A cat sped across our path as we entered the gardens; we were nearly bowled over by a pack of jogging firemen apparently in hot pursuit (the cat thought so, anyway).  Like greyhounds chasing that rabbit, the entourage passed quickly out of our line of sight.

Blair and I and our girlfriend O have been painting in the park nearly every day this week.  She and I, armed with our acrylics, stake out a bench and produce one, sometimes two, paintings in an afternoon.  Blair, ever faithful to oil paint, camps nearby.

On my way to one our sessions with O, we passed a blackbird, sitting in ecstasy in front of the wooden legged red footed sculpture in the grass (from a former artnotes).  "Is it [the blackbird] dead?" O whispers.  "No, it is sitting upright," I reply.  Nictitating eyelid twitching, beak slightly parted, the bird sits like a child from Fatima before the Virgin.  The only thing which will move him is a direct assault by humans claiming his spot in the sun.  He's there every day.

Passing out our "tracts" for painting lessons, we've discovered wonderful treasures around the park: an Indonesian restaurant (medium); cups made of horse hair and lacquer (terrific) and a new gallery.  It is easy to get entrenched in our little neighborhood.  The other side of the park seems more "French" than our side, but maybe it is just unknown.

A pair of lovebirds were lost in our building this week.  The female has returned, but the male seems to be enjoying his liberty after 17 years in the cage.  He appeared in our courtyard Wednesday evening, as we listened to jazz on the radio.  We called his owners at once, but he sensed the "jig was up" and flew off.  They returned with a cage, baited with food.  The next evening the owner brought us a box of chocolates, and her lovely twenty year old daughter who could speak bird.  She whistled and tweeted in the courtyard for twenty minutes; he returned her calls, but chose to keep his profile strictly audio.  No further sightings, but lots of chatter.

We celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary with a picnic on the Seine, with champagne.  We threw our chicken bones to the fish and waved as boats passed by.

We drove to Brussels on Friday to meet with a client interested in HBF furniture.  O graciously offered us his car (we gave him the rest of the chocolates) sans air conditioning.  We rolled with my window fully open, and smelled the scents of summer along the way:  acacia, wheat, fresh mown hay and cows.   There and back in just a day, the steep rays of the sun tanned one arm.  Scotch broom eventually gave way to curry and ginger at la Chapelle, and I knew I was back home in Paris.



Laurie (painting and text) and Blair PESSEMIER
Two on a Bench   9.5 x 12 inches  Acrylic on canvas
www.artnotesparis.blogspot.com ; -- see all of this weeks images!!!