The poet John Keats wrote, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.” I thought of this as our daughter Betsy prepares to leave for college. It seems only yesterday we brought her home from St Luke’s, all cute and dimpled.

To honor her milestone, as well as deal with the inevitable sense of loss her mother and I already feel, I painted 2 portraits of her. They are very different from each other, yet each painting seems to have captured a bit of her personality and inner beauty.

To paint a portrait well—is difficult.
Some of the greatest portrait painters of all time agree:

John Singer Sargent, one of the finest American portrait painters of all time, once said, “Every time I paint a portrait, I lose a friend.”



Responding to a sitter’s complaint that his portrait was ‘not a great work of art’, James Whistler said, “Perhaps not, but then you can’t call yourself a great work of nature.” A savage response from Mr. Whistler, who hopefully didn’t have to deal with that kind of criticism from his mother.



Norwegian painter Edvard Munch declared, “When I paint a person, his enemies always find the portrait a good likeness.” Famous for his expressionist painting “The Scream”, Munch was actually an accomplished portrait artist.

And Otto Dix, the great German artist, said, “If one paints someone’s portrait, one should not know him if possible.”

I know the subject of these paintings very well. I witnessed the very moment she came into existence. She was purple, crying angrily from her misshapen head—and she was the most beautiful being I ever laid eyes upon.

To say she has grown into a beautiful young woman is simply an understatement.
Yes, I am aware of the typical sentiments of any father towards his daughter, but my daughter Betsy is a great work of nature—exceedingly, miraculously beautiful, inside and out. Her mother and I waited 10 long years for her to arrive, and when she finally did, it was a miracle indeed. So I felt compelled to paint her, before she left her mother and me forever—or at least until Thanksgiving break.

Since Betsy’s senior prom was cancelled due to the pandemic, she got together with a bunch of her show choir friends. The girls wore their prom dresses and posed for photos at Greene Square Park. These portraits were derived from those photos. 

The first is a formal portrait, Betsy Dresses for Her Cancelled Prom. I started with a darkened, textured canvas, and rendered Betsy in white paint, while allowing the background black and orange to show through.

The technique worked. The effect created a flowing, floating feeling. The orange background, contrasting the pale blue of her translucent dress, allowed the dress to glow with a fiery radiance. I added just the slightest hint of color to her face, hair and body. I wanted to emphasize light and form over color. The antique table on which Betsy is resting her hand belongs to my business partner, Ben Marion. The table is an heirloom in Ben’s family, and it seemed altogether fitting to use in this painting. Betsy is resplendent in the dress she never got to wear to prom.

The second portrait, “One Day, One Minute” is more stylized, symbolic and energetic.
At 18 in. x 36 in., the portrait is nearly life-size. I worked with gold, silver and copper pigments mixed with an acrylic polymer medium, and it gave me the feeling of painting with precious metals in liquid form.

My intent was to capture the energy surrounding Betsy—her aura, if you will. The lines and forms represent transition, spirituality, and courage.

The title, “One Day, One Minute” came about because Betsy talked in her sleep. On the evening I started the painting, I was awakened by Betsy in the next room, around 3:00 am. Unintelligible at first, Betsy loudly and clearly said, “One day!” and then, “One minute!” I made a note of it and knew immediately that it made the perfect title.

I am really quite impressed with Betsy and the young woman she has become. During her senior year at Kennedy, she was chosen as a homecoming queen candidate, went to All State in speech, played the role of Princess Anna in the winter musical—she performed in every show since her freshman year—sang soprano in the elite vocal jazz group, won the Vernon Feuerhelm Scholarship and was named ‘The Spirit of Happiness’ award winner in show choir. She earned the friendship of many, the esteem of faculty and staff, and served as a class officer. She graduated valedictorian in a class of 450 students.

Yet she remained humble and kind. Her spiritual growth and faith remained strong. Even when many events and rites-of-passage were taken from her due to the pandemic, she remained upbeat. It was a fun challenge to capture her personality on canvas.

In a very real sense, these are among the most personal works of art I have ever created. It is my hope that someday these paintings will become cherished heirlooms in the family. I’d like to imagine someday, many years after I’m gone, Betsy’s grandchildren will look upon these paintings and marvel at their grandmother’s youthful beauty—a joy forever. And perhaps, they will be somewhat impressed that their great-grandfather painted them in the midst of a pandemic.

It’s true that death is a natural part of life. But I believe the goal isn’t to live forever.
The goal is to create something that will.