Civita Castellana Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/paper 17 x 25 43 x 61cm
Roses on la la Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/paper 17 x 25 43 x 61cm
Roses on a Gp;d Backgound Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/paper 17 x 25 43 x 61cm
Roses on a Blue Backgound Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/paper 17 x 25 43 x 61cm
Roses on a Black Backgound Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic/paper 17 x 25 43 x 61cm
Purple Iris Blair Pessemier Acrylic/canvas 16 x 11 41 x 27cm
White Iris Blair Pessemier Acrylic/canvas 16 x 11 41 x 27cm
Today I read an entire article in the Repubblica newspaper
and understood it. It sent me back to
1959 in the first grade and the moment
when I really got a grasp on reading. It
was a classic Dick and Jane story, and there was a word I was stymied by: come.
I remember it was Michael English who sounded it out loud before the
class, and corrected what might have been “oh” to “uh”. And I knew that minute that I could
read.
So it was on the sofa on this rainy Saturday morning that I
read an entire article in the newspaper, not needing the dictionary. The story was about the development of a dry
soap that could be used in Africa, where water is premium. Reading this article, without stopping to
look things up, gave me that same feeling I had in the first grade under the
tutelage of Mrs. Kilbride (who also had false teeth that once fell completely
out of her mouth: shocking).
I went to the dentist this week for a cleaning – it is a
remarkable service for just 50 euro, and I know I could go to a cheaper dentist,
but I love Dr(s) Bertacchi. Massimo, the elder sings to me while he works
on my teeth; they gave me a bottle of 100 year old balsamic vinegar; Andrea,
the younger dentist, chats me up in English.
When I went yesterday in to make the appointment, the receptionist, who
has known me for nearly 4 years, showed no sign of recognition: “come back at 4”. She fessed up later she didn’t recognize me
because my hair is now white and a little like Andy Warhol’s.
My reading is improving partly because I am studying in
order to pass the Italian driver’s test.
I take a timed test online, like on a game show, where if you get the
answer wrong you drop down to question one again. I
really like it. The manual is
predictably boring, despite little comments by the writer, “so you think you
know what all these signs are?” or “when you were driving with your parents did
you notice…” The “corsia” is for cars
and animals, like a horse drawn carriage might appear. And the manual will point out tricky
questions, as if you were being given a test for sanity. Blair and I will both take the test at some
point, and I imagine us both passing.
Then we have to take the physical driving exam, and be approved by a
medical doctor that we can still drive.
I went out and took pictures of landscapes in anticipation
of this weekend of violent storms. In
fact, painting from photos just never inspires me. You’ll have to settle for four views of my
drowned roses.
