A suburban backyard painting for which I don't have an easel in situ image. 10x8 oil on panel.
A poem by Zbigniew Herbert called "In a Studio" has the following lines:
when the Lord built the world
he furrowed his brow
calculated calculated calculated
that is why the world is perfect
and uninhabitable
instead
the world of the painter
is good
and full of mistakes
The poem is an interesting take on the problem of evil, and creativity. I'm happy to live in the world of the painter.
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