The following 944 Magazine article has been posted at KISS frontman PAUL STANLEY's official website:

Even at home, the KISS frontman rocks a P.A. system. "Honey," Paul Stanley says into an intercom, his voice echoing from speakers throughout his Spanish mansion.

"We're going out to the studio."

Stanley's attractive wife of two and a half years appears and agrees to keep an eye out for the tardy photographer. He gives her a goodbye peck and then, as he leads the way to his painting studio, he says to me out of the corner of his mouth, "Not a model. Not an actress. An attorney."

Stanley and his wife welcomed their first child together 19 months ago, and since then, this rocker's mansion has become part Romper Room. We walk by an avalanche of toys in the center of the room, and there are certainly enough child-proof gates around the home to make the U.S.-Mexico border toddler-safe.

Off stage, Paul Stanley is not a guy you would peg as someone who wants to rock and roll all night and party every day. He's reflective, thoughtful and knowledgeable about art. He looks me in the eye as often as he looks off into the distance while choosing his words, and he is capable of relating his life lessons, such as the importance of being true to oneself.

Following the beat of his own drummer paid off for Stanley. In fact, it paid for this sprawling residence in Beverly Hills. But something other than music will likely pay for the 2,000-square-foot addition he has in the works: visual art.

Last year, he sold about $2 million in paintings — artwork he never expected the public to see. Until 2001, "Star Child’s" painting was limited to applying his signature makeup before every KISS show. But when Stanley divorced his now ex-wife in 2001, he needed a creative outlet. "I spent a lot of time kicking, screaming and banging my head against the wall, and a friend of mine said, 'You should paint.'"

He bought acrylic paint and canvasses, but he didn't know what to do, so he says he just dove in. "I found myself painting without any preconceived idea of what I would paint. It was really just about trying to paint emotion, as opposed to trying to depict reality. Every time I paint, it's like going on a trip without a map. I don't have a clue where I'm going, and when I get there, I know that's where I should be."

The early paintings had plenty of large circles. Stanley felt they were "a source of energy," because they were a continuum with no beginning or end. With one exception: his very first. That circle is incomplete. But don't try too hard to figure out what he's trying to say with such symbolism — the truth is he ran out of paint and decided to let fate leave its mark.

The canvas with the incomplete circle now hangs in his cavernous living room, where, on this warm April day, Stanley sits in leather pants, legs crossed, his long-sleeve, collared shirt unbuttoned just north of his navel. As he gesticulates, the large silver bracelet on his right wrist jangles.

"[The painting is] still unsigned. I didn't sign it because I was so self-conscious that if I signed it, people would judge it because it was mine," he explains. "To this day, the edition is sold out. As a point, and as something for me to remember, I don't sign it, because that's where it all started, with someone who was not so sure."