30" x 48" - oil/canvas

Private Collection

From the Oil Painter's Journal: Center of the Universe The first time I had proof that I was the center of the universe was on a temperate night in Egypt watching the lights of Cairo bobbing on the Nile. I can still picture the slow cadence, the swaying on the inky waters. Historians may say that humans built their cities near bodies of water because of the necessities of commerce or utility but I'm certain that the convenience was just coincidental. Every night in far edges of the world people (and cats) find themselves staring at the play of ripples and undulating waters made visible by undiluted light. The intermingling of primal elements. Even the most industrial and polluted waters are purified by light and stir mystics and romantics with a moment's glance. But what struck me that night was the run of light, beginning with the single spot on the horizon and it's hundreds of reflections pointing in a line straight towards me. In fact, every light made its way across the water, quietly following my eyes even as I moved down the river bank. All these years I hadn't realized I was the source of this stellar magnetism. (My daughter realized the principle early on when she pointed to the moon racing beside the car one night and said, "fly.") I looked at people farther away in the dark all of us enjoying our trails of light, each of us an axis of radiating spokes and I thought that if I could see what everybody saw the river would be ablaze with light. Another popular misconception: being the center of the universe is actually a humbling experience.