Our giant parasol arrived this week, from Chez Redoute.  I ordered it on the Internet a month ago, hoping to hide the winter skies over our courtyard.  It is about 6 by 9 feet -- in ecru polyester.  In fact, it imparts a slightly warm glow to our back yard.

I spent nearly the entire week in the apartment, reading books from an American friend.  Shipping News, Middlesex, Death of Vishnu -- award winning novels written in America, stories from around the world.  I read four.

I made posters on the computer for our next two shows.  I send the file to be printed by Kinkos and delivered in the US.  We answered calls for a furniture company we no longer represent.  A friend invited us to Moscow.  If I can only get out of this chair.  I have the flu, for the second year in a row.

I don my heaviest coat and stumble to the corner flower shop:  5 bunches for 10 euros.  I have red carnations in mind -- I recently saw a painting of them, and thought they'd be a good subject.  Of course, there is nothing so mundane there.  I return with snapdragons, anemones, an unidentified purple flower, and mimosa.  It smells delicious, despite my stuffy nose.  I fall asleep for two hours.

There is nothing more difficult for me to do than NOTHING.  Without an outlet, the wheels of my mind clatter loudly, onward into bad, bad neighborhoods.  I really cannot relax.  I can recall the moments of repose I've experienced on a single hand.  So I read and paint.

Our intention this week had been to find interesting cafe interiors to paint.  Instead, I travel only as far as Google Images can take me.  Even though I don't like to paint from photos, I find myself there with photographs of Napoleon III:  a white horse, two Berber women.

Friday I start to feel better and spend the evening at the Petit Lux.  Two Russian girls, speaking English but no French come for dinner.  They are here for the children's clothing show.   One works in a restaurant herself, and invites us to visit her in Moscow, her address penciled out on the paper tablecloth.

Blair and I discuss how many paintings we need to sell to make a living.  When all seems lost (the dollar dropping still further), I sell a painting at the Deux Magots:  500 Euros cash.  Whoopee!

We move our wooden table outside, and set up some chairs.  I arrange all the flowers on the table beneath the parasol.  It seems like the sun is shining even if it is still a few days away.



Laurie (painting and text) and Blair PESSEMIER
"Mimosa" acrylic on linen; 22 x 33 cm; 8.75  x 13 inches