When I first began to paint on the streets of the Bronx, I was startled by the apparent lack of inhibition of the people in the neighborhood. No matter where I set up, someone (and usually many people) would stop by and say something. And even if they had nothing specific to say, their unfeigned interest and blatant observation of my progress at first unnerved me. But over the course of time, I began to realize that the presence of the people around me was neither malicious nor judgmental (well, rarely). It was just a frank show of interest, curiosity, and often an undisguised pleasure (or amusement) in the fact that an "artist" would find their home neighborhood a worthy subject for a painting.

Although I am now accustomed to the social aspect that is an essential part of plein aire painting, even after 20 years of working on the streets of the Bronx I am still amazed at the things people have to say. What follows are excerpts from a collection of essays I've written which document the unexpected, occasionally absurd, and often humorous experiences I've had while painting the Bronx.

Superette

While I was working on a pastel of the Superette in my neighborhood, one of the store's proprietors came over to see what I was doing.

"That's nice," he said. "How much you want for it? I'll buy it."

Somewhat surprised, I named a price and, even more surprising, he agreed to it. When the painting was done, I brought it to him and he framed it and hung it in the store window for all to see.

A couple months later, my friend Peter was visiting and he stopped into the store to look at the painting, which I'd told him about. The owner saw Peter scrutinizing it, and asked if he liked it. "Yes, very much," Peter said. "It's a great piece."

The man smiled proudly and puffed out his chest. "My son painted it," he said.