My daughter’s first recognizable picture was an apple. She was perhaps three, and at the time she was already a prolific artist, producing mostly pages of coloured straight, parallel lines. But this day, I was working on the endless basement reno, and she came down and presented me with a beautiful red apple with a green leaf. “Oh, what a wonderful apple!” I exclaimed. She beamed and went upstairs to produce more, reappearing a few minutes later with a sheet of parallel lines. “Lovely!” I exclaimed, “What is it?” She looked at me with the look that I hadn’t expected her to perfect for at least another ten years, the look that says “Oh, Daddy, you are so dense!” and she explained, “It’s lines.”
What did Andrew and I (the other member of the posse being in Nevada) get up to last night? Lines. Two roughly parallel lines.