A Life of Art, Craft, and Purpose

From Conventional Paths to a Life Immersed in Craft and Creative Purpose

Now in my early sixties, I find myself exactly where I want to be—content, fulfilled, and immersed in the world of art. As the owner of a gallery and frame shop, I spend my days surrounded by beauty, embarking on new creative projects, including writing, making art and collaborating with creative colleagues who have become dear friends. My success isn’t measured in wealth or accolades but in the richness of my experiences and the deep appreciation I have for the artistic process.

My love for art, craft and art history started when I was growing up. As the youngest of eight in a resourceful and hardworking family, I watched my mother create warmth and comfort through handmade quilts and home-cooked meals. My father, an engineer at the Carnegie Museum, exposed me to a world of history, art, and behind-the-scenes wizardry. Whether it was watching him run his crew of technicians or one of his extracurricular jobs of running the spotlight in the music hall or helping him repair broken film reels during documentaries, I was captivated by the unseen process that made things come to life. To me, it was magic, with my parents as the orchestrators revealing all the secrets.

I was hooked, fascinated by art and museums from an early age. My parents recognized my enthusiasm and encouraged me to attend Saturday morning art classes at the museum (the same one Andy Warhol had attended a few decades before). There, I worked diligently alongside other aspiring preteen artists, all hoping to be selected by Mr. Fitzpatrick, the imposing instructor with the booming voice who thrilled and terrified us all—to have our work featured on stage. The day I was chosen, I was so nervous that I could barely stand. But that moment ignited something in me—a passion for art that would never fade, despite my attempts to embrace a more pragmatic adult life.

The museum became my second home. I worked as a coat check attendant, a parking lot assistant, an usher, and eventually, while in college, as a carpenter’s assistant, helping build specimen cases. But despite my deep appreciation for art and making, my father—my hero—discouraged me from pursuing it as a career, believing that artists couldn’t support a family. His words swayed me, but they never diminished my love for the creative process.

The Calling of Craftsmanship

Even outside of the museums, I was drawn to the process of making. As a child, I remember watching a film about Leonardo da Vinci and thinking that his life—one filled with curiosity, discovery, and creation—was the pinnacle of greatness. Over the years, I studied and taught industrial arts, art history, and the philosophy behind making. I became captivated by how art reflects the human experience—the way a single painting, like Picasso’s Guernica, can evoke overwhelming emotion and tell a story without words.

Photography became another avenue of exploration in the early 1990s, leading to a close friendship with photographer Richard Hurst. Richard introduced me to the work of Henri Cartier-Bresson and his concept of the “decisive moment”—a split second when everything aligns to create something profound. But for me, photography was not just about images; it was a catalyst for self-discovery. It forced me to confront a truth I had long suppressed: my heart belonged to art, craft, the act of making and of course sharing this with others.

Burning Down My Career to Build a Life

For years, I followed a more conventional path, working as a systems analyst—a title that even now feels foreign to me. The deeper I ventured into the world of technology and structured work, the more I felt an ache for something more meaningful. Eventually, I reached a breaking point. Ignoring my calling was no longer an option. The pain of not pursuing my passion was far greater than the fear of starting over. So, I did the unthinkable—I walked away.

I had no clear plan, just a determination to merge my passion with my livelihood. I spent time reflecting, reading, and seeking advice from friends. One friend suggested I take over a small frame shop in Sewickley. At first, I was insulted. A frame shop? It felt too small for the vision I had for my life. But life has a way of humbling us, and with a leap of faith, I made the decision that would change everything.

The transition was not easy. One year later, I found myself with no steady income and no real experience in running a business. But piece by piece—just like crafting a perfect frame—I built something meaningful. Now, 25 years later, I can say with certainty that it was one of the best decisions of my life. My work brings me purpose, challenges me daily, and allows me to engage with artists, makers, and those who appreciate the craft as deeply as I do.

The Power of Process and Purpose

Looking back, I see a common thread in everything I have done: a love for learning, making, and understanding the deeper why behind creation. I believe that learning, at its core, begins with survival, but as we grow, it transforms into something greater—a path to purpose. The process of making, whether in wood, paint, or photography, is more than just technical skill; it is a way of understanding ourselves, our emotions, and our connection to the world.

For me, true fulfillment comes not just from art itself, but from the process—the act of bringing something into existence, of shaping raw materials into meaning. Through my gallery, my writing, and my own creative exploration, I continue to celebrate the artists, the craftspeople, and the magic of making. Because in the end, art is not just something to admire—it is something to live.