Monday of a short work week
Jen Corace's work was introduced to me by Miss Q. last time I was Seattle. Perfectly marvelous, quietly disturbing and beautifully colored. Strangely, the subject is mostly small girls in distressing circumstances.
Last night was my mother's 65th birthday and our usual group met together around my parents dinner table. Strangely, it was the first time I had sat next my fantastic second cousin Nancy and her long-lime and terribly enigmatic partner Rick. Nancy is the artist in the family and I thought had always distained me a bit, although I have always admired her (it seems that she was forced to babysit the infant Madame L. at age sixteen just as the Sixties were getting into the full swing. I don't think she ever missed out on much, but the last place I'd want to spent the sixteenth year of life is trapped in monied suburbia with a whining infant). She was very entertaining and wry and reminds me a great deal of her mother (the beloved great-aunt Barbara). We talked about favorite colors (always a fascinating topic with artists) as I want to knit her up something lovely for Christmas.... a toaster cosy or some damn thing. The moon was particularly lovely and we were all drinking on th epatio in the dark watching it rise.
Mom was roasted, toasted and gifted and it was all very good. Mister Leiderhosen and Madame were able to escape early after cake with massive hard cider induced headaches. Mom scored an XM radio from us, which seemed to please her very much. I believe in the XM, I do.
Miss Q.: I am sorry I went to pieces. You are very much in my thoughts.
Last night was my mother's 65th birthday and our usual group met together around my parents dinner table. Strangely, it was the first time I had sat next my fantastic second cousin Nancy and her long-lime and terribly enigmatic partner Rick. Nancy is the artist in the family and I thought had always distained me a bit, although I have always admired her (it seems that she was forced to babysit the infant Madame L. at age sixteen just as the Sixties were getting into the full swing. I don't think she ever missed out on much, but the last place I'd want to spent the sixteenth year of life is trapped in monied suburbia with a whining infant). She was very entertaining and wry and reminds me a great deal of her mother (the beloved great-aunt Barbara). We talked about favorite colors (always a fascinating topic with artists) as I want to knit her up something lovely for Christmas.... a toaster cosy or some damn thing. The moon was particularly lovely and we were all drinking on th epatio in the dark watching it rise.
Mom was roasted, toasted and gifted and it was all very good. Mister Leiderhosen and Madame were able to escape early after cake with massive hard cider induced headaches. Mom scored an XM radio from us, which seemed to please her very much. I believe in the XM, I do.
Miss Q.: I am sorry I went to pieces. You are very much in my thoughts.
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