“You’ve become as bat-shit crazy as she is. ‘Ricky spend th’ night’…’Ricky stay fer dinner,’” he continued, mimicking me. “When the bloody hell were ya gonna tell me I’d be eatin’ my dead sister’s brains for dinner?”
Murphy wrote a book that is riveting, intimate, and a fun read. Learning about our four brain chemicals that determine our personality traits is interesting however, I found Murphy’s personal experience even more intriguing. Not every woman is going to embrace mid-life on a Harley, but living vicariously through Murphy’s travels gives us insight into what it means to embrace mid-life rather than complain about it. Her story and her book is compelling. What a joy it was to spend an afternoon in my easy chair riding on a bike with Bernadette Murphy.
He wanted a moment from the final sequence of the Apartment where (spoiler alert) Jack Lemmon’s character finally expresses his love for Shirley MacClaine’s character and the only way we know how she feels about him, is by her facial expression as well as how she takes the cards from him.
This is a recent piece I did of Steve Martin from the poster for the Jerk, for an old friend. It is a perfect example of the extreme jump from one form of painting to another. On the one hand, the end goal of a detailed likeness (and doing a good job of it) to the freedom of creating shapes and using color without that particular pressure, just the joy of it AND the goal to do a good job of it (still considering the formal issues of the aesthetics of abstracts from what little I know of art history). I’m still informally a student of it.
