Sunday, March 27, 2016

Happy Easter

As if on cue with spring, a lizard gave birth on my windowsill!  Usually those little lizzies are so fast one can hardly focus on them, but this little gal sat on the edge of window in the door.  I looked away and back, and suddenly a little lizard was there, too!  Of course, I looked this birth/nurturing thing up on Google, because I thought lizards came from eggs.  But no, some actually give birth to tiny lizards, identical to the larger model, and then they are on their own.  Both disappeared as birds started flying by.  I shoo-ed the birds away, the lizards fled (probably into my kitchen).  Nature can be scary.

We’re having a rather low key exhibit this weekend – everyone has made for the beach, I guess, the first sunny weekend after a cool, rather brutal February and March.  But we have had some wonderful people stop by – and Blair sold a portrait commission, and I sold a painting or two.  “I make metaphysical art”, one woman told me.   Still another day and a half to go, and we’re hoping for the best.

Gallo  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/canva  12 x 12"  30 x 30 cm  
Someone from Kosovo came by selling brooms.  We bought one.  If you are selling brooms door-to-door on Easter Sunday, you must need the money.  Eight euros – the big broom was fifteen:  I’ll sell you both for thirty he suggested.  We declined, and realized how lucky we were to have studied arithmetic.

I sit out on the porch painting pictures and making bunny prints.   I am terrifically sentimental this Easter, about all my best Easters past.  As a child, I always got a “plushie” bunny or chicken or pig, and a basket of candy.   We would enjoy a Polish easter with eggs and kielbasa, and my mother would bless the house with water she got from the big holy tub at the church.  Now I have Harika, my living plushie.

​PInk Blossom Purple Tree   Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/canvas  14 x 11   35 x 28cm   

In Paris, we would have big easter brunch, and all don hats and go for a walk to Invalides or the Luxembourg Gardens.   Quentin was always with us, and there was lots of champagne.
Italy is a different place, not better or worse, just more “family” oriented.  It was something we were aware of when we moved here.  Blair was the biggest opponent to living here, years ago, because he said, “you will never be included”.

Ludivico, the gardener, wanted to know why we were putting those paintings on the grass – we’re artists, we told him, and it says “ART!”

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