I am selling this painting. It is just about my favorite of all time. It happened in a moment of tender grace, morning at Pepperwood, looking over my shoulder, not at the vista that goes on forever, but at the little hill behind me. Morning was still spreading sweet shadows, the grasses were still and luminous. And God painted them, together with me, my pigments, my brushes, and a roll of paper towels. The hues that make up this image slipped onto and off my brush magically, without a lot of thought, almost like automatic writing. It is hard to let it go. And it stands to reason that those works that are precious to me will also be precious to others. They are my children, these works, the mating of my heart and the medium. The best ones are, that is. Some are too cerebral. They wind up in the cupboard in the garage, where they wait, for a moment of inspection, and probably to return to the oblivion they came out of, and support another image on top. Love that aspect, that nothing is wasted, really. Meanwhile, waving goodbye to this one. And hello to a nice little bit of money, to help pay for Boo's surgery. It's a good trade, in the end.
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