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The day I nearly lost him, he was such a little man. Rolling his miniature suitcase down the concourse with his boarding pass, threading his way through the taller adults, he looked back just once like a confident boy friend, roguish that he was in the lead, then disappeared from the face of the earth, a suddenly vulnerable child without his mother. Read the rest of this entry »

Unless the boy king’s back in town, there’s room in my galleries for those who know what they’re looking at. We’re trained to scan the floor for anyone at risk of mischief. I’m in the modern rooms most days; the playful, the subversive pieces gather here. Read the rest of this entry »

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Behind the Pseudonym

The pen name davidbdale honors my mother Beatrice (Bea) and my father Dale

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