We both remarked that it was a perfect day in late August: hardly a breeze, sunny, and warm, but not too hot. While perched at the pond’s edge, we entertained so many visitors, including the curious and cute but mischievous little duckling that playfully poked at a friendly turtle both of whom were interested in what the humans were up to. A variety of other inquisitive creatures, including a large flock of Canadian geese, a great blue and green heron, an anhinga, and squirrels exchanged visits with us as well in intervals it seemed each time I lifted my head, which led us to recall books from our childhood of interspecies communication. 

As we painted, I was often absorbed with Leslie’s extraordinary abstractions taking cues from some of her color arrangements.  Looking down at the work I was in the process of realizing, I couldn’t help but remember one of my earliest oil paintings as an undergrad: washy, watered down, dripping, translucent, colors made visible by many marks of the brush. In some ways, it felt as if no time had passed since then. From the excitement of trying to capture the expression of fast-moving geese before they leaped out of the water and moved on with their day, to the slower observations of branches extending towards the sun, it felt like the kind of indulgence we could use more of amidst the pace of contemporary life.  

Our conversation was far-ranging and the art-making brought so much of it to the forefront.  From the excitement of upcoming exhibitions, and the adventures on recent trips, to memories of Leslie’s father developing photographs in his pajamas and her witnessing the magic of seeing images conjured seemingly out of nothingness from a young age.  The experience has helped me to pause and reflect on how making brings to the surface what lies within us so well that the texture of our realities becomes a bit more visible.