Nearly twenty years ago (good grief, that hurts to say) I completed a pastel painting of a World War II-era fighter plane. I gave it to Mark, who displayed it in his aircraft-themed bedroom for years. After we moved, it found a place in my mom’s house, where I believe it will remain unless he claims it.
I painted it because I found it interesting as opposed to being driven by an obsession with planes or historical accuracy. Accordingly, I quickly forgot what kind of plane it was, only that it was German, from World War II, and had its swastikas removed by my artistic license. Much later, while visiting the impressive Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio, I was excited to find an example of the actual plane, allowing me to add the missing information—a task I would not complete until today.