Molly nodded at Savannah. “I’ve never been, either to Georgia or the plains of Africa, but the pictures of every Savannah are beautiful. It suits.” It also sounded sophisticated. She’d never met a Savannah before.
She turned at Lisa’s question. Something shifted inside, connecting into the logical part of her mind.
“I paint anything that comes to me. Mostly aesthetic with realism and impressionism being my most common bent. But I sometimes feel modern abstract rear up. I had a show at the Meadowlark gallery two months ago. Sold five pieces so someone seems to like them outside of my family.”
Molly shrugged as the connection fizzled out. She loved her art. Making it more than keeping it. The smells, the colors, the way the world came to the canvas or paper. Once it was done though, she moved on. She’d give it all away if her family didn’t insist she should sell.
“The only walls I paint are my room. Mural. I keep changing it. Get bored. Sean says the room gets smaller with each layer of paint.”