My mother has this painting, a copy of a Corot I did in art school, hanging in her home. It's a memory of my education as a painter, and the many hours I stood in front of my french easel in museums, both on my own and with my teacher Israel Hershberg. By copying (which may seem archaic, but is really quite a radical act in the face of the current art establishment) I learned something about Corot's marks, process, composition, and began to develop a formal vocabulary to express an emotional response.