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 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 early on – and while I enjoy them all, once I recognized the lusciousness in the curves of a pear I was destined to repeat its form the most.