I have been revisiting some OLD memories tonight from a girlhood spent paintings and spinning on a wheel in a damp basement studio in Buffalo New York with a tangelo orange shag rug & cold cement walls.
Summers when dayyyys were spent museum-hoPping with my beautiful artist mother. I was remembering the stark white walls of the Albrite Knox museum where she would walk with the purpose and certainty of a woman who could educate the world about any painting or sculpture you so much glanced at, and I wandered with light toes and a deep curiosity while I tried to absorb her knowledge via some form of art osmosis. As she clickady clacked down the halls of whatever museum we were in, in whatever awesome sparkly shoes she was rocking at the time, my eyes never stopped bouncing from one painting to another. a Victor Vasarely that made me dizzy, an elegant Degas in the center of an otherwise empty room, to the high strung female guard combing the shuffling room with nervous eyes darting from one dormant camera bag to the next.I fell in love with a few little masterpieces during those years, and I was trying to remember the name of an old favourite of mine, and, when it dawned on me a minute ago, it gave me a niiiiiice little belly giggle...
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| The Twittering Machine . Paul Klee | Oil transfer drawing, watercolor and ink on paper with gouache and ink borders on board |
Gnashing on: My cheeks
Sippin' on: Apple juice
Listening to: the overflow of sounds from Leigh's rusty Seinnheisers next to me in bed-he must be making a new song. . . . . .
