The good painting, the milky shape of my dreams rose from the dark depths, a hint of what it might have been before it dove again, further and further out of reach. I wasn't going to get my prize. Romantic images of standing poised on the edge of a small boat with a paint brush turned harpoon won't explain the theatrics of disappointment or the success of a good painting. I was trying, almost desperately, to rework that fish head whose not quite silver enough skin and not milky enough eye poked and prodded me into crankiness. A wiser man would have stopped hunting earlier.

Something spicier was in order. This is a return to something darker, a bit less defined, a bit less specific. A little pepper would work.

Habanero 4, 6" x 4", sold


A start.

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