One of the things that winter does, for me, is to bring my focus in close. Being indoors makes me notice small things, details, fragments, little accidental vignettes. Big, vast landscapes are of another season.
This morning I opened a kitchen cabinet, as I was putting my breakfast together, and what I saw inside struck me as a still life.
I have always been attracted to a kind of unpretentious painting of everyday objects, like this one by Cezanne.
So quiet, so still. Still life. Empty bowls have a special charm...
I was waiting, I said, to begin something new, but I couldn't wait.
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