I spent part of my childhood in Italy. I was lucky to have had parents who took me everywhere, to see art and architecture, throughout the Mediterranean. At seven years of age I stood in front of Michelangelo’s statue of Moses. I was astonished that the illusion of muscles, tendons, and veins, covered by a layer of skin, could have been carved from stone. That experience made me aware of the Artist, not just the Art. I think it also made me more aware of my own natural ability to draw.

At about that same time I started to ask myself, “I know what I am seeing, but I wonder what is really there?” My life as an artist has been, in part, because of that question.

I still wonder about that to this day.