Renoir's hands were so destroyed by arthritis they had to strap the brush to his fingers. So he moved south. Found mimosas. And painted them like his life depended on it.
Most people think of mimosas as pretty little yellow blossoms. But those things are almost impossible to kill. You cut them down, they grow right back. Renoir knew exactly what he was painting.
A man who refused to stop chose the one flower that refuses to die.
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