A Painting A Day, Day Twenty-five

Okay, so  didn't paint this! Marc Chagall did. Some of Chagall's work seems to tickle an unknown part of my brain so much that I have to come back again and again to it. Nothing like my "style" which is no disadvantage, believe me, but something of my memory...? or dreams?, that when I am truly lost in depression it is a sort of "sense" of this non-sense that comforts me.

I tried an homage to him with this:

called Sally, for my friend who committed suicide three years ago. Not a painting, just pencil crayon.

She had asked me to paint something from a photo she took on the west coast. I do find it interesting that many people find relevance and relief in images for what is hidden. Art is essential if often discarded.