The flowers were picked from somewhere, the streaked tulip made-up since I’d read the darling love story from Duma’s “Black Tulip” and the glass vase was from a lantern I broke. Lemons were special since they’d proven to wonderfully unravel in curled peel and a still life staple from 17th century Dutch artists. Their sunny yellow shone next to Prussian blue.

I was 17, and in love with ART.

Especially, the corners of life I could create.

If there was ever a small painting that takes me back to those teenage years of doubt, fantasy and longing, it’s this one. I can negotiate others, but this one hung in my bedroom sanctuary for too long.

It’s mine.