Saturday, December 21, 2013

Artnotes: Magical Magi

Picking Oranges  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas  32 x 42 inches
Pine  Blair Pessemier   Acyrlic/canvas  11 x 16 inches
Prow  Blair Pessemier  Acrylic/canvas  9 x 11 inches
Spooler  Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/canvas  9 x 11 inches
Early morning Masts   Laurie Fox Pessmeier   Acrylic / canvas   10 x 11.5
Window  Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/canvas  12 x 12
Orange Roofs   Blair Pessemier   Oil/canvas  18 x 15 
Laurie Fox Pessemier  Moonrise over Cap-Ferrat   OIL/canvas   11 x 18 inhes
Blair Pessemier    Masts    Acrylic/canvas  11 x 16   inches

Artnotes:  Magical Magi

On the beach on Tuesday day,  a smallish man wearing a stingy brim hat and wraparound sunglasses appeared.  Harika was attracted to him at once, which helped me overlook the fact he was the owner of the oversized baggage near the steps to the beach.   

Our discoveries have been both good and bad on this trip to the South.  We have had three days of rain, which interferes with our good nature.  It has allowed us to convert some of the grapefruit and the ten pounds of oranges (sweet and mandarin) which our neighbors gave us, into marmalade.  Now what to do with it?  It is too heavy to ship.  

The fellow at the beach recognized us as English speakers at once.  “Nice is NICE,”  he says, “this is paradise.  We don’t even need to die to find it.”  He got down on the sand with Harika.  She jumped on him and licked his nose. “Dog is GOD,” he philosophizes.   English is clearly not his first language, but he is good.

Our house here, an old artist atelier is beautiful, despite the fact there are no stairs between floors, only a ladder. We moved the bed, formerly on the lower floor, up to the main floor.  Our full sized bedroom below had a toilet in it, only hidden by a curtain:  convenient, in some ways, but off-putting at times.

We went to the grand market at Ventimiglia, Italy on Friday.  I have never seen so many leather goods and cashmere sweaters .  Of course, there were Italian vendors selling Parmesan cheese (only 10 euros a kilo), preserved meats, gorgonzola – we bought  all those foods, including a reasonably priced salt cod.    But selling everything else are people from all corners of the world.

The man on the beach noticed our paintings.   “This is wonderful how it comes from you,” he continues, “looking at the land, then through here (pointing to his head). “  He asks how much.  We make  price, and he tells us to  wait here, as he runs up the stairs.

An Indian sort of man tries to sell me a hand sewing machine at the market in Italy.  We settle on a needle threader, green and pink plastic for 1.70; I imagine at one time it was made of wood, soft to the touch – today it is made in China.  A Sri Lankan comes by with rings and bangles; Senegalese have watches;  Chinese ladies sell gloves. 

When l listen to one of my favorite Christmas stories, Amahl and the Night Visitors, I think of all these men from all over the world, bringing us gifts. And I didn’t even have to leave Paradise.

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