The weeping willow dances in the breeze, and so do I.
But the willow has a different choreographer, though sometimes I give it a try, try to choreograph the trees with my brush or pen,
and they dance according to my whim.
And sometimes the trees choreograph me,
not from just their outside appearance, from their in.
For when I paint on wood, I let the grain below
my brush tell it where to go.
In 1966 we moved to Milwaukee from New York City, and I fell in love with the people, the lake, the trees, and the circus parade. After years of drawing shoppers in Macy’s and Gimbels or the throngs that rush and weave along Manhattan sidewalks, here I was painting, often on wood, all those things that made Milwaukee special to me.