It Begins With Us
It Begins With Us is part of a series that began with one of my wife’s daily walks in which sh...

The funny thing about this painting is this was the visualization I had of the first house I owned, a nearly dilapidated post-war house in Grants Pass, Oregon. A mean oak tree had buckled the driveway, lifing it three feet from the ground, and threatened the converted garage foundation, there was nothing but a three step stoop, by the front door, and the door was actually a delaminated mahogany interior door that was thin as paper.
Two years later it looked almost exactly like this, without the driveway slab but with a square step, rail, and porch railing, every brick carefully laid by my own hand.
It Begins With Us is part of a series that began with one of my wife’s daily walks in which sh...
That look, the intense glare of Siamese blue eyes. If looks could kill . . . truth be told, her coat...
Do you believe in fairies? Neither do I. But if I did, their earthly forms would be hummingbirds. We...
John Pitre was one of my earliest art influences. Before the internet, we already knew of the depers...