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The Board Game
Oil on canvas.
Sometime in the 1990s I came across a box that I had carried with me for many years. The box sat in the back of a closet amongst old drawings and paintings. Across the top was written DRAWINGS ’59. I opened it, and inside were some drawings on yellowish paper and a painting that looked like it was painted by some Cubist painter. I took out the drawings; the glow of time had ripened the paper and matured the ink. In what I thought were marks of a battle, I discovered the lines of a space. I had captured a time when men played in the park.
Sometime in the 1990s I came across a box that I had carried with me for many years. The box sat in the back of a closet amongst old drawings and paintings. Across the top was written DRAWINGS ’59. I opened it, and inside were some drawings on yellowish paper and a painting that looked like it was painted by some Cubist painter. I took out the drawings; the glow of time had ripened the paper and matured the ink. In what I thought were marks of a battle, I discovered the lines of a space. I had captured a time when men played in the park.
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