You can’t imagine the amount of stories I have heard, just from people who play the ukulele. And it makes me so happy when people see themselves in the smallest of my paintings. They find themselves in a ruffled blouse, or my grandma’s kitchen. Beside a red truck. In a striped shirt of a French bird. Because it’s no longer me on the way to the mall with my mother. It becomes their story. With their American mother. On their way. And we are all connected.
And it occurred to me, if you can hear the music of this little bird, if the violin sings to you, and we find ourselves under the same sky, branch to branch, then certainly we could see each other, human to human. And what if we did… really see each other… imagine how that music would sound. Just for a moment, let’s listen.
