We lived in a pocket of Time. It was close, it was warm. Along the dark seam of the river the houses, the barns, the two churches, hid like white crumbs in a fluff of gray willows and elms, till Time made one of his gestures; his nails scratched the shingled roof. Roughly his hand reached in, and tumbled us out.
“Andy Denzler weaves nostalgic photorealism with gestural expression in his wholly original style of painting. He achieves the look of his works—at once a paused film still and a sweeping abstraction—by alternating bands of unmoving,impastoed detail with flowing horizontal sweeps of his brush.”