Autobiographical Note
Time didn’t go anywhere as far as I can tell. I pass through it just like you. I decided it was way past time to update this autobiographical note. I deleted the original note made over sixteen years ago. Traces of it remain under these words. Now I am in the midst of my eighth decade on Earth. Many friends have died. Mortality dances between moments. I walk at the speed of the soul.
I did not speak until I was three years old. Even then, I enjoyed looking at light change the appearance of the seasons. Some people say words are overrated, some say otherwise. Sometimes words are employed to dispel the mystery of life. Sometimes words embrace the mystery. When I began painting at age fifteen, I was intoxicated with life. The scent of turpentine, linseed oil, and oil paint continue to waft through the place where I live.
I consider myself to be a human being first, a painter second, and on a good day, a painter of a decent painting, a delicate equivalent, evidence, of a precarious place, light emanating from within everything. Alas, I am left happily to my own devices.
Currently, I live in Athens, Greece with my bride and partner of thirty-three years.
2 September 2026