I saw her out of class--the only way I could see her, since I never took the class. She was drinking wine at her opening: canvases (about 2'x3') on which lots of oil had been pushed and rubbed until the figures seemed half-buried or revealed. Roughly the coulour of an alley two days after a heavy snow.
I didn't introduce myself. Upstairs at Mysteria was crowded and my coat was long. I had a tea date with my daughters and couldn't hang around.
I suppose I'd tell her the whole tale so far, including my idea for a show of bad drawings, curated by the right person.
I should think no further of the teacher. I really liked her paintings, though.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment