Artists are often the worst predictors of which of their works will be singled-out by a collector or gallery. I have had numerous works in the past that sold, after I only reluctantly placed them in an exhibition or on the portfolio website. Equally, I have just as often found myself hawking the same favorite mountain pictures for years on end with little or no recognition.
The below painting is a perfect example of this misplaced affection for a painting no one seems to want… but me.
"Cervantes: Every Man is the Son of His Own Works", Sumi and Acrylic Inks on Paper, 22"x30"
It’s a painting about one’s place in society, often against the rigors of previous hosts. I loved the Cervantes quote and had it in mind when considering how I came to live in the high desert outside Santa Fe, in the shadow of a mountain scarred by former residents and left burnt for the diminutive solace of a man attempting to outrun his own brief history. – DN