It’s the summer of 2014.
I have just quit my administrative job because I remember that I am supposed to be an artist. But what art? The possibilities are endless …….. scary ………………
We are in Maine and I am buying yet another assortment of pitchforks for an installation ( I am obsessed with pitchforks ). I ask my son to bring them home to Vermont for me. He pats me on the head as though he were the parent, and reminds me that I am an artist ……… “if you want another “bleeping” pitchfork why don’t you go home and paint one ? ”
Smart boy. The journey begins ………………………
