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My wife is a musician. That's her, playing the Taylor & Boody Opus 64 pipe organ at St. Michael's Episcopal Church in Bon Air. People first meeting me often ask if I am a musician too, and I generally respond with a tired gag about playing the CD player and car radio. Or I say I do something equally important: I sit and listen attentively. I do drum. Annoyingly and sans rhythm with my hands on things like the kitchen table to the massive irritation of all within earshot. I don't think that counts.

So, no, I am not a musician. I am an appreciator of music, and musicians, but I cannot tell an eighth note from an english horn. When Crystal talks shop with her fellow musicians I understand no more than if they were discussing medical operating theater protocol using a combination of sign language and meows. I have heard words such as allegro and downbeat all my life, but have no idea what they mean.

Anyhoo, it strikes me that I have painted many works with a musical theme over the years.

So here we have Tony Bennett in concert, young Carrie P. playing cello in our backyard on beautiful spring day, the late Tim Thompson (a friend) on the banjo, a guy who plays guitar and sings the blues at a farmer's market, the Richmond Folk Festival back in its pre-coronavirus glory, and a whimsical piano still on the easel - maybe waiting for Leon Russell or Chick Corea to wander onto the canvas to bang something out. Each one is a musical memory. Each one expresses my joy in music of all varieties and, I hope, the joy of the musicians who create it.

If you can't join 'em, paint 'em.