Sunday

Kisses, I need them


Last week on my way to the studio I stopped off at a friends house to drop off a couple of borrowed CD's and found my friends dressed up, looking good.  They were on their way to an opening dedicating a new gallery at the local museum.  A big deal in this small community.  Lots of artists and their supporters were sure to be there. I, however, was not invited. Kisses!

Art has been my life.  And I've more than paid my dues:  20 solo exhibitions, work hanging on several of the continents, one major grant, reviews going back who the hell knows how long but long.  Like my work or not I'm definitely a professional. Like me or not, it does not matter. I mean it's like this: you may not especially like Fords but you do recognize them as being cars, right?

Who knows why?  David was sure had I been there I would have been one of the best-dressed woman in the room.  He's prejudiced, of course. I smell good.  My mother makes sure of that by keeping me stocked in a good French perfume.  I no longer drink so that would not have been a problem.  I do like to talk about art.  Because it's my world.  And that may be the problem, I'm not sure.  Gender?  Maybe.

But I got over it.  Must be those kisses. And in about two hours time.  That's not bad.  Standing outside the studio I heard birds singing.  And although my feelings were hurt I didn't want to be bitter because if I were I might miss out on those birds and every other thing this beautiful day had to offer.

I painted.  Finished a boola.  Cleaned my brushes and headed on home.  Thanks for the kisses.


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