 I loved the line in your novel, “…the worth of a man is not in what he owns, but in the work he leaves behind.” Having a PhD in art history must give you this appreciation of the artists and the work they left behind. Is the use of artwork in this novel, both a plot device and/or theme in most of your work? First of all, thank you for reading! Thinking about how art connects people over time is at the heart of my work, both in fiction and non-fiction. Some works of art go on amazing adventures centuries after their creators are gone. This is certainly the case with the innumerable works hidden during World War II to protect them from damage, theft, or destruction. In fiction, a work of art can serve as more than an inanimate object or thing of beauty; it can be a powerful thematic element or even a character in its own right. For Stella in The Keeper of Lost Art, Botticelli’s Primavera becomes more than just an old painting that needs protection. It profoundly influences Stella’s evolving understanding of the world as she navigates the complexity of coming of age in wartime. How do you reflect on this quote when thinking of your own life as an author? Like works of art, books also have the power to transcend time, to leave a legacy far beyond material possessions. Think about the many authors and pieces of writing from antiquity we are still reading today, along with those from more recent centuries that are considered classics. Hollywood producers are making movies today from stories whose authors are long gone; that’s amazing! As an author, it's humbling to think about creating something that might outlive you, but honestly, I don’t spend too much time considering that when I’m writing. I just follow my curiosities to see what deep historical rabbit holes they will lead me into, so that I can share them with readers and students. There are countless incredible true stories from the history of art. I certainly don’t compare my writing to a Renaissance masterpiece, but I try to create stories that honor these works and the people who created and protected them for future generations. Like the characters in The Keeper of Lost Art, I try to contribute in my own small way to keeping these cultural treasures alive in our collective imagination. If I can connect readers and students to art history in a way that is both accessible and inspires wonder, then I am happy. Another wonderful quote: “Stella’s astonishment, she discovered that darkness reveals light.” I think this is also a strong theme in the novel, beyond the relationship to the paintings. Can you speak to it more as a theme, or if I have it wrong, what you meant by the quote? During war, when humanity seems at its darkest, art represents our highest aspirations. In several of my novels, I have explored how art has the power to bring people hope in times of darkness. World War II represents one of humanity's darkest chapters, yet against this backdrop, we witness extraordinary acts of courage, sacrifice, and beauty. Sometimes, individuals had to make the choice between saving a human life or a work of art. In other cases, ordinary people risked their own lives to protect a work of art for future generations. These remarkable circumstances speak to something essential about our relationship with art—it's not just about beauty or monetary value, but about preserving our collective cultural memory and identity. For Stella personally, it's through her losses and struggles—being separated from her parents, feeling unwanted by her aunt, navigating the confusion and danger of wartime—that she discovers her own inner strength and capacity for connection. Her friendship with Sandro, her growing understanding of art, her evolving relationship with her family—these lights could only emerge through the darkness she experiences. Okay, I will move away from quotes after this one—although your novel says a great deal that can be quoted. “It is the artist’s greatest calling to guide…perception to what he wants the viewer to see.” Your novel has exceptional detail in description and emotional impact. How does the reader come into your mind when you write? Do you have a method to help keep your reader foremost in view? Thank you! The themes of vision and seeing seemed to expand for me as I wrote this story. When we stand before a great work of art or a complex painting like Botticelli’s Primavera, it sometimes takes a long time and multiple encounters for us to “see” everything the artist intended. Sometimes, there are layers of meaning and details that help the meaning unfold for us as we slowly unpack them. As I wrote this story, the theme of seeing expanded to the young characters and their own developing grasp of the complex world they are navigating. Sandro, with his failing vision yet a deep connection to the visual world, and Stella, with her increasing curiosity yet limited experience of complex adult circumstances, helped fuel this thematic element of vision. In thinking about how the reader will engage with my work, I try to put them in the shoes of characters who might encounter these works of art for the first time. Stella's initially naïve view of Botticelli's masterpiece allows readers to discover it alongside her, without feeling put off by art historical jargon or analysis. Many writers and filmmakers have explored the heroic actions of the Monuments Men and Women who contributed to art preservation. But yours is an intimate story, adding the historical aspect of the children who were sent out of the city in order to be protected from the war. Where did Stella’s story come from? And how did it cross your creative path? In my novels The Night Portrait and The Last Masterpiece, I too have written about the incredible deeds of the Monuments Men and Women in protecting works of art in wartime. They play a supporting role in The Keeper of Lost Art as well, where our fictionalized Monuments Man and Woman, Wallace Foster and Josie Evans, are based on real-life individuals whose heroic actions saved so many works of art for future generations. But I wanted to do something different in this book. While the main characters in my previous novels have been curators or conservators or art experts of some sort, I wanted to explore a main character who had no prior knowledge or experience with art. The true story behind The Keeper of Lost Art allowed me to imagine what it would be like if you were an ordinary person who was asked suddenly to protect and care for hundreds of priceless masterpieces in your own home. This is exactly what happened as the Florentine art officials were forced to pack up their collection and swiftly move these masterpieces to privately owned properties in the Tuscan countryside. These “hidden heroes” were ordinary families like Stella’s who found themselves at the center of impossible circumstances. Stella’s story emerged from the deep research I did for my novel, The Last Masterpiece. Among the some 30+ hiding places for works of art in the Tuscan countryside, I read about the incredible true story of the villa at Montegufoni, where Botticelli's Primavera was hidden during the war. The facts alone were astounding—more than 250 masterpieces stacked against walls, German soldiers requisitioning the same space, hundreds of refugees in the wine cellar—but mostly, I wondered about the human dimension of this story, particularly how ordinary people might have experienced these extraordinary circumstances. During my research in Italy, I had the privilege of meeting the grandchildren of some of these hidden heroes, who grew up hearing wartime stories that brought this history to life in ways no academic source could. Walking through those rooms with them, I began to see the events through the eyes of a child—someone who wouldn't necessarily grasp the historical significance of what was happening but would feel everything intensely. Around the same time, I read Iris Origo's extraordinary diary, War in Val d'Orcia, which documents her experience sheltering refugee children from northern Italian cities on her estate in Tuscany. The details of daily life—continuing to plant and harvest, trying to maintain some normalcy for these displaced children, navigating the complex loyalties of wartime Italy—provided a glimpse of the world Stella would inhabit. Stella herself simply appeared one day, fully formed in my imagination—a girl caught between childhood and adulthood, between city and countryside, between her lost parents and her newfound family, between high art and the daily tasks of survival. Her perspective allowed me to explore this history in a different way from my previous works. Through her eyes, we experience both the mundane realities of wartime life and the extraordinary circumstances of living alongside some of humanity's greatest artistic achievements. I think what drew me to tell this more intimate story is that the grand narratives of war and heroism, important as they are, sometimes overshadow the quiet courage of ordinary people—the families who took in refugee children, the local people who protected art without recognition, the children who had to grow up too quickly. Stella gave me a way to illuminate and honor those unsung stories. This novel is a coming-of-age story of Stella in Italy; however, it also moves to a coming-of-age in her appreciation of art. This is a brilliant parallel in the story. How did you decide on it? And does it parallel with your journey? There's something uniquely powerful about that adolescent phase when we're trying to make sense of both ourselves and the wider world—it's the perfect moment for art to become transformative. For Stella, discovering Botticelli's Primavera coincides with her awakening to adult complexities. As she learns to look deeper at the painting—to see beyond its surface beauty to its layers of meaning—she's simultaneously developing the capacity to understand the complicated adults around her, the ambiguities of war, and her own identity. The painting becomes a kind of mirror for her growing emotional and intellectual maturity. This parallels my own journey with art, though mine was less dramatic! I remember the first time I stood before truly great works of art and architecture as a pre-teen. Those moments changed something fundamental in how I saw the world and inspired me to pursue art history. My academic training eventually gave me the vocabulary and context to analyze art, but the emotional connection has always been primary. That's what I wanted for Stella—not the scholarly appreciation that might come later, but that initial, transformative recognition that art can speak to us across time, that it can help us understand ourselves and our world differently. How do you determine that a historical event will make a good story for readers? And how do you set about outlining for your research? There are so many amazing—and little-known—true stories from the history of art. I look for historical events that contain "narrative gaps"—moments where the historical record tells us what happened, but not how it felt to the people experiencing it. These gaps are where fiction can breathe life into history. The evacuation of Florence's art treasures was meticulously documented in archival records, but those records don't tell us about the fear, hope, and daily challenges faced by the people involved. That's where story lives. I'm particularly drawn to events that juxtapose extremes—like the presence of transcendent beauty amid the brutality of war. The image of Botticelli's Primavera—this celebration of renewal and beauty—sitting in a darkened room while bombs fell nearby contains an inherent narrative tension that makes it perfect to explore in a fictionalized story. When outlining my research, I work in concentric circles. I start with the core historical event—in this case, the hiding of artworks in a single Tuscan villa. My first research layer focuses on establishing the factual framework and timeline: what happened, when, where, and to whom. This involves academic sources, archival documents, and museum records. The next circle widens to include the broader historical context—what was happening in Italy during this period, how the war progressed, how it affected civilian life. This helps me understand what constraints and pressures my characters would face. A third circle focuses on daily life details—what people ate, wore, how they traveled, what news they received, what work they did. For this novel, I studied agricultural cycles in Tuscany, wartime rationing, and rural education systems, among other topics. The final research circle explores the emotional and psychological context—memoirs, letters, diaries, and oral histories from people who lived through similar experiences. These first-person accounts are invaluable for understanding how historical events were processed emotionally. Throughout this process, I'm looking for places where my fictional narrative can illuminate historical or universal truths. I want to honor the real experiences of people who lived through these events while creating characters and situations that help readers connect emotionally to this history. Once I have this research foundation, I create a detailed “story spine” that interweaves historical events with my fictional narrative, ensuring that my characters respond to historical developments authentically. This becomes my roadmap as I write, though I always leave room for discovery along the way. Do you do research before, during, or after the first draft? Yes to all three! My research process is cyclical rather than linear. I begin with substantial research before writing a word—enough to understand the historical framework and to feel confident that the story concept is viable. For The Keeper of Lost Art, this initial phase included trips to Tuscany, conversations with people who lived through the war, time in the Uffizi archives, and extensive reading about the evacuation of art during World War II. However, I don't wait until I've exhausted all possible research avenues before beginning to write. If I did, I'd never start! Once I have a solid foundation, I begin drafting, knowing that the writing process itself will reveal what additional research I need. As I write scenes, questions inevitably arise—"What would they have eaten for breakfast?" "How would news from the front have reached them?" "What would the landscape look like in October?" I put these questions in brackets and come back to them over the course of writing and revising. I believe this approach creates a more organic integration of history and story. The research informs the narrative, but the narrative also guides the research, creating a dialogue between fact and fiction that hopefully results in a novel that feels both historically authentic and emotionally true. Historical fiction authors--who would top your list? Some of my favorite authors are Geraldine Brooks, Ken Follett, Anthony Doerr, Tracy Chevalier, Maggie O’Farrell, Karen Maitland… I have tremendous respect for novelists who can write a well-paced story with beautiful literary language and sensory detail that sink you into the historical time and place. I also like to read books set in places I’ve never been to or historical time periods where my knowledge is limited. I’m constantly reading historical fiction, but I also read outside the genre—often mysteries, thrillers, or suspense stories—for a refreshing change. I read fiction every single day and always with the eye of a craftsperson; I’m always asking how the author has constructed the story or made the reader feel a certain emotion. There is so much to learn. Are you writing a new book? When will it be out? Always! I’ve just completed a long research trip in Italy, which has filled my creative well and made me tremendously excited about this new project. I’m turning away from wartime and into new territory with this dual-timeline project. I’m writing about two eras I’ve never tacked before in fiction. So much fun! I’m still drafting the book, so there will be many more revisions before it’s ready to land in the readers’ hands. Many sincere thanks for this interview. I have enjoyed your work and look forward to getting to know you better. Thank you, DJ, for your wonderful questions, and for reading my work. 
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