A single rose is an exercise in restraint. Everything in the room wants to be in the picture — the table, the wall, the dust — and the rose keeps asking to be the only thing that matters. The panel was small on purpose, so that the argument would have to end.
A rose painted in a hurry looks like a rose. A rose painted slowly begins to look like the time it took.
Worked wet over a week, scraped back twice. The shadow is the part I kept longest; the petal is the part I let go earliest.
