Albert Franck

I was brought up in the east side of Toronto. We lived on Galt Avenue. To the west of us was a lumber yard (now Gerard Square Mall). To the north of us were the railroad tracks, to the south Gerard Avenue. Behind our house was a lane way, like many lane ways in the city. People parked their cars in garages that were situated at the back of their lots, and accessed by the lane. One winter I was run over by a car in that lane. When my mother came running out to the lane, screaming, I pretended to be dead. It seemed to be the safest choice. All the way to the hospital my mother held me in her arms and prayed as my uncle sped through traffic. I was aware of everything. At the hospital I had a miracle recovery which my mother assumed was the Lord’s work.

There was also an artist in that lane. My mother said that she had seen him painting. Is this creative memory. I’m not sure. The artist’s name was Franck.

Paul Brotherton

Paul Brotherton. I love paintings that deal with everyday events. Or events with a story line.

Max Weber

The artist. Not the sociologist. Sometimes his work looks like visual stuttering. But I love them. Especially those pieces that are story conscious. There is something going on. Perhaps a conversation. While couples or groups read, work, etc. The paintings are very playful.

Max Weber was a Jewish-American painter and one of the first American Cubist painters who, in later life, turned to more figurative Jewish themes in his art.

Women Gone Mad part 2