Born and at times housed along the riverbanks of the great St. Lawrence river in Lachine, Montreal until settling into the quiet sanctuaries of foster homes on Prince Edward Island. The chimney red clay roads wound effortlessly throughout the countryside up and over the green
hills and through the spacious meadows filled with potato farms and struggling sheep ranchers. Wild blueberry patches and lavender flowers graced the green pastors with Spring time vitality and beauty that only a God could create and only a woman could appreciate and understand. Each river beckoned with hungry trout just begging for a fresh worm and a metal hook, almost daring Huck Finn enthusiasts to skip school and cast their bamboo lines into the mystical glacial lakes and roaring tributaries that surrounded the Island. It was the perfect moment in life without interference from the outside world, without the threat of war hanging overhead like some ominous black cloud, a life pure of racial hatred and utter contempt for limp politicians and ambivalent governments.
At the age of 9, I won the lottery and was adopted by my parents from new jersey. The rest of my life has been a blur..
Now, just so everyone knows, I am not an artist. This is my hobby. One day about 10 years ago I decided to experiment with woodworking and it eventually led into some painting.