the painting: a self-reminder

Today Antiques Roadshow probed me into doing something I've been meaning to do for a long time: research the artist of the only painting I own.  It was a very generous gift, I saw it in a show that was in correlation with a play at LCP and loved it immediately, and my then-boyfriend gave it to me later.  It's dark and bright at the same time, colorful and crayon-like and dreamy and intense, with a big white moon glowing in one corner.  

I'll get a photo of it sometime soon, for illustration.  

Anyway, the signature has always been illegible to me, though I knew it was a local artist.  It took about half an hour to track down the play I saw it at, then use all of my cunning to find a Journal Star article about the play's opening, which is the only place I've seen the art show mentioned.

The artist is Robert Esquivel, and all I know about him is he went to UNL, is married to a photographer, and is showing in Gallery Nine in November.  

I'm fantasizing about going and running into him and telling him how much pleasure I've received from his painting over the years, and how when I was on mushrooms looking at it made birds sing in my head, but in reality I'll probably just go to his show and look around and feel that special wonderment of recognition.