Memoir: Chapter 6, Flight

An Art Memoir: Depth, Light, and Love

Fleeing from New York, I wasn’t joking about being broke. I cut it too close on my drive across the United States. I ran out of money in Texas. Fortunately, I was friends with a family that visited La Jolla every year late in the summer, and I asked them for gas money that I would, of course, pay them back in a month or two when they vacationed again in La Jolla.

When I arrived, my grandmother put me up, and I anxiously began to look for work. My plan was to make some money, get my own place, and buy precious time that I could devote to painting. Teaching was the most lucrative job I could find, and working about 15 to 20 hours a week would pay for all my expenses. I sent out resumes to about 17 tennis clubs and tennis parks, confident that my resume was excellent for a tennis teacher. I became nervous and disheartened when I didn’t receive any offers. I did manage to squeeze in some private lessons on private courts, but that was not enough to get my own place.

Finally, after some weeks, I received an invitation from the head pro, Ross Walker, at the Jack Kramer Club in affluent Palos Verdes, California. I recalled that he had won a 35's national tennis title. I made my appointment and drove there, about two hours away from La Jolla. The private tennis club was wealthy, old school, and casual. I recall saying to myself, “I think this is the one.” Its membership consisted of 300 families, with about 12 courts, an unpretentious clubhouse, a snack bar, pool, and small men's and women's change rooms. I noticed several kids who could play, which was a good sign.

It was interesting; the pool had a diving coach who was married to an Olympic gold-medalist diver, famous for her back dive. They had two adult kids, and one of them had won the cliff diving competition in Acapulco. Needless to say, he was a world-class diving instructor.

Ross was impressed by my resume, and he explained that the club needed a really good player, as many of the kids competed not only regionally but nationally as well. He then suggested that we play a set. We were closely matched, and he won the set 7-5, which was a good show for me since I hadn’t practiced or competed in over a year. After we played, he confirmed that he would like to hire me, and we worked out the terms and I would start as soon as possible.

Relieved and now enthusiastic, and wasting no time, I sought out an apartment. As I drove out of the parking lot, I made a first right turn, then another, and one more. That landed me on a street of apartments, and at the end of a cul-de-sac was a “For Rent” sign. I met with the manager and signed a lease for my apartment. It couldn’t have been more perfect—a quiet place, only a 5-minute drive away from the club.

Anyone familiar with traffic jams in Los Angeles and surrounding areas knows it can take an hour just to travel a few miles. Plus, tennis teaching is in hour blocks, often with long breaks between lessons. Having an apartment around the corner enabled me to paint between lessons.

I taught a variety of groups—from tiny tots and 5-year-olds to groups of men on the weekends. While I taught private lessons for individuals, my forte was teaching junior players who regularly competed in tournaments. We often played competitive sets so I could test their skills and resilience.

The greatest consequence of landing this perfectly complementary job to my art making was that I could very gently and with great compassion take care of the artist within me.

I immediately set up my studio and began work on art projects, including a tribute to Puccini. There are a few black and white photographs of him, portraying a very stylish 19th-century type of person. He died in 1924, and he was a habitual smoker. I found a model with an olive skin complexion and did color studies of his face, using those colors to make his presence feel real and not like a touched-up black and white photo.

I did a quirky pastel color study for his suit and the surrounding areas. I took a stretcher bar, wrapped black raw silk around it, and propped it against a chair, using props to mimic the shade, light, and color as if he had been posing live.

I enjoyed painting this life-size portrait of him while listening to his operas in the background.

54 Hand Study for Puccini, 1984, pastel.

55 Color Study for Puccini, 1984, pastel.

56 Puccini, 1985, oil on linen, 60x70”.

I would teach a couple of hours at the club, then drive home to paint until I was ready to leave for my next lesson. I did have an extraordinarily tough day on Sunday, where my first lesson started at 7:00 AM and finished early evening. I often spent 10 hours on court, under California’s sunshine, combined with really tough playing lessons, though impressively making $650 for the day's work.

The junior players were truly excellent. There was one 11-year-old kid who had the magic touch. I wrote to my mom, who was very familiar with tennis, that there was a young genius at the club who would become one of the world’s best. That kid’s name was Pete Sampras. He won 64 pro titles, including 14 Grand Slams, and was number one in the world for a total of 286 weeks.

Over the next couple of years, I gave Pete about 30 playing lessons and never once lost to him. Granted, he was only 11 to 13 years old at the time. We also played together in a men’s doubles tournament at the club, where we made it to the semifinals to play against two guys who were the 35 sectional champions. We split sets against them, but then Pete had a junior tournament engagement on the other side of town, so we had to forfeit.

One point I recall distinctly was when Pete was up at the net, and I had hit a very bad lob. One of the opponents was a big, strong guy who could hit the ball hard. I shouted “back” at Pete, meaning for him to move into a defensive position, but he held his ground at the net with a mischievous smile on his face. The opponent smashed the ball 120 miles an hour right at Pete’s body. Pete, who was only 13 at the time, managed to duck out of the way of the ball and flick his racket, connecting with the ball and sending it back faster than it came at him for a winner. In my whole lifetime of tennis, I’d never seen anyone hit a shot like that. It was truly magical.

57 Pete Sampras at the Kramer Club, 1985.

A pic of young Pete Sampras shaking hands on the center court of the Jack Kramer club in a mixed doubles Calcutta, where the players are given handicaps. The better players are given negative points, and weaker players are given plus points. My partner and I won that tournament on this day. Gosh, I remember my starting handicap was minus 35 points

Aside from Pete, I taught Nicole London and coached her to a national 12 and clay court national championship. I also taught 17-year-old Melissa Gurney and coached her to a ranking of 17 in the world, along with her of our pro tournament wins. Additionally, I coached Bill Behrens, who earned a full tennis scholarship at UCLA, one of the leading college tennis teams in the United States.

But it was when ESPN was interviewing me about Melissa while she was playing in a major tournament in Miami that I began thinking, “If I’m not careful, my coaching career is going to take over, and I’ll never be a painter.”

With that realization, I informed the Kramer Club that I would only work on weekends. I moved to a loft in downtown LA, which was a very large white cement art studio. From Monday through Friday, I painted full-time and taught on the weekends to make ends meet. For the next two years, I worked ceaselessly and created one of my best works ever, Denouement.

58 Denouement, 1987, oil on linen, 54 by 78”. Preceding page.

59 Denouement in the Nancy Frey residence and collection, interior designed by Andrew Obermeyer.

Denouement is a bedroom scene depicting a couple's aftermath of making love. The guy is recuperating, having slipped off the bed onto the floor, and the woman is reclining, as if floating on a scarlet cloud, weightlessly holding her hand up. The scene is bathed in radiant, lemon-yellow-lit afterglow, illuminated by a lamp they had placed on the floor. A brilliantly colored Mexican carpet covers the floor. On the wall hangs an amusing piece by Picasso, depicting a circus woman riding a horse, and a serene Mediterranean seascape by Cezanne. From conception to finish, the painting took me three years of work, every detail and color nuance meticulously drawn from direct observation.

It's hard to comprehend the enormous complexity of this painting. I drew hundreds of light and color studies of the hands, the feet, figures, perspectives, the pillows, the chairs in the room, the tossed duvet, and integrated them all around a central light, so they were like planets orbiting around the sun. I kept thinking it shouldn’t be this hard to make a painting. But as I would go along, I would run into a problem and then do another study to help solve that problem. And so on, and so forth. I had never attempted anything so difficult, and it was hugely demanding to rise to the challenge—but so fun

60 Bone study for Denouement, 1986, pastel.

61 Lamp Study for Denouement, 1986, pastel.

It’s my belief that romantic love, at its highest, is the greatest emotion humans are capable of. With Denouement, I wanted to create an artwork that honored and did justice to that sublimity by wrapping it in all the golden, benevolent radiance I could create.

After finishing Denouement, I needed a sabbatical. I took a three-month painting trip to Greece. And I wasn’t sure if I would go back to the Kramer Club, I had sold Denouement. And with that money, I could afford to leave tennis for good.

I had never done plein air painting landscapes in nature, but they couldn’t be as difficult as Denouement. Ready with a backpack of clothes, a set of 200 Rembrandt pastels, 100 sheets of dark pastel papers, a portfolio case, and my super-light aluminum folding chair, I flew to Athens from LAX.

Greek Odyssey

I'd been to Athens before, but I'd never been to the Greek islands. After arriving in Athens, I immediately went to the port town of Rafina and booked passage to the next closest island. I had no fixed agenda and absolutely no urgency of time, though I was a little nervous about whether I could create really good landscape pastels.

Having analyzed the landscapes of Cezanne and Monet, I concluded that they worked in a 30-minute to an hour mode. If they were not done that day, they would come back the next day at the same time so they could maintain the integrity of the light and shadow of that particular time of day.

Being generous and kind to myself, I understood that the drawings would be impressions, not time-consuming, detailed, realistic portrayals. My mantra, which I worked with and stuck to, was to begin and complete a pastel drawing in under an hour. If the hour-sketch had great energy and authenticity, then I would be happy with it.

A Reminder to Be Humble and a Sold-Out Show

The view from the boat entering the beautiful Greek port of Tinos struck me with the beauty of the water, hills, and small terraced houses. Before departing the boat, I noticed groups of black-clad older Greek people, many of whom looked ill, donning kneepads. I was perplexed and wondered what they were doing. When the boat's ramp was lowered, around 30 of them got on their hands and knees and crawled off the boat. These pilgrims would crawl hundreds of yards uphill to the church, Panagia Evangelistra, known for its healing powers. By crawling, they were showing their devotion and praying for compassion for their illnesses. As I observed them, I felt compassion for their suffering.

Witnessing the devotion of those pilgrims in Tinos left a deep impression on me. It made me realize that I was in the prime of my life, with no debt, no obligations, and money in my pocket. I had the opportunity to live my life to the fullest, explore the world, and through my art, capture all the beauty around me. I was inspired.

Through a small but busy visitor’s center, I booked a small house outside of town with a view of the Mediterranean Sea for $15 a night and arranged for a motor scooter. Feeling ebullient, I loaded all my gear on my back and shoulders, swung my leg over the scooter, but carried by momentum, everything, and the bike crashed to the ground. As I lay there, I could not move because of the weight of the art supplies and the bike pinning my right leg to the ground.

I had to laugh at my hubris at the start of my Greek Odyssey. Several local women walking by offered to help me get up, but I was so embarrassed I said I was fine and could manage. There must have been a Greek god looking down, amused. Fortified with compassion, gratitude, and a reminder to be humble, I embarked on one of my most passionate periods of being an artist.

The trip took me roundtrip through the Cycladic and Dodecanese islands, Istanbul, and back the same way to Athens. I came away with 65 25x19” pastels, carefully protected with spray fixative and protective glassine. A few months after getting them home safely, I had a weekend show in my loft: Pastels of the Aegean. Sixty-five black-matted and glass-protected pieces covering my interior loft walls from floor to ceiling were magnificent, and it felt like being inside a gem-encrusted jewelry box. It was a sold-out show, and it was my first time experiencing waves of a buying frenzy—nearly everyone leaving with an artwork.

62 Panormos Bay, Tinos, 1988, pastel.

63 Super Paradise Beach, Mykonos, 1988, pastel.

64 Red Gate, Naxos, 1988, pastel.

65 White-Washed House in Lefkes, Paros, 1988, pastel.

66 The Fortified Walls of Rhodes, 1988, pastel.

67 The Portara of Naxos 2, 1988, pastel.

68 Baths of Scholastica, Ephesus, Turkey, 1988, pastel.

69 Yellow Portal, Rhodes, 1988, pastel.

Pastel Figurative Nudes

After finishing Denouement and then embarking on such a fantastic painting trip in Greece, I was on cloud nine. I felt electrified, more than ready to aggressively test new limits as an artist. The feeling reminded me of watching a kitten begin to exercise its prowess; instinctually knowing it can deftly ricochet off walls at a million miles an hour. Like the kitten, there was nothing to hold me back. I dove into expressive figurative nudes, creating both life-sized oil paintings and pastel works.

Parenthetically, I was around 32 years old at this time. In professional tennis, athletes had already reached their prime at 27 years old; from that age, they are desperately working to maintain a world-class level. By 32, they have to start making plans for their retirement. Their bodies simply can't perform at as high and easily as they could before. Imagine only being in your early 30’s and feeling like your best is behind you. In contrast, I was excited to exponentially grow, to test my best on higher and higher levels of aesthetic knowledge and technical virtuosity.

I profoundly felt that I had made the right decision to devote my early years to being an artist. Instead of 10,000 hours in art study behind me—what it takes to master art—I'd be facing this staggering, perhaps insurmountable challenge of starting from the bottom, with 10,000 hours of study ahead of me. I felt so ahead of the game and now I was ready to spread my wings.

For the pastels, I picked athletic and agile bodies of models in their 20s, taking a break, recharging before resuming their callings in life. Music is the unseen partner in these drawings. The models are allowing music's color and tonal vibrations to flow around them and be absorbed by them.

70 Back View of Houlihan, 1989, pastel.

71 Judith, 1989, pastel.

72 Judith 2, 1989, pastel.

73 Peter Reclining, 1989, pastel.

74 Houlihan Gesturing, 1989, pastel.

75 Anthony, 1990, pastel.

76 Pallas, 1989, pastel.

77 Billy Reaching, 1989, pastel.

There are two elements to my pastel art making: picking the subject and executing the technique. Surprisingly, they are very different things. With the figure drawings, picking the pose and composition is everything. But the technical essence of pastel drawing is to focus on the light, shadow, and color vibrations of everything in my field of vision. So, detailing the figure is treated no differently than a pillow or a carpet (an influence from Vermeer). Since the figure is already the star of the subject and composition, it is overkill to focus technique only on the model. (With the exception if I run out of time to drawing everything.) Melissa Hefferlin, the painter, once commented to me that I “spent equal energy and focus on the entire canvas.”

Pastel drawing feels like creating with pure energy.

Pastel is a wonderful tool for artists; at least for me, it helps me see nuances, the shifts of color vibrations even on a blank wall. Pastel drawing feels like creating with pure energy. Though it's difficult, it is possible to do fine details with pastel, but the pastel sticks are the size of fingers, so they lend themselves to capturing atmosphere and light.

My L.A. loft had high ceilings, and I had a huge and sturdy work table that could easily bear my weight. For four of the figure pastels, I placed my easel on top of the table and stood on it to draw the model from a stunning perspective, such as the Back View of Houlihan. Sadly, Houlihan died of breast cancer, but I knew she kept this pastel by her bedside until the day she died. Some decades later, another dear friend and collector died, found staring at my painting from the Arabesque Series on his wall.

These pastels paved the way for my life-sized figurative nudes, sharing themes of recharging while adding a theme that suggests what they were recharging for: the ascension of the human spirit.

This passion I wanted to express through my large sized figurative works. I took on themes of happy abandon, exaltation in being intensely wired, creative exhaustion with electric energy flowing through one’s veins, and ascending to the heavens.

One of my favorite models at the time was television and film actor, Billy Maddox. His acting career included roles in the series "Walker, Texas Ranger" (1992-2001), "Murder One" (1995-97), "Space: Above and Beyond" (Fox, 1995-96), and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (1996-2003) and several others. An extraordinary nice person and a great proportioned body.

Another beautiful model, in soul and body, was Lorrain Knight, a dancer, posed several times for me. She posed for “Counterpose” one of my most complex figurative works. I discovered Lorrain through the great sculptor, Martine Vaugel. Lorainne posed for several of Martine’s works, notably, “The Other Woman.” As the dreaded gorgeous 3^rd in romantic triangle.

Lorraine would also gladly “stand in” when I needed to correct a couple of ongoing projects. One day she posed for the feet in Blythe, which the feet play a prominent role as exclamation marks of happiness. As she was posing her, a near impossible feat, I asked if she could lift her big toe more, while leaving the other toes prone—miraculously she did it as easily and posing fingers. “How is that possible?” I asked. And she told me that as a child she imagined what she would do if she had no arms, and so she practiced for the day using her toes as grasping tools! Crazy artists, you gotta love them!

A favorite model was Pallas Sluyter a professional dancer, with an incredible career and currently sharing her talents with the world as a ballet teacher, choreographer, mentor, and Yogi. Pallas was also a favorite model of the great epic painter Jan Saether. He welcomed artists to his Santa Monica studio offering live model sessions, similar to those I attended in Holland. Once when posing for Ascension Day, Pallas calmly informed me that she could bend her back further than what I was asking for. I was scared to death she would break her spine, but no, she had no problems.

The very gracious model and actress was Houlihan Burke sadly passed away from breast cancer in her early 40’s. But I am glad we could document her beauty through some of my works. Notably Blithe.

78 Absorption, 1990, oil on linen, 60x48”.

79 Blithe, 1990, oil on linen, 54x76”.

80 Ascension Day, 1990, oil on linen, 86x70”.

81 Counterpose, 1990, oil on linen, 36x42”.

82 Ascension Night, 1990, oil on linen, 58x42”.

83 Study for Ascension Night, 1990, graphite.

Ascension: The Figure Through Emotive Means Exhibition

After completing these life-sized works I aimed to put on the biggest show of my career, Ascension: The Figure Through Emotive Means. I rented a space on Melrose Blvd on the boarder of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. The opening as a multifaceted affair with a world premier piano piece I commissioned, giving the composer, Donald Edick free reign. He wrote a six-minute piece, Transcendental Rhapsody.

The collector of A Writer and An Artist, Gordon Ecker, owner of a Hollywood sound production company, with offices directly across from the Grauman's Chinese Theatre on Sunset Blvd. He is known for The Postman (1997), Tron (1982) and L.A. Confidential (1997). Gordon worked to create a subliminal sound track to give a feeling that the gallery is in outer space orbit. I always disliked the absolute silences of art galleries.

Houlihan read a beautiful paragraph from Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged:

The notes flowed up, they spoke of rising, and they were the rising, they were the essence and the form of upward motion, they seemed to embody every human act and thought that had ascent as its motive. It was a sunburst of sound, breaking out of hiding and spreading open. It had the freedom of release and the tension of purpose. It swept space clean, and left nothing but the joy of an unobstructed effort. Only a faint echo within the sounds spoke of that from which the music had escaped, but spoke in laughing astonishment at the discovery that there was no ugliness or pain, and there never had had to be. It was the song of an immense deliverance.

Houlihan lived very modestly living the artist’s life, I wasn’t sure she had clothes for such an opening, and I mentioned that to my friend, Chan Luu, the fashion designer. At the time Chan was an owner of a high-end boutique in Palos Verdes, and she told me to send Houlihan along and she would dress her. Houlihan looked like a million bucks at the opening, in little black dress with a golden band that circle low on her shoulders.

Robert Mechielsen had moved to California and he did the architectural design for the whole gallery, and signage.  

A parttime art student of mine, David Corwin, was also a caterer and had recently catered the Academy Awards did the catering for the opening. 

Friends flew in from Europe and New York, there was Valet parking, and about 400 people came to the opening. I sold several works, along with a few life-sized works in the $30,000 dollar range, on terms. It was all a blur to me, so many friends and family to greet.

Like with my show in New York I had sent out a lot of press releases with photos of the works to all the papers, art critics, and art magazines. Crickets. Deadly silent and not one review. I mean how could Denouement not a get a review? Though I vaguely recall an entrench Los Angeles Times art critic prattling on about how the future art would be angst driven. I think it is the second time that a Greek god looked down on me and was amused by my attempt to make a cultural change.

Pigs, Pearls, and Indifference

84 Donald Sher’s John Lautner House, remodeled by Robert Mechielsen. Exterior view.

After the show, Donald Sher invited Robert Mechielsen and me to fly down to Cabo San Lucas at the tip of Baja California to spend a week slumming it on his 100-foot opulent sailboat/yacht. Donald came from a wealthy property-owning family, and Rob had remodeled his John Lautner Malibu home. The interior of the yacht was handcrafted in cherrywood without a single hard edge. It was as if the wood had been poured into its forms. One interesting tribute to me was that in Donald's bedroom, there was a tiny framed artwork embedded in the cherrywood of the invitation copy of my painting, Denouement, which was only about 3 by 5 inches. It was amusing to have such a lavish setting for one of my postcards.

Given that Donald was honoring one of my works, I thought he should have an original in his John Lautner home, and there was a beautiful wall perfect for one of my angular pieces. I thought Counterpose would look incredible there, with her angular compass complementing the angular design of the house. He was indifferent to my proposal, and I think that was the last time we spoke.

85 Donald Sher’s John Lautner House, remodeled by Robert Mechielsen. Interior view.

Interestingly enough, two years before, I had written my first art criticism: a 1992 review of Sue Coe’s Porkopolis at the Santa Monica Museum of Art for the Southern California Herald American Newspaper. Donald's sister, Abby Sher, was the founder of the Santa Monica Museum of Art, housed in a complex design by Frank Gehry. The two-story building had an outdoor elevator. When you took it and arrived on the second floor, instead of opening up to a beautiful view towards the Pacific Ocean, you were encaged in a chain-link enclosure. Instead of being uplifted by the experience, you were treated like a third-rate prisoner. This was done on purpose.

The Sue Coe exhibition consisted of dozens of mediocre drawings depicting pigs being slaughtered in a meatpacking concern. I would have given my eyeteeth to have a museum exhibition, but there was simply no middle ground between my view of the world and the museum’s.

Otis College of Art and Design

Around the time of the show, the great Art School, Otis College of Art and Design, invited me to come and teach life drawing for them one day a week. Their concept is that they wanted to have professional artists, designers, and architects who were actively working in their fields come in and teach one day a week. This arrangement provides them with a bit of stability without taking away from their professional careers. It’s a brilliant setup.

I had several remarkable students, and some I mentored in exchange for help around my studio. One student, Irene Niehorster, has an incredibly well-curated Pinterest page with 65k followers. Jonna Pangburn and Annalee Knutson posed for me, and two others have gone on to have exceptional careers: architect Andrew Obermeyer and painter Melissa Hefferlin.

Teaching young, passionate, and outsider artists was a wonderful honor, and to see their intelligence and sensitivity was deeply touching. The classes had around 20+ students from all over the world. Some were wealthy, others on scholarship. There were a few who had no place to live and slept in their cars near MacArthur Park, a rough neighborhood. It was very hard to feel powerless to help them other than through teaching the best I could.

One lesson I learned that surprised me was that teaching art comes with a downside to the teacher’s art life. I love teaching. Unpacking art techniques, aesthetics, and related feelings is fun and especially gratifying seeing the young artists’ lightbulb of an “ah-ha” moment. There were times that the way I was explaining things didn’t resonate with a student, and I would regroup and come at the problem from a different angle, or more, knowing that once the student understood, it would become their knowledge.

What I didn’t expect was that my internal artistic dialogue would suffer. It was like having backseat drivers offering unlimited alternative routes, so many that it's paralyzing. It makes sense though; teaching 20 intense artists was competing for my mind space.

The Mourning and Rebirth Series

I am not certain of the chronology, but people close to me died around this time. My dear grandmother, Edna, the one who gave me the Rembrandt book, passed away. Peter Duble, the crazy intense husband of Jennifer Trainer and a model for me, died from an aneurysm. The third was Rob Mechielsen’s sister, Marjan. I had visited her on her deathbed; she held my hand and told me how magnificent my art was, specifically Denouement, and that I should continue to give art everything I could.

An almost pathetic response to these deaths was that I was numb. Just numb, as if I had all the sensitivity of studio drywall. I was so disappointed in myself, and I simply did not know how to mourn them properly.

Throughout my life, art has been my rock of understanding and feeling; it is the lens through which I view the world, others, and myself. After thinking about how to mourn them, I decided to draw a series of figurative nudes expressing the loss of these loved ones.

The light theme for this series is that the feeling of loss seems to dissipate into the ether. So many times I wanted to express something to my grandmother, and I would go to pick up the phone to call her, only to sadly realize no one would be on the other end of the line. 

The Mourning and Rebirth project got off to an explosive start that brutally pierced my numbness. I asked one of the school’s models, Louis, to pose privately for me. When I told him the theme and purpose of the series, it seemed he shrank away from me. He quietly said he would have to think about it and he would let me know in a week when he was back posing at Otis. The next week, he quietly told me he would do it, but that I should know his father killed his mother, then himself.

What the hell did I get myself into? Louis came to pose for me, and I felt I had to match the gravitas of the situation. Each model brought their stories and their gifts to the project.

After I finished the series, a dear friend and collector, Geir Friis, who owns Pursuit among other works, called me to inform me that his dad had died. Geir then began to talk about his business problems and successes. At first, I thought, why isn’t he talking about his dad? Then I realized that he may have been sharing all the things he wanted to share with his dad, and instead of going out to the ether, I was the recipient. When I realized this, I became calm and listened carefully to my friend without attempting to resolve anything. This was a different me, undoubtedly due to the intense experience of drawing the Mourning and Rebirth series. 

86 Cradled Head, 1992, charcoal on Rives BFK, 25x19”.

87 Eight drawings from the Mourning and Rebirth Series, 1992.

88 Self-Portrait with Spotlight, 1993, charcoal on Rives BFK.

The Exaltation Series

Having felt the highs and lows of life, I was recalibrating my artistic expression. I was very happy with my ability to convey realism. I felt color vibrations deep into my core, and the use of light as a metaphor touched me deeply. For the next year and a half, I was ready to embark on synchronizing those elements.

Making love, drawing pastels of color and light vibrations, and immersing myself in a major artwork bring out a feeling in me of an explosion of fireworks—synapses firing on all cylinders. When I think about how to convey that sensation in a painting, it's like a massive current of energy flowing around and through a human vessel. As if time, energy, matter, and the human psyche all merge. For me, that is the definition of aesthetic exaltation.

Armed with an exaltation theme, I began a series for large, life-size works with an extraordinary atmosphere. I started by coming up with figurative poses that conveyed alternately releasing, absorbing, bursting, and acceptance. I also began to make color studies that were atmospheric, conveying this synaptic feeling. Additionally, I did studies that depicted the realistic setting. Three of the men are depicted in natural settings, while one of the women is in a bedroom setting. It's a wild integration of the body's expression, the atmosphere, and the setting through luminous means.

Little did I know, this would be a six-year project, finishing three of them in Rhodes, Greece. Sadly, one of them didn't make it.

89 Study for Synergy, 1993, graphite.

90 Front and Back Studies for Synergy, 1993, graphite.

91 Clothes Study for Synergy, 1993, graphite.

92 Study for Synergy, 1993, graphite.

93 Study for Releasing Stars, 1993, graphite.

94 Study for The Pond, 1991, graphite.

95 Background Study for The Pond, 1991, graphite.

96 Color Study for His Clothes in The Pond, 1991, pastel.

97 Atmosphere color studies for The Pond, Releasing Stars, and Synergy.

98 Study for The Slipper, 1994, graphite.

Flight

In the Fall of 1994, the collector of Denouement, Nancy Frey, and I took a trip to Greece, staying a few weeks on the island of Santorini. I continued on to other islands and spent the remainder of my time on Rhodes. The trip brought wonderful memories of my 1988 three-month trip to Greece and Turkey. After I got back to Los Angeles, I took a week to reflect on my present situation. I was in the middle of a boiling pot of challenging painting projects, dissatisfaction with the new administration of Otis, money woes, and personal upheavals. And in one fell swoop, I solved everything by packing up, selling several artworks, and moving to Rhodes, Greece—both giving and taking flight.

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