6" x 8"
oil on canvas board
I love Forsythia. It is for me the real messenger of spring as it is so jolly in its thrusting glory. I hold in deepest disregard those who turn their Forsythia bushes into crippled balls. Every year I shudder past Merion Mercy Academy in the spring as they have a whole row of Forsythia hedge that could be a glory of spritely delight brightening Montgomery Avenue. But no...they always trim the hedge so there is only a strangled few blooms. It is as if the gardeners can't stand the exuberance. Yet this has gone on for years, and gardeners come and go, so I can only conclude it is orders from above. How far up I don't know.