Two women in light shawls among wildflowers have forgotten themselves across their foreground field like a wind of petals * * * At the last of the zillion quiet moments since a hair of the master’s paintbrush tickled its cheek that precarious one apple on the bottom tier of the crowded apple tetrahedron will, is going to, at long last, now?
Every version is better! Love it.
All the paintings I know so well, beautiful