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I met Scott at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, exactly half our lives ago. We spent the week with Brother David Steindl-Rast, discussing fairytales.

On our off hours, we talked art. I was on my way to Munich or Paris, or somewhere, yet another stop on my “museums of the western world tour.” Scott was dying to go, but he had churches to run in Indiana and Texas and New York and Los Angeles. 

He’s been talking and writing, brilliantly, about art for years, so it was no surprise to me when he picked up the brushes, and his clothes took on the unmistakable whiff of turpentine and linseed oil.

Scott has a spectacular sense of color, and an enormous ability to put his heart and soul onto the canvas, which shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knows the guy.

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