Paintings from Sunset Series by Spence Munsinger, Color Field + Blank White Canvas + Realism + Contemporary Abstract Art, original paintings for sale

"What I wanted to do was to paint sunlight on the side of a house."
― Edward Hopper

visual bone marrow…

My daughter had a bone marrow aspiration this morning. Surgical, invasive as hell, painful-but-for-the-level-of-sedation. The surgeon had to work out the logistics of turning over a patient on a ventilator and five IV’s, with three chest tubes.

In an visual off-the-cuff observation, the pathologist saw healthy new bone marrow.

Not something you hope to have to hope for… But a very good thing.

She has at least managed to knock the leukemia back. A much more microscopic, detailed and clinical look at the smears of marrow will be done over the next day. But that first approximation, without detail, that is heaven. The first step for both of us toward life outside of a hospital room.


daughter in the hospital, paintings of trees of IVs…

I tend to think in terms of visuals. One of the more stunning visuals for me is a wall of IV’s next to an oscillating ventilator next to the dialysis machine that is currently keeping my daughter alive. This is day, hold on, let me count – day 24 for my 23 year old daughter in an ICU in California.

My instinct is to paint it. Just to get it out there. Maybe an abstracted hospital room, the blur and rush of equipment.

I’ve been in California since 14th January. Every day is in the ICU from 6:30 AM until about 3 PM, then I find my way down to the beach and a long walk and a camera and a sunset. Then back to make sure she is still breathing.

I remember just after she was born. I remember going to her crib every evening as she slept. Just watching her breath, in and out, slowly, over and over. I just wanted to be sure it kept going. During those first weeks after she came home and became part of my life I fell so thoroughly in love with her. I also realized how vulnerable I had made myself. To vagaries of life and chance as they involved her.

She crawled up and fell out of her crib at a year old. I heard a thump as she hit the carpet. I saw a dazed but triumphant little girl crawl out of her bedroom – and there was that lurch at my heart, but it passed. This one, this one now, doesn’t pass. This is a hard one. Watching for her breath in a hospital is very hard.

The sunsets were begun for her. They’ll continue for me and for her – I hope to be able to give her the 40th one, and then the 80th one as they grow and evolve. Many photographs of California and sunsets and street corners and hospital roof lines, and palm trees, and waves and piers extending out to the ocean. I can’t paint here but I can dream for and of her, and for and of the paintings to come.