The Lichtensteins Lived at 11 West Sixth Street in Oswego

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2019. Oil on 1950’s “Peasant” dinner napkin, 10 x 10″

This is a duplex the Lichtensteins shared with the Brelands that burned down in the early 1990’s. A stone’s throw to the lake, and across the street from Montcalm Park, where my wife and I were married. Ghosts!

One summer night Roy hosted a student “pop up” painting exhibition in his living room.  I have hosted several group shows in my Oswego house. This behavior is example of art anonymity testing its limits. Connection!

Ghosts and connections! Connections and ghosts!

Roy, I Gave Up Interior Design For This Place?

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2019. Oil on stretched “Peasant” dinner napkin, 12 x 12″

Isabel Lichtenstein, Roy’s first wife, was not inspired by Oswego living. She was the breadwinner in Cleveland, and lost all her clients when Roy wanted to play teacher-pretend at the State College in Oswego. I can only imagine her frustration, if it existed at all. Imagining is what this project is all about. Historical fiction through paint.

Late 1950s America was not going to allow Isabel a career in design. Not with two little boys to raise. Society never fails to break into and disrupt the hardy, happy minds of of its enthusiastic artists. It was not a “privilege” for Roy to be pressed into a career in teaching when his drive was painting. In Cleveland, Roy was often employed as assistant to Isabel as nuts and bolts of her business. Together they paid the Lichtenstein bills. However, Cleveland would never allow Roy to become a homemaker outright, and raise toddler boys while cooking the meals and washing the clothes. It was a brief workable world turned upside-down. Certainly both Isabel and Roy knew that it could not last forever. Acquiescence to inertia was their best bet, and they made it. All the way to Oswego with hard winters and no one interested in freedom for art’s sake.

I stretched a 1950s “Peasant” linen dinner napkin I purchased on eBay. Oil is a new medium for me. It is for more patient methods I cannot succumb to. I am a hyperactive painter, and must make oils work how I need them to. Painful, but worth every drop of turpentine.

I too am an “All Pure” peasant. I too am the brusher of multitudes.

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