Viral Gratitude ~ 5/23/20

5/23/20

It’s been that kind of a week. Try to guess which one of the these things did not happen to me:

1. A black bear runs past at top speed in a deer-fenced in area about 50’ away.

2. “Blow Joe” is on my caller ID landline phone.

3. Two tiny, probably copperhead, snakes coil and try to strike after I lift the black garden tarp where they were napping. (I cannot blame them really).

4. The BOGS mud shoes that I ordered fit perfectly, and I wore them anyway on a dry day.

5. A radiant handmade fabric bowl was delivered and dropped off at my doorstep, much to my delight.

6. I painted a flamboyant selfie in the manor of Frida Kahlo. 

If you guessed #4 you are correct. I could hardly get my toe into the mud shoes that they described as being “a true fit.” The snakes were babies, but something to think about later in the season before poking under rocks in my usual oblivious fashion; “Joe Blow” did pop up on caller ID (who would answer this nom de plume?); the black bear went by in a flash before anyone was spooked; thank you to Susan for the handmade fabric bowl with delivery service and for donating all the proceeds to our local soup kitchen; and finally, if you haven’t noticed the colorful mixed media piece above, a group of us were challenged to paint or collage our likeness a la Frida, whose 55 self-portraits were her means to expressing her feelings, usually without restraint and with a lot of drama. She was in tremendous pain most of her life, both physically and emotionally, and still she persevered and painted through it all, and continues to inspire many of us on many levels. Thank you Frida and Joe Blow for adding some much needed spark to an otherwise dull work week.

Impromptu

I saw the 1991 movie Impromptu with Judy Davis playing George Sand and her tangled liaisons with so many lovers/paramours. Wow what a life! What a camaraderie of artists. What craziness. And yet… what did I miss out on? These are heady, creative, inspiring and yes sometimes egomaniacal and flawed characters. Why do I forgive them their excesses and drama? Hindsight? Romance? Brilliance? All of the above?

Anyway, I will now listen to more Chopin and Liszt, read a full bio of the rabble-rousing Sands and add her to my list of artist/heroines including Georgia O’Keeffe, Frida Kahlo and Camille Claudel. Why is it that romantic tragedy trumps happy-ever-after in an artful life – at least in the books and movies?

~

the tilt of her hat

the pout on her lips

the crossing of her legs

the film noir heroine

the seduction of art

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