LYNDA HIROSE  

I close the door to my studio, and see everything like I left it last night; put on my headphones to sounds that only I can hear. That is where I go. Oftentimes, I’m gratified when someone sees in my painting exactly what I felt at that moment. I was stunned the day a young man came looking for me, to hold my hand and with tears in his eyes, thanked me for showing how “his people” have suffered. It was the first time he saw such a painting.

 

That is why I paint.