Excerpt from Chapter 1 of TREASURES:
I left my sensual, erotic paintings parked in my Venice studio racks when I moved to New York in 1988. They were my hidden past. No one in my new life could have guessed.
SoHo was still the center of New York’s art scene on my opening night of September 8, 1994. On the ground floor of the Andre Zarre gallery at 48 Greene, with windows facing the street, a sea of humanity garbed in black could be seen standing in clumps. Cars lined up around the block, limo drivers waiting. The gallery consisted of two large open spaces with fourteen-foot ceilings and polished cement floors. My dark environmental paintings were sparsely hung on the white walls. The New Yorker’s listing, Art In America’s full-page ad and Robert C. Morgan’s essay in the catalog proclaimed the work’s creative value. The packed gallery buzzed and corks popped. In my black suit, white shirt and high heels, I boldly received collectors and friends with an ear-to-ear frozen grin, my right hand weak by the end of the reception. Like a love affair finally come to fruition, the exhibition was the grand crescendo.