I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers. [CLAUDE MONET]

In my youth I'd sit at the edge of one of my father’s gardens with my number 2 pencil and draw the flower petals, unaware of time's passage. Later I'd paint them larger than life, and at some point I'd also cross over to a kind of wildness in place of perfection. Fruits, too, were there all along. But once I recognized the lusciousness in the curves of a pear I was inspired to repeat its form again and again.