Walking at Concord Park the other morning along the edge of the lake, I noticed a lot of squishy pink underfoot. I stopped and looked closer. Hidden in the weeds beside the path was a small wild persimmon tree, its fruit scattered across the grass and pavement.

At first it just looked like a mess — soft fruit, fallen leaves, mud. But when I crouched down, the colors caught me. Oranges, pinks, lilacs. The light on the fruit really shined, and I could have missed it completely under all those weeds. I had never seen a wild persimmon tree before, and I fell instantly in love.

Attentiveness is a skill I’ve loved to develop as an artist. When I slow down and pay attention, each day reveals a new kind of awe — and a growing belief that wonders never cease. To be fully present means noticing what’s already here. That awareness feels like training: training my eyes to see and my heart to stay awake. Training my eye to translate this three-dimensional world into two.

Back in the studio, I painted a small study of those persimmons, trying to hold onto that moment by the lake. Later, I made a larger painting from it — more memory than copy. What stayed with me wasn’t just the color, but the reminder that beauty can hide in plain sight.

Sometimes I think painting is simply learning to see again — and again, and again.