Milton Avery was a man of few words. "Why talk when you can paint?" he once remarked. And paint he did, often rising at 5 or 6 a.m. to turn out a few sketches before he had his morning coffee. He sketched the Connecticut meadows in bitter winter cold, the dunes and sea of Provincetown under midsummer sun, and Central Park in every season. By the time he approached his easel, his imagination was so disciplined by incessant drawing that on a good day he could finish off three paintings by evening.
Pruning Nature....
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