In my on-going effort to relearn the art of painting en plein air, I sometimes make very fast drawings like this. I don’t remember all the circumstances. It was unseasonably cold, but some extra hardy early mosquitoes were biting anyway. I wasn’t exactly enjoying being outdoors, yet I felt “I must” draw. And so I drew as fast as my little fingers would move.
Done. I’m outta here.
I debated whether it was worth sharing this little snippet of an afternoon with the world, and then it dawned on me that life is composed of these little snippets. Even the great art of the old masters is composed of lots of little snippets, little snippets all sewn lovingly together.