Dear Morandi, It seemed like yesterday I was standing in front of your work at the Morandi Museum in Bologna, Italy; Painting after painting, print after print, drawing after drawing, you left me wanting for more. Your paintings of flowers are etched in my head, and your pallet haunts my dreams to this day. You are like an old lover, I say I want to forget, but really, I don’t. You; Morandi were a true colorist. That beautiful cobalt blue you used in a handful of your still-life paintings brings chills to my spine to this day. Or, your choice of that wonderful muted orange, which reacted, strongly yet subtlety, in relation to the other colors you painted so smoothly on canvas; as a bright cadmium orange out of the tube would if you slapped it on to a nude white canvas. SMACK! Your paintings make me breathe and calm me down, while at the same time lighting a fire in me to paint better. Please! Please! I cannot bear to talk about your composition in your still- life’s. So calculated, but not past the point that they make you uncomfortable, quite the opposite; your paintings invite me in for the night, and I am just fine with that. Fine, fine, fine...

Love,

Sarah

P.S. In my dream I send you flowers every night...