Brighton Avenue Breakout
acrylic on canvas 8 x 10"
1985 self-portrait
My first real job out of college was in Industrial Design at small firm in Wakefield, MA Just outside of Boston. I packed up my ten year old Volvo and headed east on three or four days notice over Labor Day weekend in 1984. My car overheated in the Berkshires and I remember pushing it through several toll booths on the Mass Turnpike. I found an room in a house in the student neighborhoods of Brighton/Allston. I was paid a princely sum of $8 an hour. It was enough to get a new water pump, pay the rent, and buy lots of art materials, beer and Grateful Dead tickets (I saw 25 shows that year). My design career was brief, but it allowed me to make it on my own in the big city for a while, which I explored on foot, by rail and in my car. When my job didn't work out I found employment in an art supply store and a summer camp as craft counselor. I setup an easel in my cramped bedroom and started squeezing colors out of tubes. I painted this in a style where I laid brushstrokes on top of one another without mixing them much. I thought I might go back to school, but I was told by several colleges that I was not ready for graduate work. Depressed, I took one of my famous midnight walks and ended up rescuing a cat who lived another sixteen years. A few months later my new little buddy and I, dragging our tails between our legs, retraced my footsteps back home to Pepper Pike. I was the prodigal son, living in my parent's basement, trying and build up my portfolio, and learn how to paint.
acrylic on canvas 8 x 10"
1985 self-portrait
My first real job out of college was in Industrial Design at small firm in Wakefield, MA Just outside of Boston. I packed up my ten year old Volvo and headed east on three or four days notice over Labor Day weekend in 1984. My car overheated in the Berkshires and I remember pushing it through several toll booths on the Mass Turnpike. I found an room in a house in the student neighborhoods of Brighton/Allston. I was paid a princely sum of $8 an hour. It was enough to get a new water pump, pay the rent, and buy lots of art materials, beer and Grateful Dead tickets (I saw 25 shows that year). My design career was brief, but it allowed me to make it on my own in the big city for a while, which I explored on foot, by rail and in my car. When my job didn't work out I found employment in an art supply store and a summer camp as craft counselor. I setup an easel in my cramped bedroom and started squeezing colors out of tubes. I painted this in a style where I laid brushstrokes on top of one another without mixing them much. I thought I might go back to school, but I was told by several colleges that I was not ready for graduate work. Depressed, I took one of my famous midnight walks and ended up rescuing a cat who lived another sixteen years. A few months later my new little buddy and I, dragging our tails between our legs, retraced my footsteps back home to Pepper Pike. I was the prodigal son, living in my parent's basement, trying and build up my portfolio, and learn how to paint.
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