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This is my sixteenth post on HouseHex. This is my third painting for the year. I am still chasing that dream of making 30 artworks. I will have to start working smaller. A new idea came to mind. Write an essay about every painting I make. let the words flow. Here is the first essay.

I was walking next to the river, when I came across a big Oak Tree with red, red leaves. The red mixed with a tint of purple and orange here and there. It was more a mud like red than a blood like red. There was the coppery shine when the sun fell on it. The veins of the leaves forms cracks against the spiked shapes. I noticed a tiny fragile movement. To my surprise it was Butterflies flying in format, straight lines, straight up to the sky. I heard the caw, caw, of crows but before I could look up I saw whiteness against the red leaves and the muddy dark trunk.  An otherworldly man was doing a dance with his white wrists, talking to the butterflies. He was copying the butterflies with his wrists and hands and the angle of his wrists emulated the fragility of the strange insects. I wondered why anybody would want to capture these fluttering specks of color. How can anybody put a needle through their bodies and stick them on a board? To show off, add to your collection. The Oak tree rustled in the breeze. I moved on because the white dance continued and I needed a cup of coffee.

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