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Larry Blauvelt had the gaunt, tragic face of a desert prophet grim with suffering. He was a great comic talent sabotaged by his own neurosis into abandoning an acting career out of fear. His anxieties kept him in flux. He was always in retreat. After becoming a pastry chef he then became allergic to flour. So went his life. He never brought forth from his depths a consumate expression. No wonder he became ill with cancer.

Having moved back to Pittsburgh, I had not seen Larry for a long time when we met again in the spring of 1990. But I was not prepared for what I would see, and I was startled. There was an aura of calm surrounding him and in his eyes benevolence. It was quickly followed by a twinkle of amusement at my surprise. He had achieved a plateau where he could with grace comfort friends in peace. His transformation inspired me as I cautiously asked: "Larry, may I paint you?"

The next day I painted two portraits in succession. Perhaps that was a strain on Larry, and maybe I didn't capture all the calm that was in his eyes. But the one emerging as if from a veil Larry kept in his bedroom until he died; the other my mother asked to keep. She too was touched by the kindness on his face and the resignation. It stayed up for some eight years keeping her company until she died. - Richard Rappaport