The standard elements of the Western landscape were just outside his studio, but Leonard didn’t need to refresh his mind’s eye. He painted quickly using a palette of colors with which he was familiar using a single brush shaped like a small fan.
Jim knew that photorealistic detail was a way to kill the life of a painting. If a figure’s face were smudged, the character of the person was not the point.
Brice grew tired of people asking what his work was about. It was something he was trying to express in paint, and he was an artist, not a writer.
Geri was a mother and a poet. When her kids were young, she divorced; later, she married a man who encouraged her to do what she liked. When she smiled, you knew she meant it. She developed her own style, and it had a flair for color and form that enhanced the lives of everyone she knew.
Katherine had to earn a living, but she was always an artist. She volunteered at a dance studio as a photographer. She learned to anticipate the moments of surprise. She built a small dark room in her backyard. She photographed her friends and gave her paintings away. Art wasn’t only something she did; you could see the artist in her eyes.