I wish I was better at remembering the names of things. Fate has destined me to have nothing more than a passing acquaintance with so many plants and shrubs. They will be consigned to history with names like snow like seed pods.
More importantly this is a further moment in the shadows of Villa Pisani (the Doges farm). The heat had not really started to bite at the moment this painting came to life. There was a gentle breeze that swept the seed pods into drifts along the stone floors. Frescoes crept out from under the flaking patina and light played on the edge of the arches. Voices echoed through the air, uncertain if they should be ghosts or guests enjoying the garden as the day drifted towards its end.