In the last three issues I have been telling you the amazing story of what happened when one of the leading art collectors in the world, Mera Rubell, made a sudden visit to my studio. When we last left the story, I was about to finally show her my work.

And yet, I delayed a few precious moments more, and then really started talking about what drives my imagery.

I talked about how I had discovered the Picts in my childhood reading and then re-discovered them in Scotland when I lived in that breathtaking nation from 1989-1992.

I told them about the research that I had done as an amateur historian on them and their tattoos, and I showed them some examples of Pictish artwork that I had pinned to my studio wall.

I described how a few years ago I had a show where it was all about Pictish art. And then I led the discussion, minutes gone by, to the trail of that artwork to my current work.

I’m a good talker, and I think that they were all interested in this historic genetic line that I was weaving. No one was yawning, and the room was still charged with electricity.

I explained how the tattoos married with my interest in narrative art, and art that tells a story or makes a point, backs up an agenda or delivers a social commentary.

And then I turned over the gigantic drawing of Che Guevara with the writing on the wall behind the Argentinean icon.

As I’ve described before, this is a huge charcoal drawing of Ernesto “Che” Guevara de la Serna Lynch. Che is to the left in a very Christ-like pose. behind him, a slogan or graffiti on the wall asks the question in Cuban slang: “Asere, Si o No?” which means “Friend, Yes or No? The capital letters answer the question by spelling out ASESINO or assassin. I explained all these Cuban nuances to the Spanish language and my agenda behind it.

“You did this in the last 36 hours?” Someone asked a little quizzical.

“You see!, You see!” beamed Rubell, this is what I’m all about!” she gestured at the piece as I discussed my historical affinity to Che Guevara, both as a hero to some and as a mass murderer and racist to others. Rubell noted that I had captured a strong sense of the zealous Maoist in his eyes and face.

“What else is there?”

The next few pieces went fast. With each I explained what the drawing was all about. I discussed the intimacy of drawing the viewer close. I discussed humor in art when I showed them the Superman drawing. I discussed being very tired and possibly hallucinating when I did the elections of Obama drawing. I discussed the nuance of words when I showed them the “Age of Obama - Nobel Peace Prize” drawing.

I was in a groove, and I can’t remember why, but there was a lot of laughter all the time. I think that I asked them if they were laughing so much because they were delirious from lack of sleep. They exploded in laughter at that. I laughed too, because I was indeed super tired from the last 36 hours, but I was also feeling quite on track.

I could sense that Rubell really liked my drawings, but that she also liked the reason for them, the “why I draw this” idea. Somewhere in there I talked about conceptual art and how often the idea is more interesting than the final product and people agreed with me.

“Awright,” she says, “can you step out for a minute?”

I leave them and go upstairs. “How’s it going?” asks my wife.

“I think it’s going great,” I answer as a series of raucous laughter blasts emanate from the basement. My wife, the baby and I look at each other and wait.

An eternity goes by before I am called down to the basement.

“We were wondering,” says Rubell with a devilish look in her eyes - this woman is not tired, at least not now, after a grueling 36 hours marathon of studio visits; that much is clear to the most casual observer.

“We were wondering if…” she pauses, “considering that you were a Naval intelligence officer… if you had done some intelligence preparations ahead of time and had all these drawings in your flat files and just pulled them out just before we came?”

“Raise your right hand!” ordered Rubell, her Russian-ness suddenly coming to the front. I did.

Next I was made to swear that all the work had been created in the last 36 hours, while Jennie Yang recorded the event with her camera. For a moment there I flashed back to my days in the Navy, with the myriads of re-enlistments and ceremonies where oaths are taken.

We all filed out of the studio. On the way out she looked at a handmade Valentine Day’s card from my wife that I pinned by the door. “This is a love nest,” she stated, “another love nest…”

The visit was over, and a few days later I found out that she had selected my work for the Katzen Art Museum. I also know that this electric person is going to do wonders for DC artists and erase decades of neglect from our press and from our museums.

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