Wednesday, November 28, 2012



A review from Art Collectors Magazing:
Artist Focus: Ned Martin / Between Two Worlds
Self-taught artist Ned Martin has been painting since early childhood. He is inspired by the feeling of falling and the ethos of “letting go.” His technique consists of making thousands of small marks of oil paint, then breaking them up by scratching the surface only to add more marks. Although Martin credits contemporary artists Chuck Close and Lucian Freud as major influences, he also keenly recalls the impact his fourth grade teacher had on his path to art.
Martin describes that experience in his blog about why painters paint: I had made a small sculpture from clay and she paused at my desk and just for that one brief moment her voice changed. She spoke as soft and sweet and light as angel and her words warmed me and gave me goose bumps all at the same time. She praised me for something I had done. From that moment on, I craved approval for my art… When everything you touch results in complete disaster, one learns to adapt, one learns to focus. One learns to be a better dancer, to sing like no other or to strive to be the best damn painter possible.”
A Baltimore native now living in Hell’s Kitchen, Martin has shown work in galleries in Baltimore, New York, Toronto, Barcelona and Florence. It is his environment; however, that plays a real influence on the work.
“I live and paint in Midtown Manhattan during the week and live and paint in rural central Pennsylvania during the weekends.” he explains. “I am blissfully stuck in my two worlds: simply cannot live in one without the other. My paintings are a reflection of the dichotomy: very photo-real and calming when viewed from afar, contemporary, abstract, maniacal when examined closely.”

Friday, November 16, 2012

Monday, November 12, 2012

Lost in my 2 worlds: Urban PA and  Rural NYC
CNTRL PA: We enjoyed the warm weather as we sat gathered around the picnic table there under the overhanging branches behind the log cabin. With my back to the woods, I sipped my wine and listened to the polite conversation when Rod abruptly interrupted. "There's a bear," he grunted in his deadpan way.

Susie screamed, jumped up and ran into the house. I turned to look into the woods and marveled at a black bear sitting on his haunches in the small clearing some 30 feet away. He stared back at me then slowly stood and walked amongst the large pine trees and out of site. Rod had been feeding the deer and the 5-gallon feed bucket came bouncing out into the clearing as if the bear was saying ""You forgot to fill this!" We waited. We listened. Nothing more. We did a little searching but the large bear had magically disappeared.

NYC: Two days later we sat with friends at one of our favorite restaurants on 9th Ave. and 43rd street.  Especially nice is their wall of windows that fold out of site so that it feels like a sidewalk cafe. I sat with my back to the windows and enjoyed the jazz pianist. When she finished her song a round of polite applause followed then our gay friend suddenly shrieked, "There's Joan Rivers!" he screamed.

I wanted to jump up and run away! Joan had paused at the window to listen to the live music.
I turned to look but she had ducked out of site

Monday, August 20, 2012

Just finished a new large landscape (36 x 30"). It is always such a satisfying feeling especially cuz I struggled with the direction and mood of this one. Didn't really start working until I put away the photograph and trusted the vision. Pick up a glass. Cheers mate!

Sunday, August 19, 2012

I hope I don’t get arrested by the blog police. I mean I know (or pretend to understand) blogs are for “I got a hangnail today” or… whatev. But...

My finest piece of art, my Magnum opus  (or in this case opuses) is/are my two sons, Ned and Scott. As an artist and a confessed egocentric driven perfectionist I can still look outside my own crap and there is nothing more important, nothing I am more proud. And now, with Renee, I have the opportunity to influence my step-sons, Brandon and Brady and love them and guide them and support them no matter what. Ok where’s the grand kids?

Tuesday, July 31, 2012


What makes dancers dance, singers sing, painters paint?

Mrs. Cole was a big woman: she wore tight bright dresses to accentuate her enormous frame. We could hear her as she approached -- even from a great distance, her heavy footsteps echoed louder and louder in the hallway as she came toward us. Before she departed, she had warned us to be quiet. Not a sole dared utter a sound. When she returned she took her place in front of our class, folded her hands and looked us over. She drew in a heavy breath and spoke with a dark deep voice, one that only comes from years of heavy smoking.
                I don’t remember her words. Not exactly. I do recall however, in vivid detail, her eyes swelled heavy with tears as she explained that our President Kennedy had been shot and he was dead.
                Most people can remember a lot about their experiences in the fourth grade. I can not. I have only one more indelible memory about Mrs. Cole.  I had made a small sculpture from clay and as she moved about the room to inspect our work she paused at my desk. She seemed to grow smaller before my eyes. She pointed a dainty finger and stroked the clay form. Just for that one brief moment her voice changed. She spoke as soft and sweet and light as an angel and her words warmed me and gave me goose bumps all at the same time. She praised me for something I had done.  From that instant on I craved approval for my art.
                By the time I was in high school, I was painting sets for class plays, scrawling groovy flowers on fellow classmate’s book covers and painting dragons on a friend’s van. When everything else you touch results in complete disaster, one learns to adapt: one learns to focus. One learns to be a better dancer, to sing like no other and to strive to be the best damn painter possible.