Art — the right art — contains powerful emotions. It is a focal point for spirit, soul, and humanity itself. People often tell me a particular work gives them comfort, motivation, or something even more profound.

I will share stories that will touch you. But I want you to look closer and see — it is not the art that creates this power, and, if I’m being honest, it is not the artist. I am merely the conductor, bringing together the colors, the music, and the moment so the real power — the spirit and beliefs already inside you — can rise to the surface.

When you experience a piece of art that makes you cheer or cry, it’s because the art reflects what is already there. A great work is a mirror. The image does not need to look like you — your face, your clothes — though it can. Great art reveals what’s buried deep inside you. It can say to you, or for you, the things you cannot or will not put into words.

Da Vinci said, “Art answers questions that science alone cannot.”

I just returned from a benefit live art performance for the Fraternal Order of Police — the largest police union anywhere. Even for me, the experience was on another level, reaching people deeply. They are still talking about it, and stories are rising from it. One of my personal observations is that great art is not on the canvas, but what comes from it.

Thousands of police, their families, and dignitaries were present. Much to my surprise, those running the event put my performance right in the middle of their business meeting — a session where they were voting and accomplishing things with nationwide impact.

Typically, for such an important event, I’d be asked to do a quick five-minute painting symbolizing their message, then leave the work as a talking point. This time would be different — a 25-minute show of three pieces, followed by a live auction to raise funds for their foundation.

We did raise serious funds — three pieces painted, resulting in 49 sales — but what happened during the show and after is where the gold is.

Everyone who had attended my performance for the FOP 15 years ago remembered it as though it were minutes ago. They cheered before I even stepped onto the stage.

The first piece: an American Eagle, performed to “Where Eagles Fly” and “Where the Stars and Stripes Fly.” By the time I completed it, pandemonium had broken out — wild cheering, camera phones held high. Pride and elation surged through the room in a standing ovation.

They cheered for another, so I began the second piece. The slow, steady beat of “America” by Neil Diamond filled the hall as I rendered the New York skyline pre-9/11 against a starred blue background. I began adding red and white stripes, and few realized where it was going. Then, recognition started to spread. A murmur turned to a roar — and when I finally turned the painting upright, the Statue of Liberty stood tall against the Stars and Stripes with the skyline behind her.

The reaction was thunderous. This wasn’t just about New York — it was about our strength and perseverance as a country, and theirs as the men and women who stand on the front lines every day. The standing ovation was long and loud, and the passion in the room was palpable.

But all of that… was just to get their emotions, and their hearts, warmed up for what would come next — something even more personal and profound to the men, women, and families there. And as powerful as it turned out to be, days later something extraordinarily profound happened that reminded me how deep art can reach.

So… what did I paint?

This time, the music began with “God Bless the USA” by Lee Greenwood — Lee is an amazing person I’ve had the honor of sharing stages with only a handful of times. White, golden yellow, and golden brown formed my initial palette. As the music shifted to “Hero” by Enrique Iglesias, I added splashes of blue and red.

The words “I can be your hero” resonated… and “Would you die for me” echoed through the hall, profoundly reminding everyone of the weight of the badge, and the courage and commitment of those in the room.

At the finale, I turned the piece upright — revealing a police officer saluting against a backdrop with the FOP badge and patriotic red, white, and blue.

The cheers came, but behind them was the deeper silence — the kind that says the art had struck something that words could never fully reach.

And then… a few days later, I received a message.

“Good evening. Thank you for allowing me to purchase one of your saluting officer paintings. If I may, would you please put the name Stone on behalf of my partner, Michael Stone, who passed away after I returned from the FOP conference in Miami. It would mean a lot to me to have some mention of him on the painting, since I told him all about how wonderful it was going to look in our police defense law office… and then he passed the next morning.”

Her name was Muna Busailah.

In that moment, I felt the air leave the room. Here was a woman who had stood in that same crowd, felt the same emotions as everyone else — pride, patriotism, camaraderie — but who carried home a much heavier truth.

I wrote back to her, offering my condolences, telling her it would be my privilege to include “Stone” on the piece as a lasting tribute. I asked, with her blessing, if I could share her words so others could understand the depth of her love, the bond she shared with Michael, and how art can carry meaning far beyond the moment it’s created.

She agreed. And I asked for something else — a photo of Michael in uniform, or any uniform with his name visible, so I could place “Stone” in the most fitting, honorable spot on the painting.

That painting will now hang in their law office — a silent sentinel. To some, it will simply be a saluting officer. But for those who know… it will carry the weight of a life, a name, and a love that will never be forgotten.

And that — more than the paint, more than the canvas — is where the real art lives.