Once the snow melts I haul out the ladders and start to work. The first day of pruning I go nuts, working way too long, up and down the ladder, clipping merrily away. By nightfall I’m cruelly reminded I’m not 25 anymore and need to slow way down. Still, I always love strolling out there for a look. The bizarre design of shadows and branches intrigue me. It was 67 glorious degrees! The heck with sitting in the studio. Turkey vultures looped overhead. A few thawed-out flies buzzed by. Mourning cloak butterflies flitted here and there, chasing each other — a mating ritual? My neighbor ladies beat on their drums, celebrating the Vernal Equinox while my cats snoozed on my bed all afternoon.
I left out the ladders and the potting shed in the painting. Debating on whether or not to include them. Is a painting ever truly finished…..?