The Showroom

In my world of fashion as a retailer for thirty years I was introduced to an incongruous mix of people and styling - from the gaily flamboyant to the degenerate - all caught up in a seemingly venal conspiracy: to sell clothes for sexual attraction.  Everyone in the industry, from the shipper to the ogling boss, was keenly aware and blatantly flaunted their assets: curves, credit rating, make of car they owned, or whatever.  

There were no rules for retail buyers, they relied on instinct when forecasting trends, sometimes gambling with personal idiosyncrasies.   My one shining star in this barnyard of flaunting pulchritude was my wife, chief buyer for our stores.  Looking innocently sexy her unwavering focus held steady on pricing, styles and colors for the clientele we attracted.

Oil 40" x 30"

neiltoulch.com

The Hockey Arena

It could be a village square or main street but our neighborhood-gathering place was the hockey arena. A microcosm of ordered chaos reflecting familial dramas and binding a cross-section of generations in spite of different interests.

An over-nurturing Mom anxiously reaching out a lunch box to her adolescent young man who is wishing that she would get lost, his discretely roving eyes on the girls, and his kid sister, running forward toward fresh prospects and mischief.

In our arena we see them all - infants to grandparents - performing the comedy of life together.

Oil 40" x 30"

neiltoulch.com