Printmaker, Artist, Friend, Sally Piller


Sally Piller in the Flint Hills

Yesterday a friend updated a group on Sally’s health status, so I knew she was in hospice. But upon hearing of her passing, a somber cloud settled around me. Now her delightful presence and fun company will be only a memory. Described as a force, Sally was willing to jump headlong into whatever project captured her imagination. She was a skilled artist who produced superb work; strong, beautiful prints. One of the reasons I love and will always admire Sally, is the way she made me feel about myself and my work. She lifted my spirit with her attitude. I bet she’s pissed about dying before she was ready and, frankly, I’m a little pissed too. Sally’s work can be seen here.

Good Gallery, Bad Gallery


Good Gallery: I’m bemoaning the passing of a local art venue, 6 Gallery. The recent rains caused the exhibit space to flood and no alternative, affordable  downtown venue could be found. 6 Gallery was created by a conscientious, honest and talented woman, Sally Piller.

A Bad Gallery Experience: A gallery in Aspen asked for two paintings, Romance and Red Wine and Chocolates. Janet Fish was having an exhibit and my work would give art buyers a less expensive alternative.  I was thrilled, and so crated and shipped the paintings. Months passed and there was no communication.  A year passed. On a trip to Aspen, I found the gallery had moved, but was still operational, though closed. Later that year, a friend in Glenwood Spring let me know the gallery had gone out of business. Still no phone calls or mail answered. I sent a final letter with “address correction requested”. The new address was in New Mexico. Two years after the gallery rec’d my paintings,  I knocked on a door in Santa Fe, not far off the square.  My 6″2″ muscled brother stood next to me in front of the door. He said out the side of his mouth, “Is this person really old?” No. “There’s a woman using a walker coming to the door.” The mother. Her son would be back in two hours. My brother and I fortified ourselves and returned. The gallery owner answered the door, and didn’t recognize me or my name initially. Then just said, “Follow me.” We drove to a storage unit where he pulled out my paintings. We loaded them up. He said, “I’m sorry.” I said, “You certainly are.”