Cold Comforts

Der Mensch ist was er isst.

— Ludwig Feuerbach

I’m delighted to announce my first solo show opens next week and continues through February at the Newark Arts Alliance.

I hope you can attend. Here’s my exhibition statement, to whet your appetite.

The parietal painters at Lascaux could have depicted anything: they chose food. Food has forever consoled us. We are what we eat, and what we eat often softens life’s edges—momentarily, at least. Moms, grandmas, and food makers count on it. I’m lovin’ it, they hope we’ll say. It’s magically delicious. It melts in your mouth. It’s finger lickin’ good. It’s the real thing. But while food combats emptiness, it reminds us of la condition humaine: we are creatures of relentless desire, but our comforts, at best, are cold ones. They cannot fill our unending emptiness. Food is frighteningly fugitive.

Above: The Seven Ups. Oil on fiberboard. 8 x 10 inches.