Going Home

"Hombre Sandía" oil on canvas, 60 x 80 cm, (sold to a collector from California, USA)

When one of my favored paintings, such as Hombre Sandía, from my Memento Mori series, is sold to an art collector, it feels like both a blessing and a quiet farewell. It’s a joy to know that someone has connected deeply with the work, giving it a new life beyond my walls. Yet, there’s a tinge of remorse, like parting with an old friend who has shared my space, my thoughts, and my journey. It’s bittersweet—an honor to see it cherished, but a reminder that art, once released, belongs to the world as much as to the artist.

"La Catrina" oil on canvas, 50 x 70 cm

There’s a comfort in knowing that my work has embarked on its own journey, while I remain in my studio, immersed in the process of creation. The subject evolves, just as I do, taking on new shades, textures, and perspectives. Nothing in art—or life—is truly static. Every goodbye carries the seed of something new, and with each painting, I feel both the familiar and the unexplored unfold before me.

"Viaje Final" oil on canvas, 80 x 120 cm, (sold to a collector from Vermont, USA)

When a cherished painting leaves my hands to find its place in the world, I find myself returning to the canvas with a sense of renewal. The act of parting inspires me to explore the subject again, as if seeking to rediscover the essence of what first moved me. Each brushstroke becomes a conversation—not to recreate what was, but to deepen my understanding of the moment, the feeling, or the vision that sparked it. I made La Catrina to replace Hombre Sandía . . . and recently, Going Home to replace Viaje Final. Like most of the work on the walls of our home, they are for sale if a buyer comes forth. Until then, they are like intimate friends in our immediate surrounding.

"Going Home" oil on canvas, 100 x 120 cm

This cycle—of creation, connection, release, and renewal—fuels my artistic spirit. I am assured that the well of inspiration is never dry, only waiting for me to dive deeper. The process itself is a testament to how art transforms.

See a new Steven Boone new website

Fragments of Beauty

This 72 year old artist often feels the horizon pulling closer, the once-distant line now brushing against the edges of his days. No longer in a hurry or feeling pressed to create, the creative juices flow, but not like a raging river . . . rather as a broad expanse in no hurry to get anywhere. 

Especially since moving to Mexico, I see how my art has transformed and now, it is as if I have climbed a high mountain and can look back to vast territories my journey has taken me through. Fortunately I have kept records. Slides from before the digital age have been in boxes. A life’s worth of images—photos of four decades of work, sketches on scraps of paper, grainy shots of exhibitions long past. Each a fragment of a story, a frame in the reel of becoming. 

Recently I have been re-making the website that bears my name.  My art collectors might be bewildered at the stark shift in my subject matter since moving to Mexico. For public pleasure, I have made a movie, piecing together and crafting a film that spans four decades of artmaking.

It is strange, this act of looking back. I had to explore many territories before stopping to look back. The artist once lived only for the present canvas, the immediate stroke, the urgency of now. But in this reflection, he finds a quiet pride—life not measured in mere years but in creations—in every brushstroke, every finished piece, every fragment of beauty left for the world.

As the final credits roll, the work will carry forward, long after I am gone. I have given all I could, and perhaps that is an artist’s greatest triumph: to leave behind a world more beautiful than he found it.