
The photo of this collage is one I also took in my studio. Right after I did it. Solo Show. Ceres Gallery. New York. Jacque Cousteau in a glass.

The photo of this collage is one I also took in my studio. Right after I did it. Solo Show. Ceres Gallery. New York. Jacque Cousteau in a glass.

This is an unframed collage from my solo show “Afloat”. Ceres Gallery. New York. Photo taken in my studio just after I finished it. My love of water. Joyful feeling of the man in front of the wave. Reminds me of childhood times in the summer.

“Afloat.” Solo show. Ceres Gallery, New York. This one was one of my first collages In the series. I used the wrappers from cotton balls to make some of the bubbles. I think this one works well inside the square in a circular way. Your eye goes around and returns to the laughing baby. Compositionally, probably my best.

“Afloat” image. Solo show. Installation at Ceres Gallery, New York. This image is “taking place” in the air. Buildings in the sky floating upward, surrounded by birds.

“Afloat” image. Ceres Gallery, New York. My solo show. I am building a new studio and have been dealing with sub-contractors now for two months. While this is going on, I see the new blank walls and I feel the need to reflect on work completed.
An artist’s show unearths the artist’s psyche. Changes the person. Especially a solo show as massive as my show, “Afloat.”
This piece includes a tornado. Striking an innocent village in the snow. Blue sky. Another one of my collages cut from magazines. (“Afloat” used no computer imagery or manipulation.) Perhaps I choose to talk about change and beginning anew because of this image. And, of course, what is going on in my life.

“Afloat” image. My solo show in New York at Ceres Gallery. This is one of 100 images that floated over the gallery walls. This piece, based on land, places a giant ring, twinkling and encircling a small house. The sparkles get along better with the sky and the field, texturally, and the house is happy to be safe.

“Afloat” image. Solo show of mine in New York in March 2013. An installation at Ceres Gallery, comprised of 100 images floating across the gallery walls. This one shows a swimmer lying on his back in one of the binocular lenses. With a black and white tidal wave about to swamp the stalker.

Do you see the days of the week in colors? Do you hear notes of music and assign a smell to each note or series of notes? Or hear raindrops and see cubes of water falling from the sky?
Do you give the months of the year sounds? Do you give words flavors? Like the word “sacrifice” tastes like licorice? Do you blur the senses?
If any of this is true for you, there is a name for this: It is called synesthesia. And the people who enjoy this kind of sensory life are called synaesthetes, sometimes spelled synesthetes. (without the a)
I, personally, am a synaesthete and according to numerous articles written about this condition, most of us are artists and female. I see January as the color white. February as a dark red. When Friday rolls around, there is the color bright green in my mind. Saturdays, tan. July a bright light green, etc. Number three is pink. New York is gray. Detroit, purple.
And some synaesthetes don’t like colored fonts because they see black fonts in color anyway. Perhaps the shape of the serif in the letter or the boldness of the font may conjure up a color. I suffer from this form of synaesthesia as well.
I really had not thought about this as something special (I thought everyone mixed senses up this way), until the “condition” was brought to light and articles were written about it. Then I started asking around and I was surprised at how many people do not experience this. Do you?

A bench at The University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill