Tag Archives: Art

Connections Never Die

Dedicated to the one who once drew me, and I drew back, in my drawings… Continue reading

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On Seeking

The search began when I sat at this desk one morning in 1976… Continue reading

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To Look Within

I write my life to know my life. When I write my life, the inner truth comes out. It’s like when I draw, a barrier disappears. Or fades to the background. And suddenly I’m in touch with this other vibratory field. This other awareness that rises to the surface and makes itself known. Continue reading

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The Truth About Acting

What I learned as an actor should be shouted from the rooftops by every single one of us who has ever trod the boards – that along with the heartbreak that so often comes with a life in the theater, comes the knowledge that we all have in us the possibility of every human thought that has ever been considered. We don’t have to act on it, but we can act it. Play it. Because we know how to play. We know how to imagine “what if.” Continue reading

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Brooklyn Buildings 10th Street

I love these buildings. They’re on Tenth Street between 5th and 6th (Brooklyn) and I’ve walked by them so many times. But not till recently when I decided to start drawing the neighborhood did I stop and really LOOK at them. And then of course I thought what a wonderful picture they’d make. Continue reading

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Creative Juice

“Myth is the secret opening… A myth we re-quicken in our minds and our lives, brings creative juice…” Joseph Campbell Continue reading

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Letting It Come Through

I can now paint and draw small, sketchbook-size pictures of the world around me because now I see how focusing on the small particulars of the outer visible world, can also reflect a deeper insight to the world within. Continue reading

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The Cabin in the Clearing

Whenever I looked out the window I saw two scenes, the one from the present, and this other one, so obviously from the past. From Brooklyn as it once was. Continue reading

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The Thing Is To Draw…

Who the figure was doesn’t matter. She was, and is, Ma, Mary, Mater. Mamm and Ama, Muder and Moeder, Mati and Moer, Madre and Mai and Mama. And in Vietnamese, she is called Me. But what’s in a name… The thing is to draw. To paint. To feel. And to paint and draw what you feel. In the moment. Expressing what you cannot say in words… Continue reading

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Art, Arms and Tree Branches

Next to Kali, we mortals with only two arms must appear as truncated as the tree on my block with most of its branches lopped off. Continue reading

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