Quentin did some abstract work from time to time, but the landscapes, in his mind, needed to be real. There was such a power in the way the waves crashed into the rocky Maine shoreline, and that was the essence he wanted to capture. Anything less than the truth was clearly cheating, and he knew what the real thing was supposed to look like.
"I know, we're kind of a rarity out here." Hell, anyone who even knew some of the things he missed from back home was good enough for him. Maine bagels were crap, but they had better bagels, so all was good in his book. "Manhattan is awesome - I've only been there a few times, but it was always good times. I'm definitely missing my local coffee shop and the fact that they always knew how to make my drink." Starbucks was good, but ten bucks said he had to hand back his cappuccino at least once before he could actually drink it. "Nah, it's cool. As is you liking that painting." Who knew some of these works might get him into a gallery here in Scarlet Oak? Somewhere, his mother was probably shitting a brick.