Figgy

Figs are kind of moist and pink and a bit uncomfortable to paint the insides of.

Ooer. And gross.

Up on the produce portraiture wall it goes. I'm going to fill it stove-to-ceiling. And across the doorway. And all around the kitchen, until I run out of produce and start drawing cans of corn and jars of olives and granola bars with little hats on. My grandchildren will shake their heads and point and say, "That's about where grannie went mad, there amongst the individual noodles." And I'll hit them with my cane and yell about the relevance of cultural preservation through art. "WE WOULDN'T KNOW WHAT WATERMELON LOOKED LIKE IF IT WEREN'T FOR GIOVANNI STANCHI."

It's all worked out.