extinguished just as quickly. The death of my father that same year changed me more than a 12 year old could ever understand. Nothing much mattered anymore and I literately didn’t draw anything again until I was in my early 30’s. Who knows why the desire to create returned after laying dormant for so many years. But the itch slowly began to resurface. I had just left a corporate job at a high profile firm, and I had free time for the first time in a long time. Little by little, drawing became a hobby…then a desire…then a passion…now an all-consuming addiction.

When I view my creations now, I can see/feel every year, every tear, every emotional moment (good and bad) that’s been my life.

From the musician portraitures that remind me of the music my mother and older sisters loved to the sports/athletic paintings that remind me of all of the ball games that my father and I watched together, to my large-scale abstract creations which encompass all of the joy and pain of being alive.