Greenville Hopper – Baptistry of St John

Falls Park, Greenville, South Carolina

After Atlanta, it’s a wet, twisting Appalachian road that leads to Greenville, South Carolina and its Hopper picture.

A Truly American Road to Greenville

The road bisects man-made Tennessee Valley Authority lakes which spill into whitewater rapids. Thereafter, it leads to north Georgian escapes where wealthy Atlantans sit on deck chairs by the lake. Here, they sip mint juleps and watch their neighbors jet by in speedboats.

The road continues through the isolated, age-old poverty of western North Carolina. Not unpleasantly,  the asphalt is shrouded by barbecue smoke and black diesel exhaust.

It is a beautiful road, a truly American one. At the end of it lies the small, quintessentially Southern town of Greenville, South Carolina. The main street in Grenville is called Main Street and is lined by old trees.

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Publishing Edward Hopper

Ground Swell by Edward Hopper

Dear readers,
My apologies for the long absence.
While away, I have been busy preparing my book on Edward Hopper for publication.
The finished product will have 90 pictures, including over 50 high quality color reproductions of pictures by Hopper and his contemporaries.
Framed: A Journey Into Edward Hopper’s America will be available in hardback, paperback and e-book formats.
Stay tuned for more updates as the dream of publishing a book on Edward Hopper becomes closer to reality!

Foreshore-Two Lights: Atlanta’s Edward Hopper Watercolor

Two Lights Maine

The beautiful Edward Hopper watercolor at the High Museum of Art in Atlanta was once known as ‘Cape Elizabeth’. However, it was posthumously changed to ‘Foreshore-Two Lights’ (1927). Two Lights is a rocky point with two lighthouses at the tip of Cape Elizabeth peninsula, Maine. So beautiful is it that Jo Hopper wrote about ‘Foreshore-Two Lights’, ‘This one of his best sea pictures [sic], calmly dramatic but making no claims.’

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The High Museum in Atlanta Searches for a Hopper

High Museum of Art, Atlanta, Georgia

It’s a bare-knuckled, ten hour drive on the interstate from Sarasota to the High Museum of Art in Atlanta. We pass roaring wildfires and navigate snarled traffic. But even that isn’t enough to keep me awake.

An empty Starbucks in the middle of Georgia offers relief in the form of twenty ounces of scalding coffee. My mother offers to drive. But she is uninsured and I am in debt.

She tells bad ‘knock, knock’ jokes until the caffeine kicks in. We finally hit Atlanta in time for a beautiful summer’s dusk.

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