Oh my. Sometimes I think words should go on vacation. Get away for a while. Refresh, before they become the verbal equivalent of a stretched out sweater – one that no longer fits as well as it used to or has the impact it once did. And was it even the right sweater to begin with? A sweater isn’t appropriate for every occasion and certain words aren’t either, but if they’re used and overused and worn out with every outfit, they cease to have any impact at all and just become n

William's Homecoming. It's epic. We went to see The Odyssey. It’s a movie...based on a myth...based on an oft-repeated story. It’s not accurate history. It’s an interpretation of an interpretation of an interpretation. So, there’s that. And, like a lot of things, it’s something you relate to differently depending on your age. The first time I read The Odyssey, I was a teenager and I thought it was cool and bigger than big, like a Marvel movie script, and I could almost hear

Pulse. Beat. Measure. Joseph Jordania recently suggested that the sense of rhythm was developed in the early stages of hominid evolution by the forces of natural selection. Whatever. I prefer the idea of rhythm as a vibe that you hear and feel and respond to. And the very happy surprise to me is that, at 72, I still respond to the same rhythms I did 50 years ago. It’s a blood flow thing, a feeling that makes your insides move, so your outsides automatically follow through. It

Illia is going to be my new best friend. At least I hope so. Illia is a tech guy. He’s the guy who understands intuitively what all the wires and codes and connections mean. He’s coming by today to hook up my Smart TV, because apparently my Smart TV is much smarter than I am. I didn’t used to think I was stupid. Alas, I stand corrected. I have things in my home that I have no idea how they work, like the smart thermostat, the ice maker, the heart monitor, and don’t get me st

There’s something about humor that slides in under the door. Gracie Allen, for those too young to know, was one of the great comediennes of all time. She was one half of the Burns and Allen comedy team of the 30s, 40s and 50s, a gifted writer, a talented dancer, and a gracious lady with perfect timing. In 1940, when the world was in flux, so to speak, she decided to run for President...of the United States, as the unofficial candidate of the Surprise Party, because, why not?

There are no mistakes in art, only unexpected guests. Our 31 days have come to an end. And what a truly great time it was. In our classes, we met so many wonderful people and discovered so many hidden talents. One of the best rewards is when someone who walked into their first class saying, “I have no talent,” leaves their last class and shows me, on their phone, the art supplies they’ve ordered from Amazon and the classes back home they’re thinking of signing up for. Picture

They’re just like you…but different. We started our journey in Miami, crossing the Atlantic to Palma de Mallorca and other Spanish ports, on to Naples, Rome and the Amalfi coast, followed by the Greek islands and Athens, and then more Greek islands and Turkish islands and ultimately Istanbul. Not too shabby! A truly beautiful itinerary. And a “crossing” is a very cool thing, all by itself. It’s a spa-like retreat with a wrap-around water view. It’s also a very popular time to

So, this was a thing – a gig as an Artist in Residence on one of the leading luxury cruise lines. Three back-to-back cruises. 31 days in all. That’s a lotta boat time. And what could be more wonderful? An opportunity to share my passion for the importance of a creative outlet with hundreds of new acquaintances...at sea. Truly amazing! Packing was curious. How much is too much, I wondered. Several weeks later, I now have the answer. But at the beginning, knowing the Muse and I

It’s a topic of the times. Accelerated by the epidemic, exacerbated by social media, weaponized by the political climate. But other than that... And it’s not just a generational thing. Not by a long shot. Regardless of age, everyone seems desperate for someone to connect with on some level. Is it fear, do you think? Or insecurity? Or basic shyness? I wonder. Social interaction is a skill that needs to be learned and practiced and supported. It doesn’t come naturally to everyo

I like a good list. A To Do List, a Shows to Watch List, a Book List, a List of Lists. Thus, I am never listless. I like the order and the built-in goal factor. Chances are a list goes from best to worst or most important to least important – something like that, and if you get through a list, well, it’s an accomplishment of sorts, right? And I think you deserve a prize! At least, that’s what I’m telling myself this week, because this week I have a Packing List to address an

Tell me about you. Over the last two weeks, I’ve spent valuable social time with an almost 2 year old, a 4 year old, a 30 year old, a 40-something year old, a 50-something year old, a 60-something year old, a couple of 70-somethings, and a few delightful 80-somethings. Nice, right? It keeps you fresh. On your toes. The variety helps you stay current, as well as reminiscent. And as far as I can surmise, it’s absolutely necessary to a happy, fulfilling, valuable life. What’s be

Head in the clouds, so to speak. Four or maybe five more luxury high-rise towers are coming our way this year in the what-used-to-be charming village of Sarasota. That’s in addition to the nine that have been built over the last two years, each one taller and more expensive than the other. So, in no time at all, the beautiful, welcoming sunshine that everyone comes here for, will be forever replaced by shadows...long, sad, oppressive shadows. And for the most part, those bu

Can a movie be too art directed? I think the answer is, yes. We just saw the newest version of Wuthering Heights , which borrows generously from many conflicting film styles – a hanging sequence (?) lifted from A Man for All Seasons , a ride-off-into-the-flame-red sunset seemingly inspired by the burning of Atlanta in Gone with the Wind , a fanciful, dessert-filled luxury garden setting straight out of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland , a mantelpiece made of hands reminiscent

“You spent an hour too long, honey.” That’s a great line from the Judy Garland/James Mason version of A Star is Born , after the Makeover Team has tried to turn the Judy Garland character into someone else, someone more generically acceptable to a certain audience. But the James Mason character sees the folly of their ways and peels away the artifice to reveal the wonder of the original. Sadly, the current administration has no James Mason on staff. And there is no “wonder” a

Old as the hills When I was in kindergarten, and our teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up, apparently I said I wanted to be an artist living in New York. Funny that. When I was in sixth grade, our teacher asked the class to write a page describing their life when they were 20 years older. My parents kept the paper. It seems I wrote that I would be an artist and an Art Director in advertising, living in an apartment in New York, and a farm house in Bucks Count

What time is it? We were out to dinner the other night, and we couldn’t help but overhear the conversation at the table next to us. Three late-teen prep school boys were having dinner with the grandparents of one of them. The boys were all shiny and new looking with that mushroom shaped haircut all boys seem to have right now. The grandparents were obviously well-heeled, with a mannered disdain that comes from years of practice. “Once a CEO, always a CEO, even after the compa

I don’t have children. But I have remarkable, wonderful, talented, interesting, beautiful children of choice and grand children of choice – the baby grands, we call them. And I love these people. And I stand in awe and curiosity of what they will become. And I stand in fear of what they’ll be exposed to and have to deal with. And I stand in overwhelming respect of the parents they’ve all had, who raise them with self-awareness and honor and dignity and love. And I read a l

How do you think it feels to lose one’s soul? I mean, do you think it’s a gradual, slow death kind of a thing? Like when a lightning bug is put into a closed jar and it slowly suffocates from lack of air and its light flickers and then goes out completely, smothered cruelly into nothingness? Or is it, maybe, a dulled-brain, synapse thing, like forgetting where you left your keys, instead, you’re wandering around your life forgetting where you left your soul? Could be. Or may

Photography changes everything. With few exceptions, movies were almost always black and white well into the 1950s. They depended on shadows and contrasts to create a graphic mood that was part carefully crafted visual, part imaginary shared memory, Newspapers didn’t introduce color printing generally until sometime in the 1980s. Prior to that, color was reserved for the comics, also known as the “funny papers” – oh, the irony. Everything else was black and white and crisp

I highly recommend it. A few days ago, a young friend of mine asked me what it was like to live my true life. And I thought, isn’t that a nice thing to assume and a complement in and of itself? And the question was innocent and matter of fact and the answer to that part of the question was, “It’s great!” But it kind of stops you in your tracks, too, a question like that, and it makes you think. I mean, what is living your true life, anyway? Well, according to Google, it’s ali