I found comfort in working with my small brushes, my nose up close to the canvas. I was reminded of my high school art teacher, Mr. Dunow. Mr. Dunow would set up large still lives in the middle of the studio - mind you, they always featured a skull or two - and we would each find our place in the room and begin painting. I always gravitated toward my teeny tiny brushes and went straight for the details. Mr. Dunow told me it looked like I was painting with my nose.
"Work big," he encouraged me. I didn't know what that meant. So he had me construct a canvas that was over 5 feet long. The thing was huge and I had to walk all around it to apply the gesso. As soon as the gesso dried, I sat down at a corner of the painting and began painting with my teeny tiny brushes. Some things don't change.
So, with my teeny tiny brushes, I painted a kong dangling from the troublesome tree. This is a detail of notable signicance because there must be at least half-a-dozen kongs hanging from trees in Evanston. I never could throw a ball, or catch one for that matter. I learned that tossing a kong wasn't any easier.