Call it the Warhol Effect.

It's been a bit more than a year since I've lived in Pittsburgh, and I am continually amazed by the amount of artists who live and work here. Having written a weekly arts column for the Cape Cod Times for many years, I like to think I know a bit about art -- and the art here is good, not the cranberry bogs and lighthouses "originals" sold in a quaint little village here and there on ol' Cape Cod.

Any city that boasts several "gallery crawls" a year must have gesso in its gut. I recall crawling through the first one last January. It was a bitterly cold night (I was dressed as if I were still living in the desert) and hundreds of people crammed the streets and clogged the galleries. I was impressed -- these were (for the most part) aficionados who wanted to see the latest in (for the most part) local art, assemblages and installations, and not merely stuff their faces with free grub.

I was impressed by the abstracts made from plumber's tape (!) hanging in one gallery, and really impressed by the whimsical watercolors in another. (I ended up buying one of those watercolors -- it's a portrait of a smiling pig whose head is on a stake. The artist named himself Beano, but I named the porker Francis, after Bacon. He hangs at the top of the landing.)

And then ...

One Saturday, I was roaming through the halls of Carnegie Museum of Natural History and somehow ended up at the front entrance of Carnegie Museum of Art. There, hanging on a wall, was a work titled "Back to Pittsburgh." It was one of the pieces in an Associated Artists of Pittsburgh show. The artist's name was James P. Nelson. Hmmm ... never heard of him, I thought. But he's good. I should know him.

Flash forward to April 2008. I was roaming through the halls of Carnegie Music Hall, waiting for a concert by the Mendelssohn Choir to begin. This was a special night for the choir -- they were celebrating their 100th anniversary -- and the centerpiece of their fundraising raffle was a huge oil on canvas. I stared at it, long and hard. It had a hint of familiarity. I looked closer. The work, "The Music Table," was by James P. Nelson.

Hmmm, I thought, I really need to know this guy.

And so I did what any nosy reporter would do: I Googled him. I found him and I called him.

I wanted someone I didn't know, but whose work impressed me, to either confirm my suspicions that this was one major art town or to give me the brush off.

As if I had to worry.

Mr. Nelson tells me that Pittsburgh has "always" had a large art community, "but I don't know if it's larger or smaller than other cities of the same size." He feels artists gravitate here for one simple reason: It's less expensive to live here than in Boston or Los Angeles or even Provincetown. He discovered this firsthand back in 1977 when, after a stint in New York City -- "I thought I'd be discovered and become an instant success" he says with a laugh -- he came to Pittsburgh, settling here with the woman to whom he was then married.

Mr. Nelson considers himself a landscape painter, and it's the city's topography that still manages to impress and influence him. "It's interesting from any angle. Stand on top of Mount Washington and you're looking down at an enchanting sight, a three-dimensional of bridges and rivers and hills and valleys. I've been here some 30 years and I am still surprised by Pittsburgh. I can be standing on the side of a hill in what seems like the deepest darkest hollows of West Virginia, then turn the corner and see Downtown Pittsburgh. Only an artist can appreciate such nooks and crannies."

Mr. Nelson is more famous (such a relative word!) here than he would be in New York City and his work has been featured in many of the Big Name Galleries. At the end of this month, one of works, "Late Fall," will be exhibited during First Night.

"Artists who think they can have one show and make it big need to remember that being an artist means being in it for the long haul," he says.

And what about the Warhol Effect?

Just mentioning the Pop Prince's name makes Mr. Nelson smile.

"One of Andy's teachers was one of my teachers at Carnegie Mellon," he recalls. "I knew Andy was considered a big deal but I never really appreciated him. Then The Andy Warhol Museum opened. I went and I finally saw the breath of his work. That's when I thought, 'Now I get it.' "

So does Pittsburgh, a most artful place.