One of twelve works in series exploring the emotional content of the months of the year and the passage of time.

One of twelve works in series exploring the emotional content of the months of the year and the passage of time.

When I started my "October" painting, I thought I would be building on the looseness and drama that had preceded it in “September”. But for reasons I haven’t been able to discern yet, it turned instead to geometry and an overriding concern for the expression of movement through composition. I started my creative adult life as an architect. For twenty-two years I studied and practiced the discipline of architecture. During those years the beauty and power of such concerns as functional relationships of spaces, structural and construction integrity, and the elegance of geometric patterns were drilled into me by great teachers and experience. This is not the first time these sorts of concerns have surfaced in my painting and sculpture. The lessons learned early in life have a way of staying with you. Though, it is nice to notice that within the geometric structure of “October” you can find the swirling, dripping, smudged, brushed and colorful play that was so prominent in “September”.

August I wanted to write about August but had to make time August, filled with contradictions Bits of yellow-brown leaves, punctuating deep greens The first leaves of fall are not retained by August trees But are shed in haste among the shadows of their timber August, with songs of late summer insects Crickets calling out in attendance Rabbits nibbling the hostas While grey skies frame the first sights and sounds Of Canadian geese making their way south August, long and languid, anticipating much School years and winter holidays The color of fall, October breezes, September dusks As a child, it was the last of freedom As a student, it was days of daydreams My father was born in August Thinking of him is missing him The air is more still in August We can hear our hearts mourning their loss Time slows in August August, warm and wet The rhythm of air-conditioners The repetition of fans August, everyone busy with plans Of September and the treasures of June and July I love August, even in the city, hot and empty A time for packing up and going home For visiting cemeteries and reading books Of sitting on rooftops and staring at stars For napping and eating ice cream, that drips through your fingers August, long, deep, quiet August Warm August, still August August, where dreams are postponed, when love kisses goodbye August days and August nights Where life becomes the art of waiting August, when the earth starts to slumber The sun begins its retreat Memory freezes the shadows of summer Our hearts expand by its heat August, that every single year, causes me to weep