Valentine Flowers Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/wood 13 x 6 inches
Red lines Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/watercolor paper 12 x 16 inches
Skin tone Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/watercolor paper 12 x 16 inches
Nude on Carton Laurie Fox Pessmeier Acrylic/watercolor 10 x 14 inches
Nude in Orange/turquoise Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/watercolor paper 12 x 16 inches
Artnotes: Feelings
I had my first workshop date this week in Paris. R and I walked up to the Atelier Grande Chaumiere
near Montparnasse at 2:30 and waited for the 3:15 session to start. A few older French women were waiting, to get a
choice spot, or at least your usual spot.
We settled in on the second tier.
Because this is officially a drawing session, there are
three tiers of rails to lean a sketchbook on.
We pick three stools (one for layout) and settle in. We called earlier to see if we could paint,
too, and the manager told us, yes, if there was room. R had a great new watercolor system – a pen
of sorts with a water well, and a soft brush at the end. It seems the Louvre has forbidden water (oil
and acrylic paint is prohibited except to those officially approved by the
Louvre), but if one uses a pen like this with color, it’s ok. R takes classes with a lady at the Louvre,
too.
I set up my acrylics (I could paint in a phone booth) and we
both got underway as soon as the model struck her pose. She was a cross between Elke Sommer and Barbara
Eden. Honestly – a little thicker in the
hips maybe, but that blonde, good-natured look.
I liked her at once. She tried to
include a ruffle around her neck, which I thought was great, but an incensed Frenchman
demanded she remove it. I thought him
rather crass, and he wasn’t a good artist either.
I got so incredibly involved with painting here at the
Grande Chaumiere, I was quickly transported to another level of consciousness. I realize that sounds funny, but it was the
case. It rarely happens to me anymore
because I am usually assuring in the comfort of everyone in the workshop, but
today I was on another plane. When I was
maybe thirty years old, and I used to paint, I used to get scared when that feeling
of euphoria happened. Then another
painter, Ray, said to me, “you’re Catholic, aren’t you? Don’t be ashamed when you get those feelings,
go with it.” I did go with it and I have
been happier ever since.
Blair had surgery this week for a hernia (carrying Harika
and I up all those hills in Villefranche-sur-Mer, I say), so I’ve become chief
cook and bottle-washer. We rented a car
beforehand, so we drove up the Seine looking for painting/boat sites. Unfortunately, the rain set in and we only
got to get out of the car once – a former quarry on the Seine, filled with water
and cut off, like a lake. This
boat-atelier project is really big, and I have some doubts it will be realized
anytime soon. It’s still fun to work on,
and maybe we’ll follow the path forward, just slower.
On the way home, the on-strike taxi drivers had blocked the
main route into Paris through Porte Maillot.
It was the first time I have ever really been afraid in Paris – it looked
like a scene out of a movie, with protesters banging on cars, being trapped in
a traffic jam. I had a very difficult
time with it. I swore I’d never take
another taxi again, but lo and behold, after Blair’s operation, I had already
returned the car (he doesn’t like my driving) and we were forced to use taxi
service. I asked the driver about the
strike. “Imagine”, he said, “if they
tried to take away your retirement savings (he added “you can, your’re from
America’) – what will I have if they deregulate taxis and I can’t sell my
license?”
