Along the fence that bordered the apple orchard was a row of raspberry bushes. When the fruit was in season, we would be allowed to take small crockery bowls from the pantry out to pick berries for our breakfast. We’d return with bowls brimming, our harvest warm from the morning sun, and Grandma would pour cream from the top of the glass milk bottle into our bowls. Raspberries are my favorite fruit, and I am convinced that it has even more to do with memory than with flavor.
This excerpt is taken from the book “Holding Her Hand”, where the artist makes a personal commentary on each of the paintings. To read the full commentaries, the book is available for purchase.