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September 28, 2015

I met an artist on Sunday named August Wren whose paintings I adored from the moment I saw them spread out on the floor of Dixon Place before installation on the wall for an event that morning in which I sing as part of a small choir.  Every day for the past two years, she has created a painting in a small sketchbook, allotting herself no more than 30 minutes, and never returning to the piece thereafter.  Not every day yields something good, she said.  I thought, "I should do something like that" and then thought, "Oh.  Wait.  100 Words."