The ever present phones in everyone’s hand has ruined the casual museum goer’s ability to enjoy a painting. Now, a painting must look photorealistic to be “good” because everyone is used to viewing art via their phones. No one wants to see an artist’s brushstrokes or any evidence of a thing done by human hands.
Phones allow people to capture the minutia of their lives instantly. It has almost become de rigueur, even for the most informal of photos for people to do a sort of post-production tweak. Skin is smoothed, other imperfections sanded down. Just as people do not want to see evidence of an artist’s hand in a painting or drawing, photos now may only vaguely suggest one’s age. Unless it is the point of a photo (like those amazing black and white photos of aged people whose crags make them look akin to sculptures) wrinkles, imperfections et al are verboten.
One of my greatest pleasure and something I never tire of is portraying flesh with paint. I did not feel like dealing with anyone but wanted to indulge in my raison d’etre, showing the gooniness of flesh. August 9th, I am looking in the mirror about to shave. Monk’s elliptical patterns float through the half open door.
Gazing in the mirror:
“Wow, good thing I am talented.”
Almost Blue: August 9 Selfie 9×12 Rembrandt paper (this is one of my personal favorites of all my paintings)



Blue Pullover 11×17 Tan paper




















































