Several beers deep, meandering past the Chelsea Hotel… I was beckoned — “Hit the bodega. Buy a sixer. Come inside.”

Make like a dealer, avoid eye contact, get to the elevators… climb stairs, lose yourself, absorb art…mingle with ghosts. On the roof, crack a beer, grab a hammock, take in the washed out stars… what does it all mean?

If you told me I’d paint this picture in my 40th year, living in Idaho as a father of three…

Introducing my latest, a 20”X20”X1.5”, acrylic and enamel painting of ‘The Chelsea’. Of late, I’ve been compelled to experiment… put away the ruler and paint with emotion. Buy the ticket, take the ride.

I’ve been cold kickin’ it live from Borbay Studios of late… on Facebook. Yes… I’ve heard about Twitch… I’ll get there. For now? We roll on Mark’s temple of ads and data-mining.

After the first session, this baby was writhing in the ugly phase. A traffic cone wouldn’t take this painting to the prom.

My next session was substantially better… I was focused on blocking out the shapes… and carving away with my palette knife.

The result? Play. I was playing with paint, and to be honest, it felt great.

And the update, standing alone. In case you haven’t noticed, red and blue… a recurring theme. Blue is my favorite color, and red is my favorite paint color. You think more about your favorite color with three kids asking you daily, “What is your favorite color Dad?”

When I kicked-off this session, I dug into the supplies and uncovered some black enamel. And let me tell you, I sure did get my enamel on.

It was very close at this point… but even a gestural painting requires polish. So, after a few tweaks…

Boom! The Chelsea… Hotel Chelsea… Chelsea Hotel… a magical, mysterious place — with stories for weeks.

Enamel makes capturing the work near impossible… so here is a side-angle shot of the painting.

The magic of paint is truly experienced in different lighting… outside, everything feels warmer… the earth tones glow.

While painting this, friend and fellow artist Jim D’Amato let me know he was visiting the hallowed grounds… he sent this photo. Do check his work, it’s incredible!

My boy Espo took this photo last year, and sent it over when he saw what I was working on. From any angle… any time… the Chelsea is mysterious.

Per the story at the nexus of this post, here are some photos from that 2005 sojourn. The stairs… endless.

Is it Truman? Or is it false?

My brosky descending the stairs… perhaps it was the beers… maybe it was the low lighting… but somehow, photos blur themselves in The Chelsea.

A little antique mirror, three-person, extremely posed ‘selfie’… I know. Self-IE, not 15 famous folks at the Oscars, Ellen.

Wall of pop culture icons? A tapestry of nightmares? You tell me.

A closer look into the dream.

Someone forgot to refill the water, and that’s a shame.

And here is where we slammed beers and hung out on hammocks. Until next time Chelsea… may you remain beautiful and haunted.