A Primitive Artist Is An Amateur Whose

I Have Written My Life In Small Sketches, A Little Today, A Little Yesterday, As I Have Thought Of It, As I Remember All The Things From Childhood On Through The Years, Good Ones And Unpleasant Ones, That Is How They Come Out And That Is How We Have To Take Them.

Even Now / I Am Not Old. / I Never Think Of It, And Yet / I Am A Grandmother To Eleven Grandchildren.

I Would Never Sit Back In A Rocking Chair, Waiting For Someone To Help Me.

A Strange Thing Is Memory, And Hope; One Looks Backward, And The Other Forward; One Is Of Today, The Other Of Tomorrow. Memory Is History Recorded In Our Brain, Memory Is A Painter, It Paints Pictures Of The Past And Of The Day.

I Paint From The Top Down. From The Sky, Then The Mountains, Then The Hills, Then The Houses, Then The Cattle, And Then The People.