| Seems the only time I paint is gifts for my mother.
This is one I did for her birthday. It's the family farm in Pennsylvania, the place she played as a child.
Attached Image. (Click thumbnail to expand)
Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it is like inside somebody else's skin. It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too.
- Frederick Buechner
If society prospers at the expense of the intangibles,
how can it be called progress?