Rush Hour


In celebration of bike to work month, a view of cyclists enjoying their daily commute.

These paintings are for sale.

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Painting the ghosts of the past

One of the wonderful things about painting is it entails the act of creation. You can create would have beens, should have beens, or what truly was once; but is now ashes and dust. You can restore youth and vibrancy to the ugly, rigid and old, and portray innocence where in actuality, it can no longer find the remotest foothold. Retrospection and painting go hand in hand; while painting, the mind can be in a place not accessible to mere mortals. Painting is storytelling without verbal language. A painting can fill voids, answer questions, or ask more of them.

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Grazzano Visconti

Imagine, you’re at a friend’s house in Italy and they tell you, that they have to go to work today; but you can take their bicycle, ride 5 miles on a flat country road and end up in a medieval village. Since it was off-season, what I found was nearly idyllic. Normally a tourist trap; when I arrived, what I found was a few artisans and clerks, and me. It was wonderful. I could imagine the chickens scurrying along as i walked on the stones of the street. There were no real peasants, chickens, or donkeys there; but they had done such an excellent job of preserving the ancient hand painted walls and environs, that this bicycle looked rather modern and out of place.

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B flat

There are many roads to learning. A great way to learn a hard chord? Paint it! Next chord?

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A painting is worth a thousand words, or at least a story?

My husband rides his bike to work almost every day. When it’s raining out, sometimes he takes a bus. These two ladies were on the bus with him. Now here’s their (fabricated) story. Mei and Lin were children in the same town in China. They both moved to Seattle at about the same time and they now live on the same street. They have been friends all this time. It is wonderful to have a friend that speaks your dialect and shares your memories. There was a 3rd woman from their town, Shaoqin, who also moved to Seattle. Shaoqin was from a formerly wealthy family and put on airs. Mei and Lin couldn’t stand the woman, and her children grew up with the same attitude.
That day while they were on the bus, it suddenly started to rain. As the bus pulled in to the intersection of 12th and Jackson, Mei and Lin saw Shaoquin’s daughter; running in the sudden downpour. As usual, she had on too much make up. The makeup was running down her face. This spectacle transfixed the two women, and as a result they missed their bus stop.

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