It's a scene I painted while at the Art Student's League of New York. At the time , my scholarship duties included tending the clay pit- a large wooden box with a lid that contained hundreds of pounds of terra cotta, used by the clay modeling students. It had to be hosed down and turned at least once a day so as to be supple enough to work with. Some evenings however, I'd stay late into the evening at Carneys drinking beer with Nelson Shanks and fellow students in his class or perhaps with George Sotos and his crew and would neglect my clay duties.This meant that I'd have to stumble over to the League very early and turn the clay before the Sydney Simon or Jonathan Shan class would begin at 8:30.. Fortunately I lived only a few blocks away in a huge four story walk up on 55th and Eighth Street that I shared with five other art students In order to give the clay some time to soak I'd arrive early, around 6:30 , and Washington, the caretaker, would open up and let me inside.As I walked through the dark basement to the back studios where the sculpture studios are, I would see the north light streaming down the corridor and then as I emerged into the studio, that full magical glow would envelope me from the high street level skylights.It was pure magic , being all alone in this most holy of artistic spaces.
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