THE LINE between gardening and painting is razor thin, and one often bleeds into the other. June is an especially auspicious time; sowing, thinning, weeding, and transplanting countless thoughts and ideas.
It is a lush time, packed with sensory experience: the fragrance of flower, soil, and paint; infinite shape, habit, and texture; a continually unfolding palette of extravagant colors.
Daily reminders that my sense of touch is as profound as that of smell. I have not brushed the center of a dandelion or run my slow fingers along a blade of grass since I was a boy, yet I know exactly what they feel like, down to the dandelion’s hollow, milky stalk, the subtle, rough surface of the seemingly smooth grass.