The Artist

The Artist
I normally sign my art “ZESZOTARSKI.” I feel that putting my first name “Gregory,” in front of this last name would be too much. I always think that “Zeszotarski” just sitting there at the bottom of a picture (usually lower left) gives a feeling of mastery; i.e., “He owns an original Zeszotarski.” Besides, Degas, probably the greatest pastelist of all time, just signed his work “Degas.” One name is enough.

I have been making art for as long as I can remember. My mother taught me the fundamentals of drawing. At an early age she taught me a light touch with the pencil as opposed to the death grip my peers would employ as they engraved the subject upon the Manila paper. In school, I loved art, but my parents, being practical people, were hard pressed to encourage their offspring to enter the arts. It was a fine pastime, but you were destined to a life of poverty, probably alcoholism and most likely an early demise in the pursuit of a life devoted to the arts. For the most part I felt they were right, living in a coldwater flat over a pool hall was not something I wanted to aspire to. So, I became an engineer spent the better part of my life designing things that were of limited use, with an incredibly short life span; however, it did pay the bills. But I kept drawing and painting, and took some classes and learned, and made art whenever I could. I accumulated a nice library of art books and from these, I have also learned. So here I am today, in my tiny studio that is crammed with all manner of art materials. The sounds are of public radio, or classical music, the smells are of paper, canvas, paint, and of course coffee. Here I exist in my little part of heaven.