She told me:Beautiful spring mornings, I would wait by the front door. Inside the front door, looking out onto beautiful gardens, I would listen to the morning birds sing. For many, many years later, every Spring when I heard those morning birds, I would be back at that front door and thinking of you. To this day, I love to hear birds sing…
I can see all the angles from a pencil: sharp, dark where they need to be, the proper amount of smudge, perhaps a charcoal… the brushstrokes for an occasional infusion of color—yellow, I want...only through the windows, as I see it. Watercolory, hopeful “Happy Yellow” but severely muted, so as not to take away from the hard edges that the rest of the picture deserved and needed.
Can I get it right? From my mind, to the paper…is that the struggle of an artist?
I haven’t even tried yet, but I will.