30 x 40 Acrylic on Canvas

Growing up, marbles were serious business.

We would draw a circle in the dirt and spend hours trying to knock each other’s marbles out. I was proud to be the second-best shooter in school. I learned quickly to avoid the one kid who rarely missed.

It was not about money or prizes. It was about skill, focus, and bragging rights. A simple, beautiful game played right there in the dust.

A week later I showed the work  which include low rise mountains in the background to my grandson and he asked me where marbles come from. I told him, jokingly, that they come from trees. He did not laugh. He looked around and asked, “Where is the tree, GPa?” 

That question stayed with me.

In this painting, the ground is scattered with bright marbles, some resting inside a faint circle drawn in the dirt. A worn bag has tipped over, spilling color and memory across the sand. In the distance, a lone tree stands against an open sky. There is the marble tree.

The scene feels wide and open, almost dreamlike. It brings together childhood competition and a grandchild’s imagination.