First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.

Thanks, Donovan, for the lyric.  Or a zen master. One of the two.

This post is about a bullet hole through a watercolor.  It’s about a watercolor that was the last one done by the artist before her body stopped cooperating with her enough to paint, or to go to the places from which she liked to paint.  It’s about a bullet that came through the house from the outside, traveled through the painting and on out into the house, but did not travel through the artist who would normally be standing there if it had just been 15 minutes later. This post is about fixing something more than bursting paper.  This post is about why I love this work.