I know its an absurd statement to say – “Masterpiece” or “Greatest Painting Ever Made”. It’s obscene, and not in a good way, I admit this.

I grew up seeing the paintings of Munch and minor works of Northern European artists in the flesh, most of them tipping the scale at maudlin/austere.

Turn left outside the Jules Maidoff Palazzo in Florence†, walk to the first traffic light, turn left and walk up the hill until you reach via della Collona. Go right, soon you will arrive at # 9.

This rather battered old reproduction hangs in my studio. I’ve owned it since I was five, which is when I first and last saw the original.

This giant moon-blossom zings a beam straight into my forehead, lasering a third eye that I didn’t know I had before.

And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight.” (St. Luke)

Seeing an Annunciation painting in Italy is about as easy as it was to find hair gel in a locker at my midwestern high school in the 80s.

The day after the Piero della Francesca show opened at the Metropolitan Museum in New York, I was up there to see this small gem of an exhibit.

This is my go to painting. When I’m downtown with any time to spare, I’m here. If I’m in the museum for any reason, I touch base here.

Stretch, a moment, a hide taut between threads and wind the threads around a wooden frame. Stitch this skin, recently nestled over sinew and muscle and organ and bone...