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Houston at the time was a crazy and difficult place to live, especially for a family with two youngsters. In an attempt to escape, I applied for the Prix de Rome fellowship and to the Guggenheim Foundation (I had received a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1967). A year passed, and just as we were beginning to find our way around this new kind of city, I received word that I was a recipient for both grants. We set off for a year in Italy, looking forward to coming back home to Houston. On my night table. The last book I read, I think, was Phillip Lopate's The Art of the Personal Essay. Film that inspired me and the actor who would play me. "The red room is the library and finishing room where I prepare my work for exhibition," Krause says. "The figure is a sculpture I made to represent the many saints, among them St. Peter of Verona, who were martyred by having their heads cleaved in two. The skeleton is for my drawing." It is impossible to have one favorite film. But if I'm pressured, I would have to say Marcel Carné's 1945 The Children of Paradise (Les Enfants du Paradis). All about love and art. Since I no longer have to wear eyeglasses, many people have told me I remind them of Bruce Willis. I don't know what to make of that. How I ended up in Wimberley. Cocktail station: The bar is perfect for a photographer, made from an old light box once used for viewing transparencies. House specialties: "In the summer, I enjoy Campari and sodas. In the winter, I'll have a cognac. I usually have a glass of red wine with meals," says the casa's chief mixologist. Old film boxes bear early 4" by 5" negatives of the Sfumato series. The maquette for the 2011 Sfumato Nudes exhibit at Bright Star Productions in Houston, organized by Krause's long-time Houston dealer, Harris Gallery. A Houston friend and Sunday football buddy, Louis Parks, told me he had bought some land in Wimberley, where he and his wife, Susan, planned to build a house and eventually retire. He raved about the beauty of the Hill Country and hinted that I would be wise to follow his lead. The next Sunday, Tammy and I were enjoying a Mexican breakfast, and Tammy checked out, as she always did, the homes for sale in the classified section of the Houston Chronicle. There among the many listings was one for a property in Wimberley. After breakfast, we set out for Wimberley, and there in a magnificent setting we found Louis' future home site. The day was still young, and we decided to check out the house for sale. As we pulled up to the driveway, I noticed the number 291 on the mailbox. The hairs rose up on my neck as I thought of the historic 291 Gallery in New York, where Alfred Stieglitz had exhibited many of the great American artists in the early 1900s. It was a nice ranch-type house set on two acres with a stable for the owner's Tennessee walking horses. I thought, 'What a great studio this barn could become.' When I casually asked the couple what price they were asking, I was stunned to hear myself say, "Sold." In that split second in the early spring of 1999, my life changed drastically. A mean game of pool. The pool table doubles as a workspace, especially for the large (44" by 80") Sfumato Nudes. Tuesday evenings, friends come over, and it becomes a pool table again. We generally play eight ball, cut-throat or a game I learned at the American Academy in Rome called cowboy. I spent two wonderful years there as the recipient of the first Prix de Rome ever awarded to a photographer. My poolroom is a replica of the one at the Academy, with a fireplace and walls that are covered with art created by my family and friends. Why I'm turned on by saints. An animated Krause points to the studio corner that displays the crucifixions of Christ and St. Peter. In small village churches, I've witnessed men and women cry and plead with a figure of Christ or read a love letter to the Virgin of Hope. The santos' robes are covered with the photographs of their sick and dying loved ones. Often the heads of these figures are covered with wigs of real hair and have eyes of hand-blown glass. The parishioners regard these statues as alive and able to hear and answer their prayers. These sculptures were mostly carved by anonymous 18th- and 19th-century artists/artisans in wood and then polychromed. As many of the ancient churches they inhabit are restored to their pristine state, these santos are disappearing. I find many of these figures to be among the most powerful and beautiful works of art ever created. The modern religious statues found in many churches today strike me as sad rip-offs of great contemporary artists and sculptors such as Alberto Giacometti and Henry Moore. These drippy crucifixions and pseudo abstractions do not allow the average parishioner a chance to transcend into the spiritual world. And so I have decided to see if I can reinvent the art of the santos, using some of the ideas and techniques I've learned from the past. What's next. Last January on my birthday, I went to visit friends in the lovely town of San Miguel de Allende in Mexico. I taught at the art school there one summer long ago. The success of my Sfumato Nudes exhibit in Austin a month earlier was still fresh in my mind. "Why not bring the show to Mexico?" asked my friends. [Krause's exhibit opens next spring in San Miguel and marks nearly 90 solo exhibitions in a career that began in 1960.] House music. I listen mostly to classical music, from medieval to contemporary. Ethnic music, especially true flamenco and fado, touches me. This rack is where Krause hangs the large Sfumato Nudes. Front and center, the exquisite, classical and timeless gelatin silver print Swish, from 1979, series I Nudi. "My work explores a land that is bordered on the one side by the 'real' imagery of photography and on the other by the world of fantasy, bridged with a touch of humor," the artist says. To date, Krause's hefty resume reveals 86 solo shows and counting, and more than 55 group exhibitions. "As we pulled up to the driveway, I noticed the number 291 on the mailbox. The hairs rose up on my neck as I thought of the historic 291 Gallery in New York where Alfred Stieglitz had exhibited many of the great American artists in the early 1900s ... When I casually asked the couple what price they were asking, I was stunned to hear myself say, 'Sold.' In that split second in the early spring of 1999, my life changed drastically." — George Krause NOVEMBER | PAGE 71 | 2012 My secret pasta sauce. I enjoy cooking, and I'm thinking of taking a class or two. I grew up in Philly's Little Italy, and the mothers of my friends took pity on my widowed mother and me and shared their meals with us. Most of these Italian/American families had recently come to America. In Italy they were poor and their meals plain and simple, but now they could afford the best ingredients to prepare their dinners. My favorite dish was a pasta sauce (they prefer the word "gravy") that once consisted of just tomatoes and spices but now included every type and kind of meat. Beef, pork, lamb in big chunks as well as ground, sausage, etc. I make a variation of this New World recipe, much to the delight of my family and friends. George Krause is represented by Harris Gallery, Houston. His next solo, Sfumato Nudes, opens March 2, 2013 in San Miguel de Allende (venue TBD), Mexico. For more info, georgekrause.com.