I'm a silver lining kind of person. An alchemist of bad to good. Today I
had planned a full day at the studio making art. I've just started a
. Really looked forward to the concentrated hours. The
music of pen to paper, the magic of brush in blooms of acrylic.
So, when I stopped at Starbuck's for a half-caf Americano, just 1/2 mile from my studio, and my car wouldn't
start, I was grateful
that the Divamobile konked in a safe place. I am
grateful for the AAA dude, who elegantly tripped the starter
and told me to not pass Go. Go straight to my mechanic. I am grateful
that my mechanic's cologne smells of The Old Country~tabac &
bergamot and that he tells me, Sit down, eat Danish cinnamon pastries (which I
don't for those of you who are watching). Even grateful for the familial hug when I emerged from the car, the trace of tabac left on my cheek or in my hair (I will spend the better part of the day figuring out to no avail where the scent has attached itself to my being~ tabac, Old Country, heaven.)
But THIS was not the plan.
This is not the crisp, air-conditioned brightness of my studio, the
scent of my neighbor-artist's oil paints which take me back in time to
some place before birth, a few lives back, perhaps, to before there were
cars and starters and televisions blaring the Israeli news. The way the painter pulls light in to the apex of the shoulder, the taboo curve of the breast, everything lit and light and lightness, save for the heavy heady heaven of the scent of oils, save for the burgundy velvet chaise the model melts into. (But at
least, Julia, there is a lucky bamboo plant in the mechanic's office!
But at least, Julia, stacks of Travel & Leisure so you may sit and
escape to 61 New Places to Stay! 61! America's Favorite Cities! Are they the same as last year's? Or this gem of a cover
on your lap, The Essential Paris. Is this it, Julia? The
silver-as-Eiffel-Tower-lining? You need to take your solo trip to Paris?
Is that it? Make it happen this year? Even--especially--in all the craziness?)
You mean sitting
here against the pumpkin-colored wall is not enough for you? The
black-framed portrait of Marilyn gazing down from the wall, from her
pillow, as if she would like to give you the best, reddest, softest kiss
the world has ever known? Even this splash of homoerotica, Marilyn with
her beauty mark on the wall here at the mechanic, wanting to kiss you,
the slight silver light reflected across her elbow from the overhead
neon, not enough? I can and do deal with a lot but wasting my life and
my light and these precious child-free hours because a little metal box
in the engine isn't grinding and catching and starting as it should?
Nothing metallic about this lining. No buttery pastry, no glossy
champs-élysées spread, no smear of stardust across the starlet's lower
lip can kiss this waste of a morning away.
|Photo credit: Matthieu Solvaing|
|At Seize the Dazzle Studio, my happy place. xoxo|
|PS--Had a chance to break out the watercolors the next day at the studio! (Happy dance for a few painted moments!)|
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