This month, I have been painting and writing almost in equal measure.

The blog is part of that, but not all of it. I have also been working on the memoir and short stories, and I am beginning to understand that writing is not separate from the studio. It is another way of looking.

Painting, writing, and art history have always been part of my life, but lately they have begun to braid together more tightly. I read something, and it sends me to a painting. I look at a painting, and it sends me into materials. I learn about a pigment, and suddenly I am thinking about trade, empire, insects, cloth, military uniforms, Rembrandt, Titian, and a Dutch inventor who somehow built a submarine and still died broke.

This is what happened in June.

Then, over a desk, there was a painting that stopped me. At first, it looked like scratches of color. After a moment, a waterfall began to resolve, but what held me was the color—a very particular Veronese green. And then it clicked: Twachtman. John Henry Twachtman. Adelson confirmed it.

Six-artist show exploring the meeting point of science and poetry in visual form.

I’m heading into a busy stretch, and I’d love to see you at any (or all!) of these shows. Mark your calendars now, whether you catch the full summer spectrum at The Erik Laffer Gallery, a concentrated weekend burst in Greenwich, or a seaside finale in Newport, I look forward to talking color frequencies with you in person.

I’m heading into a busy stretch, and I’d love to see you at any (or all!) of these shows. Mark your calendars now, whether you catch the full summer spectrum at The Erik Laffer Gallery, a concentrated weekend burst in Greenwich, or a seaside finale in Newport, I look forward to talking color frequencies with you in person.