I have sometimes had a strained relationship with painting flowers. The most absurd memory is from our vacation in “The Village of the Damned” (see Spain).
Clogged with allergies, I had collected up a whole bunch of wild flowers – the culprits, to paint. After a frustrated, angry hour, I petulantly threw down my brushes and pronounced out loud, “I have lost all my talent!”. Yes, I did that, and typing it out still makes me cringe with embarrassment. Mark glanced up from the book he was reading and then resumed without comment. I retreated to the kitchen in shame and made lunch…
I am glad to say my more recent efforts have not been accompanied by diva-ish outbursts.
