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Seems I've been on hiatus from this blog since ... dear me, since August! And it looks as if it's gonna be that way for a bit longer. So I may as well face facts and make it official. Okay, so I'm officially on hiatus until the winds of change blow me back this way again.

Thanks to everyone who's been following me and my work. I appreciate each and every one of you, and hope to meet you here when I return. Meanwhile, here's a holiday card in watercolor and colored pencil. Plus a little white gouache thrown in for highlights. Have a wonderful holiday, and all the best to you, your kith and kin!

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Show of hands ... anyone here been to the Stamford Museum and Nature Center in Stamford, CT? It's part natural history and art museum, veggie and animal farm, playground and cultural event center. It's even got an owl and an otter pond. Yes, a little something for everyone. And a wonderful place to bring the kids.

Recently I've been invited to paint postcards for the SMNC gift shop, yay! The postcards aren't printed yet, but I've got a preview for you. Above is a watercolor of a lion gate in front of the museum, a tudor-style mansion once owned by Henri Bendel. (Yes, that Bendel, the guy with the high-end fashion store on West 57th Street way back when. Does anyone else remember the pink and brown stripes on their logo and handbags?)

Designed by unnamed sculptors, the "Alert" lion is just one of a pair guarding the mansion. The other big cat is ... you guessed it, "Asleep". Would love to go back again some time and paint that one too.

The Heckscher Farm at the SMNC is noted for their heritage farm animals. And darn if I didn't forget to jot down the name of this breed! Luckily my minions are on the case and will report back. [Update: Informed sources say are Randall Linebacks.] In the meantime ... These black and white bovines have long, pointy horns with a bit of a twist on the ends. I loved how their distinctive horns glinted in the sun and stood out against the darks behind them.

I can't decide if this painting is finished or if it needs just a few extra little touches and pops. This is the danger zone where I can either make a painting sing or (gasp!) totally overwork it. I'll put it away for a few days and then look at it again with fresh eyes. It goes against my natural inclination to show you my work until it's finished and ready to go. But rumor has it that people nowadays are interested in how the sausage gets made. And I'm here to oblige.

If you're near Connecticut bring yourself (and your kids) to the Stamford Museum and Nature Center. Highly recommended!

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All summer long I've been trekking over to Central Park in the mornings with a spring in my step and a granny cart full of art supplies. Since I'm a typical car-less New Yorker I haul just enough stuff for a single day of painting. Even with a trimmed down kit my cart is a lifesaver. The photo shows only a portion of all the paraphernalia that I schlep each day.

Tools are very personal and every artist has their own preferences. This season a Meeden tripod field easel has been my constant companion. Sure, it's all plastic and it's not the steadiest. On the plus side it weighs practically nothing and it sets up and dismantles in a flash. To counter its annoying tendency to tip over in a gust of wind I hang my water bottle on the tripod and it stays upright (usually). A couple of strong magnets hold my palette securely to the shelf. And I had an extra well cut out because I want/need two water cups. One is for cleaning my brushes. The second holds clean water to keep my colors nice and bright.

This week I set up my easel just north of the Central Park Reservoir. When I looked through the trees facing south I was astonished at how changed the skyline was from the way I remembered it. In recent  years these unbelievably tall, skinny "pencil" towers have proliferated across midtown, defying gravity and poking holes in the clouds. I chose a view that depicts just one of them. I wanted to show that the  immense vastness of nature dwarfs any man-made tower. No matter how high the architect has the audacity to build.

I started my second painting just a few steps away on the bridle path looking west at Bridge No. 28, nicknamed the "Gothic". Because I was working so close to the road quite a few passersby stopped to chat. One woman told me that the wonderful old tree that bends over in the foreground is a white mulberry -- and has been designated one of the "Great Trees" of Central Park. I included that tree in my watercolor because I love the way it echoes the arc of the bridge. Her story only deepened my appreciation of its grandeur. Another visitor said he loves Bridge No. 28 so much that he wants to "adopt" it and restore it back to its original glory. After looking at it closely for awhile I thought that he had a brilliant idea.

Questions? Comments? I'd love to hear from you!
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Welcome to high summer in New York City, when the steamy hot days come fast and furious. To beat the heat and maintain a disciplined work routine I get myself outside and painting first thing most mornings. And as early as possible, so I don't get too involved doing something else instead. (For instance those pesky chores and errands that seem to pop up like wack-a-moles.) It's true that I've never been much of a morning person but it's amazing what you can get used to if you haven't got a better choice.

One recent gray Saturday morning I met up with my pals, the New York City Urban Sketchers at the magnificent Central Park Conservancy Garden. It was our first real live outing since the pandemic, so it was an extra special treat to say hello to everyone and be in their company.

Because I was with my friends I only had a short time to complete my watercolor. So I kept it small and simple. Of course I love the lily pond and the Burnett Fountain, and all the colorful flowers in that exquisite formal garden. But on that day it was the elegant dancing trunk of the magnolia tree that called to my brush.

On another morning I chose a very different area of Central Park to work in. I'd like to tell you that I'd been planning on painting this beautiful London plane tree. And that I had passed by and admired it many times. But the bare naked truth is much more practical and banal. Because it was a wicked hot and humid day, and I knew I'd need plenty of drinking water to get through it. So I headed over to the North Meadow Recreation Center. It's an easy walk from my home and ...they have a restroom. And since Central Park has beautiful views in any direction you turn, I decided to find one right there. In the shade!

Find one I did. First I was attracted to all the interesting knobs and bumps and branches on the London plane tree. And then to the violet and mauve rock formation that's echoed by another outcropping in the background. And then I saw the fence that winds its way around the baseball field until it reaches the dusty diamond. I was hooked.

Okay, so I didn't plan to paint this view. But I'm so glad it was right there.

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Ah, tempus fugit, and that wonderful Central Park landscape class I've been taking is now officially over. Luckily I still have a season ticket to al fresco painting in New York City. And time to practice all the great new stuff I learned in the class. But summer marches on, so I hope the weather gremlins behave themselves. Gotta get out there and paint!

Hmmm, does the watercolor above look familiar? Well, if you read my last post you've already seen it. Only it looks slightly different now because during the class my teacher, Sam Adoquei suggested some modifications. Since our focus was on composition, he gave me tips on how to strengthen the design.

For example, I made the dark stately tree in the foreground even darker with a unifying wash. An adjustment that makes the tree less scattered-looking, and amplifies its grandness. But even more significantly, it intensifies the dominant dark value that I was originally going for. (Curious about what "value dominance" means? You can read about it here: All in the Balance.)

Okay, so first an artist grabs your attention with a striking design, and then tries to keep it there for as long as possible. To accomplish the latter Sam recommended that I jazz up the background for my viewers' entertainment as their eyes wander through the painting. A few spicy details were added in the sliver of lake, the row of trees, and that rosy Kenilworth building just beyond the park on Central Park West.

Central Park View (above) was my last painting in the landscape class. My dominant compositional value was in the middle (not too dark or too light). The row of trees behind the lake formed the dominant shape. It was a challenge to keep the varied greens and violets from straying out of the middle range, and to maintain that strip of lightness in the building tops and the sky.

Phew, that class kept me on my toes! But the effort, not to mention the mosquitos, heat and humidity-- yes, all of it was so worth it. Now I'm psyched to go out and play with the new concepts, so stay tuned for more landscape fun this summer. Thanks for visiting, see you in the next post!

If you read my last post you'll know that I'm taking a Central Park landscape class during the month of June. After a year of staying in place it's so liberating to be out and about with other people who love making art as much as I do. And in such a gorgeous setting! Not only that, our teacher, Sam Adoquei is a monumental source of knowledge, heart and skill. I'm thrilled that he's teaching the tools that will make my work stronger. And potentially more beautiful.

For an artist there are a million things to study. In this class my focus has been on the essential rules of composition. After all, no matter how well I paint, or how lovely my brushwork and colors are, if my design stinks then nobody will be interested in my work. A sobering thought. And high motivation to master this fundamental lesson.

Like Mr. McGuire's famous advice in "The Graduate", during the class Sam shined the spotlight on one single word. But in this case that word was BALANCE.

Yes, balance is the secret password to great design. Especially asymmetrical balance created by things that are dissimilar. Here are three simple examples of this principle: If you have a large object in your painting balance it with a few smaller ones. Or if you paint something round and smooth you might balance it with some short sharp lines. Or balance dull colors with a few bright ones. You get the idea. All the very best paintings, both modern and traditional, are based on this concept.

As the class began I spent quite a few days practicing balance with value. In art value is how light or dark things are. In the pencil studies below I used only three values: light, medium and dark. For each study my assignment was to choose one of the three values, using it as the dominant one in roughly 75 percent of the sketch. I placed the other two values in the remaining area, about twenty and five percent respectively. All this while making sure that there was at least one large, dominant shape.

For me this was an easy concept to understand. And like so many things in life it was a bit trickier to execute. I'm glad these sketches were fun to do, because I did a whole lot of them (smile). And I'll probably continue to make quick pencil studies before beginning a painting, even after the class is over. Turns out these little sketches are quite handy for solving big problems before committing to a larger work. 

If you take a look at the second sketch on the first page of pencil sketches above you'll see the study I used as the basis for my watercolor, Central Park Tree Looking West. Let's see if I managed to maintain a sense of balance in the design. Seventy-five percent dark in value? Check. One large dominant shape? Check. And there were several other things to balance too. For instance the tall, stately tree on the left with the smaller, delicate one on the right. And the trees representing the vastness of nature compared with the tiny man-made Central Park West building in the background.

What a great class, right? It's given me so much food for thought as I plan my paintings in the future. Hope you've enjoyed reading about my experience. Please let me know what you think in the comments!

Artists never stop learning. Never. Well, not if they're interested in the pursuit of excellence, anyway. It's a quest that takes a lifetime of dedication, hard work and contemplation. After all, an artist's calling is to produce magnificent paintings that people will want to look at. And keep looking at. That's the kind of work I want to do.

I've been desperately seeking a watercolor teacher for a while. But it's been tough finding one I can relate to. One who lives in my city. And yes, that's New York City, where you might think they'd be lurking around every corner. Oh well. Instead of taking classes I've watched online tutorials, read how-to books, and just generally taught myself. And for the most part my efforts have paid off.

Except ... sometimes I get a nagging feeling that something's missing. That my work needs just a little extra something to make it really sing. A wow factor, if you will. That's why I jumped at the chance to take a plein air workshop with Sam Adoquei, my teacher from my National Academy days. It was such a privilege to study with him back then, and I'm thoroughly stoked about doing it again. Not only are Sam's paintings exquisite, but he generously and expertly shares his vast knowledge with his students. He's a great teacher, and if anyone can give me a heads up, it's him.

The workshop started this week and help was immediate. First Sam explained the elements of a well-designed composition. During the workshop we'll  be breaking down and practicing those elements one by one. Sam also got me combing over my old work to see how my compositions could be improved. What a relief to get some answers!

Below is a watercolor that I painted last week, before the workshop began. There are things about it I'm pleased with, including the way that the top of the red maple tree is lit up by the sun as if in flame. It was thrilling to witness that miracle of nature on a busy Manhattan street, and my aim was to capture it on paper.

Still, I wasn't totally happy with the result. After Sam's lesson I can clearly see that the overall design of the painting could have been better. For example, the lit and shaded portions of the maple tree are nearly the same size and shape, and even the shaded green area beneath is quite similar. It would have been more interesting to vary these shapes and sizes for a more balanced composition.

That's just one thing I would have done differently. But there are so many things artists need to consider when they compose their paintings. I'll be learning about more of them this summer, and share them with you. I'm psyched!

I have no idea what year my grandma's old Singer sewing machine was manufactured. But I'm fairly certain it started out as a treadle and got electrified somewhere along the way. Even when I first encountered it as a child I thought it was pretty darn old. Back then it perched on a wooden sewing table, but later it was transferred to a prosaic plastic storage case. And then the poor old thing was unromantically stashed away in a dark closet. For years.

Until recently when I unearthed it and wondered what in the world to do with it. Sure, it had been my grandmother's, who was a seamstress when so many Eastern European Jewish immigrants earned their living that way. And I myself made skirts and dresses with it when I became a teenager and learned to sew. It's a beautifully designed and sturdy workhorse that still operates to this day. But there's precious little space for such objects in our small apartment, no matter how much history and meaning they're steeped in. Sadly I decided it had to go.

But I couldn't let it go without memorializing it in watercolor.

Then one of my sisters asked for the sewing machine. And my other sister asked for the painting.

I'll always have Paris.

Hi there friends! Here I am, back to blogging. So what happened, where have I been? Well, as far as I can tell, I was just plain tuckered out. And in need of a break from the perpetual cycle of painting and writing and posting and painting and writing and posting. Even though painting is what I most love to do.

Maybe you're not surprised. After all, it's been a long, hard winter, amiright? Clearly it's been an anxious time for the entire world. The mishigas and bewildering uncertainty of it all finally got to me. It was time to jump off the carousel and be still. At least for a while.

And then suddenly Spring sprung! Warblers warbled, cherry blossoms and daffodils bubbled up in jubilation and coaxed me to come out and play. All at once the days were warmer and longer, full of promise and hope. Time for renewal. Time to wake up and live.

And you know what? Soon it'll be time for painting outdoors in the parks and streets all over town. Woo hoo! I predict many new landscape paintings to show you over the next few months. Can't wait!

In the meantime I'm still busy in the studio. Here are a couple of recent paintings I thought you might like to see. I certainly enjoyed creating these setups and painting them. Actually, I could write an entire post about how I go about composing still life setups, and how I choose what to paint. But that's a story for another day. Stay tuned!