Wed-Sat 3pm-8pm

Geoffrey is old-school. He wears a hat, drinks local red wine at the worker's bar, and paints and draws every day. Regimen and discipline, startling words in the vocabulary of a society that demands instant results with little effort.

He's a painter's painter, working out of a personal inclination and a love for the natural marvels--line, form, light, color. His brush and pencil are his best friends--they direct his daily excursions: the variation of luminosity on a model's shoulder, Venetian homes dancing on their own reflections, the sudden change of a sitter's expression.

Honesty, the artist's greatest ambition and also the greatest challenge, is Geoffrey's constant guide. He paints as he sees, his exquisite craftsmanship the perfect vehicle for this homage to nature.

As young man he came upon Venice where he learned observation from those who know it best--boat people who live by the sun's movements. The venerated vedutisti, Guardi and Canaletto, these he paid attention to also while developing an individual palette and style that bears his pictorial signet.

Venice is a visceral place. Those frenzied Vivaldi rhythms are simply the translation of thunder, blowing leaves, wind, waves, birds. The dreaded scirocco flowing through the musician's ears. At high sun, the intoxicated facades can be bright and cheerful. When it rains, the reds and yellows become pallid and remorseful. Saturated colors, reflections--these elusive visions constantly adjusting to the changes of weather and time are then translated by the painter's eyes.

One must love a place to describe it with such profound and constant devotions. Geoffrey is such a lover, abandoning himself to complete immersion in the wanton ways of Venice.

Then there is the body of a woman...