A Little House in Romania, for an Old Friend

Carol is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We met more than thirty years ago at Mason Gross School of the Arts, back when we were art students trying to figure out what we were going to do with ourselves. We were even roommates for a while. We've been through a lot together over the years, and what I love most about our friendship is that even when we've had disagreements or life has put some distance between us, we've always found our way back to each other, always closer than before.

She's also been one of my biggest supporters. When she heard I'd started painting again, she told me that she'd always loved my work, even back in art school, and told me I'd been an inspiration to her for years. I don't think she realized how much that meant to me, especially after spending thirty years away from painting. When she said she'd love to have a piece of my art hanging in her home, I immediately moved her to the top of my list. There was no way I was going to make her wait.

Carol sent me several photographs to choose from, including one of her dog Mishka, another of Mishka's paw, a colorful street in Romania with strings of colorful flags lining the street overhead, and this wonderful old house in Sighișoara, Romania.

I couldn't stop thinking about the house. There was something about the pink facade, the crooked shutters, the neighboring buildings in those brilliant blues and yellows, and all the little signs of age that made it so unique. The cracked plaster, the exposed concrete, the weeds growing alongside the flowers. I loved that nothing about it was particularly tidy or perfect. All those imperfections were what gave it so much character.

And for some reason, I couldn't stop imagining it from this slightly exaggerated perspective, with the buildings leaning and the angles pushed just a little beyond reality. The house was already dramatic enough to support it, so I decided to go with that instinct rather than try to make everything architecturally correct. It gave me permission to loosen up, let the pen lines wander, and stop worrying so much about whether every window or roofline was exactly where it belonged.

I think that's why this ended up being the most fun I've ever had painting. I felt completely free to play with the colors, exaggerate the shapes, and let the watercolor do what it wanted in places. I was so absorbed in it that I finished much faster than I expected, mostly because I genuinely couldn't put my brush down.

The painting is now back in Jersey City, hanging in Carol's home. There's something really lovely about knowing that a friend who encouraged me as an art student thirty years ago now has one of my paintings on her wall. After all these years, and everything that's happened in between, it feels like a little piece of that early friendship has come full circle.

And I couldn't be happier that this particular painting belongs to her.