Something within Jerome Tiger always
responded to the beauty and mystery of nature.
He had no fear of summer storms, but watched and exulted in their noise and flashing light, the force of winds and driving rain.
Then he painted.
Two days and nights of intense concentration
produced a series of paintings in the ethereal style which critics hailed as “totally Tiger.”
They praised the delicate lines and subtle colors of his paintings, executed with superb draftsmanship and characteristic finesse. Some said that through his work had been
established renaissance in traditional Indian art.
His work went rapidly, his brush strokes light and sure. He scattered finished paintings throughout the house…leaning some against books in the ceiling-high shelves, propping others against framed
photographs of the children.
In the bedroom, where a corner served as his studio, one painting stood precariously against a small green clay sculpture which was beginning to crack and crumble with
“The Coming Weather” was completed in the hours just before dawn.
He leaned back, stretched and yawned.
Putting aside brushes and paints, he left this one on his drawing board to dry.
It was the last one.