Prebreen
Postbreen
This gentleman reminded me of the Englishman who sold us our last house. It was a big house, and old neo-colonial with beautiful detail built in 1912. Anyway, at the closing, as the lawyers clicked their pens and our many zeroed check was presented to M. with a flourish, M. leaned over the table and shook my hand in a hard stiff grip, cutting the key into my palm. “Now I’m rich and you’re poor!” he shouted, with a pitying you sap smile.
He vamoosed with his family to France, leaving a swarm of collection agencies buzzing around our phone number, since it is the only thing attached to his last known address, the collectors clearly never believing that I wasn’t actually M.
M. in this painting is both rich and poor, half the painting showing his unstable wealth, the dollars flowing from Fannie Mae(Couldn’t help being childish on that symbolism!) The edifice held up by a pack of cards, everything pie in the sky high. The hellish right side of the painting shows a death beaver with a home churning tornado sweeping up the houses on the landscape in a morass of destructive poverty.
We sold our house and are renting as we look for a new house to buy in Ipswich, MA. Just when they thought they’d gotten rid of me for god, I mean good! This painting isn’t for sale, I’m trying to put together enough work for a show somewhere, but keep your eyes peeled, within the next day or 2 I’ve got some smaller breens I’m putting out there.
What Year Is It? This Artist May Still Be Alive! 