Painter Pilgrim in Search of What Is Essential

I was born in Michigan in 1960, into a family quietly falling apart. My mother cycled in and out of the local psychiatric hospital — returning home stable for a time, then abandoning her medication and sending us all back into chaos. She died when I was one month shy of my tenth birthday.

Drawing became my refuge. With a pencil and a piece of paper, I discovered a world where peace was possible — one I could build myself. In January 1980, I discovered the art world of New York City: twelve students following our professor like disciples through galleries, artist studios, and the still-rough streets of a city in its Taxi Driver years, when Basquiat was still living in Tompkins Square Park in a card board box.

I am the father of six children and was married for twenty-nine years. For more than forty years, I’ve lived entirely by the sale of my art. My record sale to date is $53,000. One of my paintings even found its way to the White House, hanging behind Betsy DeVos’s desk so that when the Chief of Staff entered her office, he met with her — and with me — simultaneously.

In November 2019, I left Michigan to begin a European pilgrimage. I’ve since made homes in the wilderness of Tuscany, where I restored an abandoned stone house; on the island of Mallorca, where I lived with a Kurdish yogi and learned yoga and meditation; and here in Paris, where I’ve now lived for a total of four years.

I recently completed a solo exhibition with Galerie Elhabibi and continue to follow the thread of my creative pilgrimage — painting, writing, and listening for what is essential.

You are welcome here.
Come closer.