A single flower illuminates a confit du canard, with a wine glass appropriately sized. Smells and touch; many textures. I miss speaking a language whose melody is sung in alley cafes.
Parts are home in memory. Parts are waiting for new eyes and newer touch.
Categories: American Illustrator, Art, artist, Bars, Boulevard Saint-Germain, Cafe, Cafe Sketches, cafe sketching, cafe workers, confit du canard, David Hockney, Dessert, Dinner, Dr. Ph. Martin's Radiant Concentrated Watercolor, drawing, French, Paris Cafes