Living in the south of France, I see the Sainte Victoire mountain daily. Each time, I give thanks for my current view, and also for the view Paul Cezanne gave us in his paintings. Would I have seen it without him? Would I have noticed the extraordinary beauty of this mountain without his vision? I’m not sure, so I give thanks with each passing step.

I suppose it has always been this way. My grandfather did the same with his farm. Without him, perhaps these fields would have just been blurs from a car window. But not for me. Not since walking with him. Holding his roughened artist hand that turned those fields from black to green to gold each year. Work. Magic. Love. I slow down the car.

We all have a responsibility to find the beauty. To share it. It’s everywhere. Poets and philosophers have tried to explain it. (Certainly smarter than me.) But maybe it’s all about hope. Maybe that’s what makes everything beautiful. So that’s what I try to create. In the faces. In the paintings. In this life. There is hope. Always, if we choose to see it, and share it with each other.