When I was four years old a tornado tore its way through central Massachusetts uprooting trees and scouring whole neighborhoods down to their foundations. It was 1953, I was too young to appreciate the danger that had passed so close to our house. I do remember the downed trees and that there was no electricity. My father was driving home from work when the tornado came through; he and his fellow riders were stopped by fallen trees. With an increasing sense of alarm they had to make their way on foot through the destruction. They met a man who told them that all the houses in our neighborhood were gone and the all the people were dead. This was not helpful to my father who specialized in worst case scenario mental productions. Imagine his relief in finding that we were all okay and our house was standing. The tornado must have planted some seed of thrilling dread into the background of my mind. I still have dreams of funnel clouds bearing down. I'm not sure if I know why I am painting tornados right now. Maybe it's the deeply troubling divisions in the U.S. and how they are fanned by powerful people witn nefarious intentions.

View Tornados »