Trump: I Don’t have a racial bone in my body.

Oh really. How come you and your father would not rent to blacks. Why did you want the death penalty for the Central Park Five? Who later were proved innocent through DNA. Why have you told four female representatives of various colors to leave the country if they disagree with you. Why did you make up the birther issue about Obama? You lie constantly. YOU ARE A RACIST, face it. Here is a portrait of the most famous racial man in the world made with all of his racial bones. DONALD TRUMPS PORTRAIT.

GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So great. Today was a ticker tape parade for the facinating USA women’s soccer team. It’s fantastic. They are a powerhouse of change not just for women’s sports but for women in general.

I watched young children of 10,11, 12 articulate their feelings about it so well. One 10 year old boy said he thought that women should get equal pay and that girls like his older sister should be treated more fairly. This is a movement like a tsunami that will wipe away all the inequities in this country.

It is a time for women. A new time. A time for change. A time fore a female president. I have two beautiful grand Kids. Ruby 13 Oliver 11. They are concerned about global warming as they are quiet aware that the mess will land in their laps when they are older. Now I feel they have hope for change and a better world.

Summer has arrived.

Summer has arrived. My favorite time of year. When I lived In Provincetown Mass you could not keep me out of the water. I miss those days of living by the sea in that old historic town were the Pilgrims landed in 1620. It celebretes 400 years next year.Why does Plymouth get all of the acclaim or credit. They were lucky. They were supposed to land in Jamestown. Jamestown was wiped out.

WELCOME SUMMER.

Concentration camps.

Congresswoman AOC has mentioned the immigration situation in Texas as being like concentration camps . From the pictures I have seen on television of them she is right. This should not be taking place now in the 21 century. Trump and this administration should be ashamed of themselves.

I was in the RAF in 1950 and was stationed in Germany for one year. I was in charge of a detail of four Germans who’s job it was was to collect garbage from the officers quarters off base. It was in the town of Bad Eielson. On my rounds we would pass by the concentration camp of Belsan. It was a Nazi death camp. It was a grim looking place, buildings were still standing, it was empty. I had a friend who was Jewish. When we were told we were posted to Germany he said he was nervous. I said not to worry Stan, you are in the drivers seat this time. The workers told me how the gullies ran with blood. They also told me that the English were stupid not to join the Germans against the Russians. What a joke. Lets let Trump know that we will not tolerate concentration camps. He wants them and wants to be a dictator. He has to be voted out.

Farewell to Harriet.

Last week I was rereading Harriet Sommer’s book of short stories ” Tales of a nude model”. This is how she earned her living as a young woman. She was a great writer. Then I learned of her death.

She is a memorable woman. She was tall and striking. I would think of Diane the huntress when seeing her. I knew her for a long time. When I ran the Sun Gallery in Provincetown there was a back room I let her crash in for a few weeks as she had no place to stay. It was around this time she met Bill Ward , a poet. She towered over him but they enjoyed one another’s company. She will be missed by so many in Provincetown this summer and for many to come. She was a part of the history of the fifties/sixties Bohemian eara.

Matisse with model.

Matisse was a great breakthrough artist. He was bold and daring and taught us to break the bounds of old conventional art. He realized that perspective was a way to create a fake depth, he threw it out. Painting is two dimensional so there is no need to try and make a fake depth. He used colour to bring the surface alive. There is always a new approach to painting, lets keep digging. Here is the great master from from behind.

Grand children.

I have two grand children. Ruby 13 Oliver 10. I often had to pick them up from school when they were younger. I call them the G-Kids. I would bring them back to the studio, give them material and let them go to work. Kids are just plain creative. There is no teaching them art. If anything we learn from them.

One time with a hot glue gun they built rocket ships out of old paper towel and toilet paper tubes. They built a space center and would send them candy in space supply ships. They even built supply stores in space. Here is a painting of them working in space with their Grand-Pa trying to keep up with them.

D day.

D-Day. A day to remember. I had returned to London after having been evacuated to Scotland for two years. I was twelve and had a little gang of friends I played with. I had bought a bunch of brass stars one could clip to their lapels. As a boy joined they got a star. We played war games in a field next to the Great North Rd.

In early June of 1944 war material began to move south down the Great North Rd. We ceased our war games and began to watch the real thing unfold. There were planes with folded wings on huge trailer beds, tanks with big white stars trucks, and aircraft guns. There was all forms of war machinery. It all moved very slowly. Slow enough for us to jump up on the trucks and shout out ” Any gum chum” to the troops. They would toss us gum and candy, very precious stuff as we were rationed sweets. Over head great waves of bombers flew in formation, very high leaving trails. We would lay on our backs when they returned counting the missing. If a plane had been shot down the formation left an empty place. There were many empty spots. Then they would be followed by the strugglers. Pieces of tail or wing missing or trailing smoke. Flying low.They were so brave.

I had witnessed the beginning of the end of the war. From the same fields I saw a Spitfire come down, it went low over some houses and disappeared from sight. Years later I was in the RAF. The Korean war was going full blast but I was lucky enough only to join an occupation force in Germany. D Day. is certainly a day to remember. Also all the people who made it possible, especially those guys who gave us chewing gum

Let summer begin.

Lets enjoy the warm weather. In my younger days you could not keep me out of the water. In 1939 my Dad had an allotment next to Dollis Brook. I spent days catching sticklebacks and studying frog spawn. In Scotland as an evacuee living on Lord and Lady Weirs estate in the chauffer’s quarters. I swam, fished and frolicked, wrestling with eels and frogs in the Bonnie Doon . In London I lived near a huge open air pool. The water was freezing but I braved it. In Maine where I had a house by the sea but spent so many days and nights swimming in Boyden lake, the sea was too cold. In the winters from 1971 to 1973 I spent in St Barths FWI. There I sailed and swam to my hearts content. In the summers of late 1950’s through 1960 I splashed around in the bay of Provincetown. In the years of 1962-64 I enjoyed the Mediterranean waters of Ibiza. Ah! Summer. Let it begin. So, let summer begin and the swimming enjoyed.

The echo of a scream.

I read a book review recently in the NY Times about The art of Edvard Munch by Karl Ove Knausgaard. Well known for his painting ” The scream “The article is not so much about “The scream” but about the language of painting and the muteness of it. How a painting can emit emotions that are hard to describe or translate.

As a painter I under stand how Karl Ove Knausgaard author of ” So much longing in so little space” that it is difficult to put into words the feelings a painting can emit. For many painters painting is a format by which they can build on a familiar theme. Take Rothko for instance. This is OK and requires a lot of discipline. However there are painters like myself who allow a painting from the start take us by the hand and lead us through the labyrinth of our minds. There is no format but the shapes and forms stored like dusty bottles of fine wines. Some not so fine.

The painting here ” The echo of a scream” took a lot of hard work and digging. Here is a place painters reach that I often refer to as the “Fourth Dimension” . It is a state of mind where one is not aware of what is going into the painting. It can take minutes or hours and is exhausting. The only way to understand it is to be in that dimension. Not all painters experience it. So it is easy for me to understand where this writer is coming from. It is a language unto it’s own and cannot be translated with ease

figurative expressionist artist …………………………………………………………… This is a blog by the artist expressing thoughts on his own paintings as well as experiences with others relating to his daily life and life of painting since the 1950s. …………………………………………………………………. Paintings are posted with words from Bill that are as varied as extolling on the successes of his children, JZ and Liza, to the milestones of his grandchildren and on to his memories of fellow artists, collectors and shows. His art and words touch on things like politics, religion and the weather. ……………………………………………… For Bill, art and life are interwoven. ……………………………………. …………………………………