So tell me. Who is reading this? Absolutely no one, and why should they? I am bereft of even a modicum of talent for anything, much less writing. I have spent a day struggling with a painting, and the fight is finished. The winner: the art supply store, whose product I have just wasted once again. Seems I can only relate to these little pieces, the one I have posted here. A small 7" X 9", it is as delicate as the nutlets it portrays. I have bought several college textbooks from the 1930's and '40's. Their beauty and gentle earnestness entrance me, so much so that all I really want to do is small collage pieces. They work for me. They like me. I like them. Not so the big, lurching canvases and boards that stare at me with much hostility beckoning me to failure. But who has the time-to really look at this work? The little botanicals? The lovely old typefaces, the sublime illustrations, the patient explanation of the workings of a stamen. Only for the artist to behold.