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The end of summer


I thought by now I would be advancing forward with all the pressing responsibilities of a grown up world. Our son just started first grade, and with that a new found freedom was to be mine. Was but not is, as the day he started school I broke my toe. For 6 years my little escort has been my constant companion, and my continued fantasy of alone time, freedom, idle fancy, have been just that, fantasy.

Meanwhile the painter has kept up his nomadic lifestyle, wondering off each day into the great outdoors, getting more reclusive as each year goes by. But the translation of his efforts now portray vivid magic. Astonishingly intimate collections of these canyons and corners around the valley that the restless mind would wiz by unnoticed.

Mixing with his pallet of red yellow and blue, he brings these landscapes alive on canvas. Heralding the simple association of trees and shrubs, mesa's and trails, life is observed anew from the gift of observation from the gentle man.

I miss out on the hike and following the painter around as he searches for his daily muse, but I do get to sit with his afternoons companions, as the paint dry.

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