“300 roses” is what I was told it would take to practice before I’d be able to paint a good rose. This was in the days when folk art was the craft phase of choice and the person who told me was my teacher. I was quite lunatic about this phase and would shift my stuff to the laundry when the table was needed for dinner and dash between kitchen and laundry to keep working on my projects in between the stages of cooking dinner. Pretty sure there were some burnt chops in that season of life.
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