Description

This beach at Oyster Bay, New York, was our secret haven, a place where my father's artistry met Long Island's vast hidden beauty.

The small secluded (and largely forgotten back then) beach, nestled across from the old Moran Shipyard, near the winding shore road leading to Bayville, held a special charm.

It was 1986, and we lived in Queens, New York, a stone's throw from the bustling heart of Manhattan. Our American Dream journey from a humble Spanish Harlem apartment 18 years prior (in 1968) to owning a home in Queens felt like traveling to another universe, even though the distance was mere miles. Mom and Dad had worked hard to get us out of that small apartment to a home we now owned, and somehow they did it, from basically nothing, in just 7 years.

By 1986, I had been driving for a few years, and day trips east to Long Island became a cherished routine for my father and me. He was the perfect passenger, his simple wisdom and keen eye for beauty making every journey an adventure. Long Island, with its sprawling landscapes and serene harbors, felt as uncharted to us as America did to our family when we first arrived in 1956. Each trip felt like a moon landing, discovering a new piece of our adopted homeland.

Dad, at 64, possessed an incredible vision and steady hand. This painting showcases his watercolor mastery.

The sky, filled with puffy cumulus clouds, seems almost alive. The shipyard buildings stand with quiet strength, and the tall beach grass sways gently in the breeze. The water sparkles with motion, and the tugboat, front and center, appears both steadfast and ready for adventure.

Dad's art style had evolved over the years. What once was more detailed had become more choppy and free, a reflection of his growing confidence and artistic maturity. He often said this change was because he felt more certain of himself as an artist. Whatever the reason, the transformation was something I deeply admired.

Driving through the picturesque north shore, with its many harbors and rolling hills, was like a dream. Dad would point out scenes that caught his eye, describing the colors and shapes he saw, and so many things I didn't see. His ability to identify beauty in the ordinary was a gift, and through his eyes, I learned to appreciate the world in a richer, more vibrant way.

This painting of Oyster Bay, our secret spot, is more than just a piece of art. It's a memory of our time together, the conversations we had, the lessons he taught me about life and art.

Looking at this painting, I am reminded of those drives, and this one, in particular, holds a special place in my heart.

Just Us Three
Back then, I had a dog named "Pug." He was a Golden Retriever, Irish Setter mix. Pug was a crazy dog, and I loved him very much. I had him (and he had me) since he fit into a shoebox, but now Pug was full-grown and Large. He and I would climb into my 1983 Chevy Camaro, and the two of us drove around wherever, with no specific destination. One day, we found this little-known spot in a place called Oyster Bay. The entrance was across a rail line at the rear of some boatyards. I could tell it wasn't where many people went because the road was rough, unpaved, and hard to find, and the beach was wild, overgrown, and perfect for Pug and me. We went to this place together alone and with my wife, Antoinette. Pug always became wild with happiness upon arrival. He dashed up and down the beach and then darted straight into the water. He loved the water and was a great swimmer. I would throw a stick or ball deep into the bay, and Pug always fetched it. That was our game. Later, I brought Dad to this spot along with Pug — just us three—and this painting happened.

For many years, Dad and Pug had a special relationship. Dad loved dogs, and we always had a family dog when I was growing up, even in that small old New York City apartment.

Dad and Pug were close buddies. They understood each other, and today I like to think they're up in heaven, together with Mom. ❤️

We were happy this summer day in 1986; we were together—just the three of us. Dad was on the beach painting. Pug was running around, and I remember being there - in Our Secret Spot. ❤️

Through My Father's Eyes