Cultural Events

Noreika To Demonstrate Snow Scene In Fluid Acrylics

Published: Nov 10, 2026 7:00 am

The Society of Creative Arts of Newtown (SCAN) will host Robert Noreika demonstrating a snow scene in fluid acrylics on Wednesday, November 18, at 1:30 pm, at Newtown Senior Center, 8 Simpson Street.

The demonstration is open to the public and admission is free.

Noreika is a graduate of Paier School of Art who has been a professional artist for 40 years.

A prominent national award winning artist and illustrator, his paintings hang in both corporate and private collections across the United States, Europe, and Japan.

In November 2009, New Britain Museum of American Art acquired “Catfish with Turtle,” a work from his “Turtle-esque” series, for its permanent collection.

Noreika’s work is also featured in 100 Artists of New England by Schiffer Publishing. He is represented in numerous galleries, and teaches and lectures throughout New England. He has illustrated several children's books and magazine editorials.

In 2015, Noreika became a Signature Member with American Watercolor Society (AWS). He is also an elected member of National Society of Painters in Casein and Acrylic, The Salmagundi Club, Lyme Art Association, Connecticut Watercolor Society, Connecticut Plein Air Painters Society, Connecticut Academy of Fine Arts, and a signature member of New England Watercolor Society.

His work has twice received awards and been selected for the AWS traveling exhibition that toured the country in 2011 and 2013.

Noreika’s passion for art is matched by a natural talent to paint a wide variety of subjects, highlighted by expressive coastal scenes, intimate woodland pictorials, and street scenes.

Over the past decade, Noreika has worked passionately on large formatted works on both canvas and paper. The studio pieces incorporate his years of observation, rendering, and careful studies of aquatic life. This ongoing work has been for the aforementioned "Turtle-esque" series, expressing gestural fluidity in a semi-abstract setting.

Reservations are not needed for SCAN programs but additional information may be available at SCANart.org.

“Ice, Wind and Fire” is an acrylic by Robert Noreika, who will offer the next artist demonstration for The Society of Creative Arts of Newtown.

The Society of Creative Arts of Newtown will host Robert Noreika demonstrating a snow scene in fluid acrylics.

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Noreika To Demonstrate Snow Scene In Fluid Acrylics

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To the children and their parents: I have delayed this message for eight months because I was in a dark place following the last two of my nine surgeries, in December and February. I apologize for the lack of clarity that resulted. Now again in the light, I want to express my sincerest and deepest gratitude for the life you have given me. For the honor and privilege and indescribable responsibility you have bestowed upon me, as your children’s pediatrician. Twenty five years ago, I was brought to Sandy Hook to practice alongside a friend and colleague. We built something together. And then life, in its stark and brutal efficiency, took that away. A spinal cord injury following the first of those surgeries almost broke me. Just months after that, our community also fractured. The deaths at Sandy Hook Elementary School occurred soon after my paralysis. I learned to walk again—or rather, I had accepted that I would never walk normally, when the loss of life—the only lives I have ever lost in my career as a pediatrician—brought me to my knees. This is what I learned. Three decades of pediatrics have taught me to Live—Love—Learn—Laugh—Listen—Lead. Not in the order you may think or that we may have learned, but in the order we actually come to living a meaningful life. You cannot learn if you don’t listen. You cannot listen if you cannot laugh at yourself—as I have many times in an exam room acting and being ridiculous. You cannot laugh unless you feel free to love—and I truly loved your children, not as abstractions, but as the specific, irreplaceable persons they are. You cannot love without living fully in the present moment. And living fully allows you to lead. Leading requires understanding what you can control and accepting what you cannot. Everything else simply follows. To chase what you cannot control, to chase what follows, is to run behind, never catching what the moment brings. Babies still make me cry. After nearly thirty years, they still make me cry. Two cells become a living human with infinite potential. There is something inexplicable and unknowable in that transformation. I have never grown past that, never wanted to. It is the source of my own personal faith and spirituality. Physics teaches us that energy is never lost. I believe the energy instilled in a child—the force that makes them who they are—is forever. It never truly vanishes. It changes form. It is unique to each living creature. It moves through us, between us, around us. You can feel it in a newborn’s grip. You can see it in a child’s eyes when they recognize you and smile. You can sense it in a room when a family holds their baby for the first time, or says goodbye for the last time. Whatever that energy is— life, spirit, potential, love—it persists. Changed by time, expressed differently by each person, but it remains around us, if not part of us. Anyone who has loved and lost has felt it. Perhaps, unexplained, it is simply accepted as a feeling. I believe it is more complex and never knowable by us, at least not now, not here, as we know space-time. No pediatrician or parent in this community could ever fail to acknowledge how the school shooting tore our community apart. Forever grieving, I will not be defined by that darkness. Instead, I have chosen to be defined by my love of the color purple. I choose butterflies, horses, and whales. I choose kindness and neurodiversity. I choose the memory of our children as they lived and as they were, not by how they were taken. I remember them. I have spoken out and will continue to act. But I will not be imprisoned by that day. I choose laughter as it is the best and sometimes only medicine; and I choose to laugh and lose rather than win and want. We started out on Mount Pleasant Road with a vision. When my health and our community fractured, our practice fractured with it—we separated paths and I moved on. My respect for our shared practice of pediatrics could never be questioned, however; nor would I ever question it’s success. I never felt that I was on my own; many followed, many stayed. My appreciation never wavered. I owe a debt of gratitude to Peggy and Charlene. Together, we would not be diminished. We moved forward and we adapted. I learned that separation is not defeat; it brings clarity of vision and reveals your path and what you are meant to do. We rebuilt the practice on a different foundation but never weakened. We moved from Queen Street to the little blue house on Church Hill Road. Then when it made sense—when the weight of carrying on alone grew too heavy, we merged again. When Danbury Hospital’s pediatricians and nurse practitioners were left without positions, we opened our doors welcoming their practice and their families. We moved, yet again. Almost instantly, the pandemic came. We adapted. The practice grew, but it would never outgrow me. Because I also grew. I grew older because of it; but, as many already know, I will never grow up. Each separation, each merger, and every move reminded me that you do not stay by staying still. Kristen originally joined me as an LPN with a quiet competence. As an LPN, then obtaining her RN and BSN, then becoming an APRN. She became the soul of the practice to Peggy’s heart. Though I name only a few of those with whom I had the honor to work, to employ, and to work for, the unnamed are not—nor ever will be—forgotten. Each of you has left an indelible mark on my soul and every patient has filled a portion of my heart. The practice continued to grow because, together, we were able to move forward—not from weakness, but from a commitment to each other. Not from certainty, but from a willingness to listen and respond. Not from darkness, but to brightness. After two and a half decades, I entrusted the ship to Kristen—not because I relented or because I was weakened by my circumstances, but because the work was bigger and more important than I, as an individual, was; and the ocean was too vast that I could no longer navigate. While I stepped back from daily practice, I am not stepping away from pediatrics. I remain accessible to families who seek counsel. I will be writing a book, because parenting— like pediatrics—is not a destination but a practice; and every parent and every child deserves to know that they are not alone in their uncertainty. I will be teaching. I will be writing. I will be here, even if not physically. I will be listening. I have lived because I was able to listen to you. Laugh with you. Learn from you. Love your children—not perfectly, not without doubt or as you do, but genuinely. And you gave me the extraordinary privilege of helping to lead you and teach you, while being led and taught by you in return. I have held your fear. I have tried to remain steady during uncertainty. I ask you to remember that laughter and love are sometimes the only bridge across those unbearable moments. I learned this with you. I learned this from you. I came here the same way I leave here. I will continue to live, love, learn, listen, and lead—and most importantly I will definitely continue to laugh. To the families who trusted me: your children have forever changed who I am as a physician and as a person. The responsibility you gave me shaped not just my career, but my character. That is a debt that can never be paid; though it will forever be honored and cherished. Thank you. Babies still make me cry. I still hold them in awe, and I will always be inspired by the children and adults they have or will become. That will never change. Be kind. Be present. Be well. Forever grateful, Rick Auerbach

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For the record, my sons; Matthew and John, know how proud I am. While they were both once brilliantly moronic, they have developed into amazingly bright young men who have the capacity to change the world and mold future generations. I thank Sandy Hook Elementary for part of that, the rest of my appreciation goes to my wife, Julie Auerbach.

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