Inspired by the black-and-white images of deteriorating 19th century tenement housing in a documentary on urban history, I added sparse areas of color to make a street scene come to life. To reflect its gritty feeling, I laid on paint with a palette knife and scrubbed it with a dry sponge.
Walking the High Line shortly before sunset, I was drawn to the receding walkway flanked by native grasses and to the city's reflections in the glass facades of the high-rise buildings in this revitalized neighborhood.
Emerging from a restaurant late one evening, the empty sidewalk and Edward Hopper-like glow of the neon signs caught my attention.
On a visit to Portland, Oregon, I was inspired by the vintage sign at the Ace Hotel.
Leaving a restaurant in Embarcadero Center one evening, I looked up and was treated to a nighttime view of San Francisco's Ferry Building.
Dolores Park in San Francisco is always teeming with people, but here I imagined no one around to emphasize the green space and varieties of palm trees.
Inspired by the black-and-white images of deteriorating 19th century tenement housing in a documentary on urban history, I added sparse areas of color to make a street scene come to life. To reflect its gritty feeling, I laid on paint with a palette knife and scrubbed it with a dry sponge. (This is a miniature version of the larger piece, "Renewal".)
I took the photo on which this painting was based 20 years ago on a trip to the island of St. Barthelemy. The stark white of sun-drenched buildings is dramatic against the deep blue Caribbean sky.
Spanish tile roofs and ubiquitous palm trees run to the horizon where they meet a clear blue L.A. sky.
This east-facing view of Telegraph Hill, in an impressionistic treatment, showcases Coit Tower with the Bay Bridge visible in the background.
On this day when the moon rose early, I loved seeing the Transamerica Building nestled next to it.
Near the road to the pool where I swim, two palm trees tower above an otherwise shrub-filled roadside landscape. They always catch my eye, and I knew that I would eventually paint them.
Then one evening last summer as I drove home, I was arrested by the trees silhouetted against a brilliant orange sky, and the street below was almost-dark. Often employed by professional photographers, it was the so-called "magic hour," a brief period just before sunset when the sun sinks below the horizon and the sky is ablaze with warm color.