Michael Lopez

I am as enthralled painting a humble water pitcher as I am painting newborn stars.

At age 62, I consider myself an emerging artist.

Art whispered in my ear when I long ago decided my favorite color – it’s maroon -- or drew houses and ships as a kid, or, kneeling in church, studied the orange flames of hell, the white dove of the Holy Spirit, and the sorrowful faces of saints in the stained glass.

And then life went on. I became a journalist, which is a craft but not an art, so poems began to pour out. After 17 years as a reporter, I switched careers, studying historic preservation in courses that forced me to draw a single brick and taught me how to handle charcoal.

I also drew the human form and came to realize that knowing how to draw classically was necessary before I could lay claim to my own artistic hand. I explored, painting on bits of vintage stained glass, sketching weeds and herbs, and flowers, testing watercolor and pencil.

Now, I have a body of work which uses watercolor to explore “star nurseries,” nebulae in which stars are born. These breathtaking events, where light and gas, and dust work out masterpieces, are happening far above our heads, out of sight. I intend to bring them to light, and if I am asked why, my answer is, how can I not?

I'd like people to understand that if I am painting a glimpse of a galaxy, or pressing moss into a painting of a tree stump, or hand-decorating an ordinary object, I am curating my life. I would like you to attend my show.