Bridgehampton in Oil & Memory

I just finished an oil painting of the Klebnikovs’ Bridgehampton house. —Anna, Arcady & the kids, waving goodbye with all the warmth and sincerity that made those summers unforgettable. I painted it not just from memory, but from longing—a way to keep the spirit of those golden days alive on canvas. There was sand between our toes, rosemary and thyme growing along the path, and fresh corn from Johnny White’s farm stacked high on the kitchen counter. Arcady’s summer sonatas drifted through the open windows, and at midnight we swam under stars, watched the sun rise over the dunes. Now, here in Sin City, I shelter in my studio as the heat climbs past 115°. It’s too hot to breath. So I eat ice cream—not as indulgence, but as memory. It’s the only way I can summon that summer feeling. But the story’s not over.We’re heading East again—first to Chincoteague to witness the wild pony run, then to New Jersey to see Aunt Nancy, and to visit Joseph’s two beautiful grandchildren, Hyacinth and Joey V. After that, a quick stop in the city for art museums and pizza, and finally to Saratoga and visit Mark in Cooperstown and Joan in Scholarie. Back to the laughter, the waves, the scent of summer lilies and clambakes. Back to where this painting began. Until then, I keep painting. I keep tending to the Pups…And I hold all of you—those I love from those summers—close in brushstroke and heart.

Dreaming of those East Coast Summers in Bridgehampton