Peter J. Crowley Profile Page on Nextcat.com

The first thing to notice and assimilate to upon entering Peter’s private world is the lack of creature comforts. His home is a studio, first and foremost, lacking any conventional furniture, or hell-any conventions, period. Aside from camera equipment, a computer, a bed and a galley kitchen, there is not much in the way to suggest that this is a home. It is a canvas, displaying framed art by the artist himself {with the occasional political cartoon tacked to the fridge.} The photographs, paintings and sculpture by friends. A hanging plant. A radio/cassette player standing on end, all the better to receive a clearer signal of that great college station that plays jazz and old rock without commercials or Top Forty. You’d better check your materialism at the door. Here is a man who doesn’t compromise. Here is a man who is one of the very few who go the distance, who hand themselves over to the passion of realizing a calling. It’s art; it’s the naked eye, the rectangle. Walls lined with black and white prints of the naked form, of uncompromising woman and their uncovered selves. They’re not all nudes, but those are the ones that stick to me, not for any reason other than the fact that they seem a metaphor for Peter himself. Unflinching, uncompromising, they are images of him.

© Lauren Sarant McNeill