What a beautiful clay pitcher. I had forgotten I even owned it or the jug either. After I found the painting stacked amid other forgotten things in the attic, I went looking for the jug, too. It’s North Carolina pottery, beautiful, handmade, exquisitely painted and fired. It must be there, I reasoned. I painted a picture of it; I must have it somewhere. And sure enough, the pitcher turned up. In a box, behind something, that was behind something else.
Every space, every centimeter of this picture can be dealt with as a small passage or composition in its own right. Not only can painting for painting’s sake, it can be for life’s sake — made for noticing whatever is around us. And there can be a thousand paintings hidden inside a single motif.
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