On first seeing Wheatfields I was astounded at the sheer

physicality of the thing. With a rush to release profound feeling, it rejects the mere onlooker, forcing the viewer to actually, actively see. The work, so charged with emotional intensity, comes close to the mediocrity of good intent. Like the plays Hamlet and Lear, it hovers at the edge of cliché and the sentimental...but never crosses the line. Occasionally, I revisit the visual shock of that painting. The high emotion has something in common with the unrestrained outpouring of broken hearted youth...no less than the quieter deep-seated grief of loss...(we recognize ourselves in both!) both are very real! As real as those 20 feet of yellow faux fur!