Artnotes: Ambassador

 Green Onions   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas  8 x 20"    20 x 50cm     

 Oranges  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas  8 x 20"    20 x 50cm     

 Spring View  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas  8 x 20"    20 x 50cm     

 Across the Valley  Blair Pessemier  Acrylic/canvas  12 x 20"  30 x 50cm

Lacy Primrose   Laurie Fox Pessemier  Acrylic/canvas  12 x 12   30 x 30cm

Artnotes: Ambassador

I have been writing a book about “Slow Travel”.   Much of my time is wrapped up in this, so I will share some excerpts on Artnotes in the coming weeks.  My goal is to have the book launched in the next 75 days, so I’ll keep you posted.  It has gotten me to think just how important travel is.

When you travel you have a mission, chosen or not.  You represent who you are and the elements of yourself to the world.  I represent women, sixty-year olds, artists, cooks, writers, wives, dog owners and Americans.  And each of those categories gives you the opportunity to make an impression of what Americans, or cooks, or dog-owners, are like, apart from the opinion they form from TV.  You have a lot of power to change people’s ideas about who you are and who your group is.  I scoop.

This is particularly important to me right now, because I don’t feel the current regime in the USA represents my views.   I feel ashamed of what is being perpetrated in the USA – my art, my writing, my livelihood are guaranteed by the First Amendment of the Constitution;  I have the right to travel wherever I want with my American passport.   When I travel, or as I live my life in Italy, I project the most positive aspects of the America to the people I meet.   It’s my job.

One particularly late night, long ago, at the Petit Lux, a restaurant where we worked in Paris, we decided to take a taxi home.  It wasn’t a long way, but we hopped a cab near the Hotel Lutetia and directed the driver to our house on rue de Lille.  “Are you English?” he asked, hearing our accented French.  “No,” we replied, “American”.  “Ah, I have a hard time with Americans.”

I went on to explain that there are all types of Americans, and we can be pretty extreme in our behavior.  Really generous, really mean; very loud, or soft-spoken; haughty or humble.  We chatted for ten minutes about these things.  As we departed, he said, “you guys are alright, even if you are American”.   I said I thought of ourselves as ambassadors;  “Oh, wow,” he exclaimed, “you’re the ambassadors?”

We are ambassadors.   Now we are the American ambassadors to Rocca Malatina, Italy, population 575.  Stop by for coffee.

With Passion

​Trees in Cervo   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  13 x 16"  27 x 41 cm 

Kumquat Tree   Laurie Fox Pessemier   acrylic/linen  12 x 12"  30 x 30cm

​Fishing Boat Reflections Early Morning  Blair Pessemier  Acrylic/linen  18 x 23.5  45 x 60 cm

​Fishing boat late day sun    Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  16 x 16"  40 x 40cm    

Boat at rest  Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  13 x 16

Cervo and Olive Trees   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/linen 14 x  21.5"  38 x 55 cm 

Gathering Olives   Laurie Fox Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  18 x 23.5"  45 x 60

Dog walking   Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  13 x 16   33 x 41 cm

​Fisherman House   Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/linen  16 x 12"  40 x 30 cm 

Artnotes:  with Passion

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“You better not have my dog in that picture”, a crone in Diano Marina charged across the beach and shouted at us.  I was taking pictures at the beach, and yes, dogs, many of them, were part of the picture.    Why would she care?  I wanted to ask.  Did the dog commit a crime?  Was the dog stolen? Is it supposed to be dead?  I was 100 yards away and it was a silly little Chihuahua in a black plastic coat.

Don’t worry, a friend says, crones bring good luck in Italy.   So, if you are looking for a lucky crone, this is the place.  

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I am trying to get around to the beach/dog picture, in fact.  Dogs are a major element here.  Blair and I have filled nearly all the canvases we brought, plus we found a roll of canvas we left here last year, on top of the armoire.   Painting in Cervo has made me feel passionate about painting again.  As I painted from the car, Harika in the back seat,  I felt transported, and as if my picture was the best I ever made.  It wasn’t [the best], but it is what one feels with a passion for something.

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I feel passion for making food.  There were certain items I could get here that were interesting to work with:  20 artichokes, thorned and medium-sized, for 10 euros, for example.   And the citrus fruit is nearly free – a kilo of clementines for 99 cents.  I brought a new cookbook I got for Christmas (thanks, T and family) and put some new ideas into motion.

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I like to be in the presence of other people’s passion, as well.  I remember how much certain people, especially the designers, loved the furniture they made, when I would go to the High Point Market in North Carolina – their enthusiasm was contagious, and they sold lots.  When we went to Genoa (Nervi, actually, the Modern Art museum), we ate near the beach in an old, formal restaurant.   It was manned by two rather mature gentlemen, a waitress (a sister?) and a cook.   There were fabulous linens, and we ordered a first and second plate.  Each dish was proudly presented, and I could taste the good feelings of the kitchen in my food.  Passion, in an Italian restaurant.

I am surprised people who are older and afraid of death don’t show more passion in everything they do (I know a few, from 79 to 102, who are like that).  And I guess the crone felt passion for her dog.  After being sick as a young person,  I was compelled to LIVE life as hard as I could, challenging myself, taking risks, living with the maximum amount of passion -- before it was too late.