Dan Marsula's artwork has filled the pages of the Post-Gazette and The Pittsburgh Press since 1976. Starting next Sunday, the Westmoreland Museum of American Art in Greensburg will show this oil painting, "Morning Steam," as part of its 2008 Westmoreland Juried Biennial.

We asked Dan to describe the story of this work of art: his process, his research, his attraction to an element of Pittsburgh history that remains part of our present.

It's early morning as I travel south through Glassport on Ohio Avenue. Along the Monongahela River, businesses are just starting their daily routines as locals are walking to their vehicles with keys in one hand and coffee in the other. Glassport is like most of the towns along the Mon: a little tired but hanging in there.

As I make my way through the end of town, I pass the football stadium. The steep hillside tightens its path between the river, railroad tracks and work yards that fringe the river beyond the Glassport Clairton Bridge.

There it is: the Clairton Coke Works, an industrial mass of billowing steam.

This is not an image from the past, but of a survivor, alive and well, rooted on the banks of the Monongahela.

The first time I came across the Clairton Coke Works, I felt I had traveled back in time, to the era when steel was king and the Mon Valley was filled with smoky stacks.

I grew up in Jeannette. My family would periodically roll into Pittsburgh to pick up my aunt at the Pittsburgh & Lake Erie Railroad train station (now Station Square). As our car emerged from the Squirrel Hill Tunnel, the first thing I noticed was the sulfur smell (rotten eggs), followed by the sight of steel mills on Second Avenue, South Side and Hazelwood. The sights and sounds and, unfortunately, the smell.

The Clairton Coke Works and the Edgar Thomson Works may be the last two remaining working reminders of the industry that built the Mon Valley.

A watercolor study at the river's edge.

I am sure that part of the attraction has to do with a childlike curiosity, that genetic code built into little boys for all things mechanical. Visually intriguing from an artist's viewpoint, the industrial landscape has a certain romantic quality.

Despite the grime and air pollution -- front-page news last week -- the gritty atmosphere is strangely comforting to those of us who grew up in this area. It's sort of like the cigar-smoking grandfather or the uncle who smelled a bit funny. They weren't perfect, but they were family.

Over the years I've found a lot of great subject matter for my paintings along the Mon. Each small town has a story to tell. But, inevitably, my search for subjects to paint always brings me back to this section of the Mon. And the artist in me is fascinated with this surreal setting.

This place is all about drama. The mood changes with the time of the day through the changing seasons.

The stage is set as I stand on the Glassport-Clairton Bridge. At first glance there doesn't seem to be much going on, but with closer observation I start to notice activity. An orchestra of tow boats maneuvering barges of coal. Empty railroad cars await their cargo of black satin coke. A barge quietly passes below me on its way upstream to the locks in Elizabeth. The muffled hum from this beehive of activity is sharply broken by the horn of a passing vehicle. The driver is curious to know what I find so interesting.

Soon things start to happen. I hear faint sounds of mechanical operations and hissing valves accompanied by a strange whistle in anticipation to something to come. Then it happens: stacks begin to bellow steam into the morning sky, almost blocking out the sun and casting shadows across the landscape.

In the winter, the steam fills the sky across the river. Intensified by the cold, clouds of steam create organic shapes of white on the backdrop of slate blue sky. Patches of snow cover the ground and help define the outlines of rust-colored work buildings.

At the river's edge, the experience is completely different. It is not an easy place to get to. This panorama reveals a fortress-like wall along the river. Periodically, the sound of waves splash the shore from a passing barge. The barge operators notice me and wave with the same curious look. "What is so interesting?"

Soon, the strange whistle sounds again, followed by clouds of steam. The show lasts for a short time and the cycle repeats

It's a bigger than life drama that occurs everyday, part of the landscape, history and people of the Mon Valley. It's not hard to see what inspired past regional artists like Aaron Harry Gorson and Otto Kuhler to paint these now faded industrial settings documenting everyday life through their eyes with paint and brush.

Putting this grand event down on canvas became a process: Sketches. A small color study. Numerous visits to the location, along with my camera, which I use purely to document brief moments in time.

I could see in my mind what I wanted to do, but committing it to paint is completely different. My paintings are usually on the small side. But this image demands something larger, something that would do the subject justice.

This, for me, means a big commitment of time and concentration -- I do have a day job. It took a bit of encouragement from my wife and four children, my biggest critics. But my youngest son, Peter, was the one who pushed me -- or should I say nagged me? -- to get started.

Starting is the hardest part. That first brush stroke can be the beginning or the end if I'm not in the right frame of mind.

For about two years, I worked on other paintings, all the while saying to myself: I'll start the big one next.

I remember reading a quote that went something like "to paint a subject well, you must first know it." I know this steaming mass well. It's time for me to put paint to canvas and document my impressions of life here on the Mon.

The process began last October. Pushed along by my critics, as you recall, they urged me on. Keep it loose was the common refrain from my oldest son, Andrew.

After two months of heavy paint manipulation and a bit of frustration, my journey was done. I had come full circle from inspiration to creation, humbled by those artists who inspired me.

These remnants have become the subjects for today's regional artists who carry on the legacy. I am proud to be a part of that tradition.