No meaningful success is ever achieved entirely on one’s own.
Whatever I have accomplished as an artist was made possible, in large part, by my wife, Dorothy.
We have been married for more than thirty years. Many years ago, after a long career in television production, I found myself longing for change. I had spent decades producing stories for others, but something in me was asking for a new chapter—one that felt more personal, more uncertain, and more alive.
I knew I loved to paint. I had been painting since I was nineteen years old, often taking solo trips out West with nothing but my gear and the desire to work outdoors. But I had never seriously imagined building a life around painting.
Dorothy did.
When I shared my restlessness and desire to do something different, she simply said:
“Why don’t you go for the painting?”
Those words changed my life.
She believed in the possibility of something I could not yet fully see myself. While I began the long climb of developing my skills and building a new career, Dorothy carried more than her share of the weight. She supported us financially, emotionally, and practically through the uncertain early years.
That was one of the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me.
She has also been my most trusted critic.
Her honesty has not always been easy to hear—but it has always been invaluable. Her eye is sharp, her instincts are sound, and her standards have helped sharpen my own.
Many of the paintings people see carry her influence in ways they will never know.
I owe Dorothy a debt of gratitude that cannot be repaid.
I simply know this:
I am one fortunate man.
