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It’s possible that I became a writer instead of an artist in some other medium because of the men in my life. Beginning with my father, Steve II,
who was a painter, I grew up loving the smell of turpentine and oil paints the way most people get nostalgic when they smell apple pie. My dad could paint anywhere ~ in the basement, in the street with people looking over his shoulder, on a ship where he worked as a pump man. As a visual person, he influenced me in a way that only emerged later in my writing. But, like most of the visual artists I’ve known in my life, he was an amazing story teller and his paintings are figurative stories. Later in my late teens, Kaido Moti,who was not only a painter, but also created amazing etchings in his own unique process, became a mentor to me in how to see. My late husband, Jim Hinton, was a cinematographer, photographer, designer and art director and just living with him was a constant university in all things visual. My son’s father is also a very talented painter who taught me that an artist (in the generic sense of the word) must never be intimidated by his materials or tools.
The fact that I became a writer instead of a painter, I believe, is because I had a particular awe of visual art. It always has seemed mysterious to me and certainly out of my reach. It wasn’t until after 200o that I began messing around in that medium and my awe has merely grown with my exposure to it. Still, I’m a simple creature. I love to play. I’d rather play than do anything else and I found that I enjoyed painting and photography in a way that I rarely, if ever, experienced as a writer, because it was almost entirely non-intellectual. In fact, thinking got in the way.
All art is story telling at its most fundamental DNA. It’s a way of giving your point of view to
the world and hopefully, it touches others and introduces them to another way of seeing. As human beings, we can be touched in many ways, through the mind, through the heart, even, I believe through the soul. When that touch connects us with a particular work of art, we may not be able to explain why but we know that it’s happened. We recognize something. Maybe we don’t have the words for what we recognize, but whatever it is, it makes us feel that we are not so alone in this world.
The work I share here with you is not trained or mentored. I doubt that I have a technique or style, but then, that’s not something I would be able to see. Much of it is really crude and immature, but I’ve tried to sort out the worst ones and give you the ones that I like best.