Oh, I know these long distance love affairs never work out. But I just can’t stop. You thrill me. You open my eyes and electrify my mind. You are many things that I am not… but oh so wish to become. You are chic and vibrant and deeply grounded in yourself and your past, even while you stride, avant-garde, into the future.
Last weekend you were wonderful… again. You never fail to delight me. Centre Pompidou may, in fact, be ridiculous. Who is to say? But to wear one’s heart on the sleeve, this building puts more than just one internal organ out there for the world to see… and ridicule… and praise…. and wonder over. That is art. I never would have guessed that too much Mondrian in one room would become repetitious and almost dull. But it was a surprise and a pleasure to see his earlier, non-iconic, earthy work. And the Guerrilla Girls installation? What a jolt of artistic caffeine! I’m pumped and sorting myself and my stuff to do something awesome with the new toys.
Btw, thanks for the beautiful weather. The forecast was pretty drizmal, but I packed for it. I don’t even begrudge you the space the duck boots took in my suitcase only to go unworn. That’s okay. I totally prefer the sunny days to having room for… I don’t even know what. Sure, I’d love to dress for you, dress like you. But for a wham-bam-thank you-ma’am weekend? Comfort and practicality prevail. Back at home I will try to remember how you looked, how you put yourself together, and maybe attempt just a taste of that myself. Jusqu’à la fois prochaine…