When I was five years old, my family and I lived in a Mid-Century Modern house in Lafayette, CA. While I was too young at the time to verbalize my appreciation for the architecture, some of my most vivid childhood memories are of that house. With its soaring ceiling, walls of glass, and interesting volumes of space, it made a lasting impression. As a teenager, my interest in this architecture was again piqued when I discovered that there was a Joseph Eichler subdivision called Rancho San Miguel, not far from my home town. Eichler is perhaps the most famous name in making this unique architectural style affordable for the masses in the fifties and sixties. I used to drive through Rancho San Miguel and imagine living in one of these slick and luxurious, light-filled homes.

Decades later, I had a ‘pinch me’ moment when, having already decided to move from California to Tucson, AZ, I discovered that Tucson had its own flirtation with Mid-Century Modern, and that many such homes were within my price range. My partner and I moved into our dream home where I get to enjoy my home every day, not just as a space to live in, but as a living, breathing work of art. We live in Windsor Park, one of Tucson’s best-preserved Mid-Century subdivisions. I was further excited to discover that our neighborhood, built between 1962 and 1968 by developer Herbert Oxman and designed by architects Ambrose and Swanson, was considered a great candidate for listing on the National Register of Historic Places. In 2024, I founded a Neighborhood Association, Windsor Park Community, and have been fundraising for the project for the past six months. These three paintings, my “Mid-Century Midnight” series, are intended to be used as fundraising tools for that effort.

I take my dogs for a brief walk before bed every evening, and I’ve grown quite fond of how our interestingly shaped windows- trapezoids and long clerestories- hang in the darkness. They are as inviting as any warmly lit window in the dark of night, but their shapes suggest something undeniably modern. I have always loved nocturns, and the idea of painting these homes at night became an increasing obsession, and one I could eventually no longer ignore. Painting other people’s houses and the intimate glow of their lighted windows in the quiet of the evening gives these paintings a vaguely voyeuristic feel, reminiscent of Edward Hopper. They are architectural paintings, to be sure. They could also be called landscapes. But they are, more importantly, furtive and gentle glimpses into the thousand quiet dramas unfolding behind the protective walls of these desirable and eminently liveable homes.