Madrigle

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The mystique of Morocco
Sunday, Mar. 25, 2007 @ 9:11 a.m.

I hope this reads more like �Sex in the City� than �High school Musical�. So, last night I was feeling particularly, blue. Eeyore would have been prime company me thinks, but I'd much prefer the company of the very hot Morrisey, even if he doesn't put out:D I took the show down yesterday with no fanfare. Merely my brother, nephew John, and I loading up a u-haul with forty-two works of art. Admittedly some much better then others but I digress. My brother took nine pieces home to hang in his gorgeous house. (Still digressing) We framed three of the little �Water Genesis� pieces before he took off and over all it was a good day with the end result of me being alone, with my thoughts. I threw myself into working on new pieces and hanging old pieces in places that befit them and working up the nerve to give more away so there can be room for new ones. A grand total of twenty-nine people signed in leaving wonderfully exuberant comments about the impact of my works. They most often commented on the brilliance of color and juxtapostion of texture. One signer did comment early on that the paintings are �to juvenile� Juvenile is good. Picasso said, �At the age of thirteen I could already draw as if possessed by Raphael . . . I spent the rest of my life relearning how to draw like a child.� Granted, I've never been able to draw like Raphael or Picasso for that matter. Anyway, my point being to all of this, although it may not be plainly evident, is that I was bummed that the show had run it's course with not a single nibble of a purchase or call from any one of the myriad galleries I sent postcards too. I mean I didn't expect much more, but I did WISH for much more.
About 8:45 last night I decided it was time to put the old lame mare (I've never been a stallion) out of his misery but their was nary a mixer in the entire house except for water, and that's hardly a mixer at all. So, I hopped in the car to make the short but scary jaunt (after dark) to the corner store ran by the neighborhood cadre of handsome, hirsute middle-eastern men (they aren't the scary aspect it's the neighborhood.) I was wearing my jeans that I paint in, the ones encrusted in a thick layer of impasto (the crotch ripped out yesterday, sadddd) and yes the crotch was already ripped but I didn't care I mean I had boxer briefs on. The handsome guy behind the counter asked if I was an artist, I acknowledged him in the affirmative. At which point he becomes very animated and even MORE handsome in my eyes and started describing his work. He dashed back to the back room to get a watercolor (a superb watercolor I might add) of a Moroccan market scene that he is currently working on. I was very impressed at the modulation of color as the vividly colored wares of the sandal sellers merchandise passed in out of light and shadow in the painting. Evidently he used to have many shows in Morocco, France, and Spain before moving state side seven years ago, those shows were well deserved, let me tell you. We talked for half an hour, he asked for my number. So my day went from glum to fabulous in the space of an eye blink I realize that I go twitterpated in the space of stifled sneeze but he was just so damned handsome, and TALENTED which makes him even more handsome in my eyes. It's high time I have a grand romance anyways. The twitterpation ratings of the guys I've seen have been nil since Not-Green-Eyed Guy last summer a fact I've tried to make up for in sheer volume (shut up Buffy)
Hugs to all of you

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