BY THE SWEAT OF THY BROW

On a hot July afternoon while driving down 6th Street in Kingsville, I saw this man wrestling the tire off of a John Deere tractor. This was the catalyst for an expression that was now emerging strongly from the agriculture and climate of South Texas: the land of the big fields, big tractors and big heat. The Biblical concept of agriculture, the cultivation of wilderness for the production of food and fiber as a sanctified covenant between God and man was becoming very strong in my art. The irony was that this man struggled to change the tire on the great machine that was to ease his labor in the field. This scene impressed itself on me. Since the expulsion from Eden, little had essentially changed. For all mans’ cleverness of invention, he yet eats his bread by the sweat of his brow. read more

MANNEQUINS

Walking by the glass wall of display windows of this huge San Antonio department store was almost hypnotic. It took up the central part of the block on a street full of pedestrians. I took up a watching position where I could see people coming out of the store in their newly bought finery or carrying packages. Perpendicular to these people approaching me was the street crowd of all manner of people walking past on the sidewalk. Behind me was the muffled sound of traffic broken intermittently by solo car honks. I stationed myself before two glass walls of mannequins and in line with the store’s entrance far back behind these glass covered stage sets. Now there was a precise moment when the forward rushing customers and the people walking by came together with the mannequins in the window in the same plane of light that was on the sidewalk beyond the canopy of the storefront. This was what I can only describe as “the painter’s moment.”  read more

Sinton fiddler's contest

For the first three years in which the Sinton Fiddlers’ Contest was held in October, I attended ready with my sketchbook and pencils. I have always loved country and gospel music. The instruments: guitar, fiddle, and banjo are also favorites. If I were a composer, I would write concertos for fiddle, banjo, guitar and cello. The banjo is a happy sounding instrument and this disposition is reflected in its round, happy face. The classical violin imitates a female singing voice without consonants, only vowel sounds, whereas the country fiddle sound seems descended from the bagpipe.  read more

SOUTH TEXAS BAR-B-Q RITUAL

On a sunny Saturday morning drive to synagogue in Corpus Christi, I drove by this scene. In Bishop, I believe I saw it. In a matter of seconds, it stamped itself into my mind, all of it: the colors and shapes, the clear quality of the early morning light, the peaceful serenity of the ritual, the great straw hats and the irony. Because of the holiness of the day, I was reminded of the ancient priestly offering at the beginning of the day.  The wood was being set, the animal was not yet smoking, but it had just been laid upon the altar. Even at the long distance between the highway and the scene, the huge beautiful pink body of the prepared pig stood out. It dominated the scene. For all its aspect of a holy scene, however, the pig is an animal forbidden to me for food. read more

SPIDER EATING GRASSHOPPER

The most dramatic and vivid colors occur in nature in small things and in events that are of fleeting duration: the delicate flowers whose brilliance last for only days and the butterfly, the majestic rainbow, or the sunrise and sunset whose greatest brilliance vanish the most quickly. This paradox of color applies to much of life; the fireworks of joyous celebration give way to the longer lasting earth colors of the rocks and deserts of daily routines. read more

SUMMER HARVEST

Sunlight on the charolais

torah burial

Is there another people that buries its sacred books; that will not destroy a book which contains the name of God? A torah scroll that is worn out or too damaged to be used is given the burial of a righteous man. I have known about the custom but have never witnessed it. Nor have I ever seen a painting of it. To my knowledge, it has never been a subject of art either Jewish or non-Jewish, but the very thought of this act touches me deeply. There can be no greater tribute to the written sacred word, for a Torah scroll is a living thing, written by the very hand of a once living person and what is writing but the image or shadow of speech, words or thoughts made visible in flowing robes. Speech always comes with a voice, and a torah’s speech is the voice of God echoing through His prophets. And our better actions in life are God’s voice echoing back to Him.  read more

train of deliverance

A driverless train rushes towards me out of the night. Its engine is ablaze in its own light. Its horn blows loudly like the blast of a shofar. Standing behind the iron railing at the front of the engine on one side is my father holding a red Torah scroll, and on the other side stood my grandfather holding a blue Torah scroll. They were wearing their tefillin on their heads and on their hands. Their talits (prayer shawls) were blowing in the wake of the train and they looked like angel wings. read more

under the hood

Here is a common scene: car problems on the road. The driver gets out to look under the hood, leaving the child safe inside the cab. Father and child now occupy two different worlds. The father has opened the gate of his truck’s hood and peers in, not unlike a surgeon, intensely searching out the source of illness. Meanwhile, the child peers through the window of her safe cab, looking onto the wide expanse of an outdoor world with the calm expression of neutral curiosity. It is the interaction of the two figures, father and child, that connects the three spaces of the painting. It is the third space, the expanse of outdoors, that unites them. The father’s body is in the outdoors, looking into the man-made space under the hood, while his child, from her made-made space, is looking outwards to unending space, to the future.