1) Books make everything taste better. Who knew there was a restaurant/book store in Atlanta's airport? Cafe Intermezzo, great place to spend a long layover.
|ManO at Cafe Intermezzo where I stared at the books, I mean, into his eyes.|
3) I have a calling as an artist encourager. ManO and I collect art on our trips the way some people collect tee-shirts or coffee mugs. But I didn't realize my choices were being guided until this last trip. On our trip to Paris, I bought a painting from a woman in the artists' square at Montmarte. I speak French so we chatted a while about her inspiration for the little autumn river scene. As we left, I saw several other artists gather around her and hug her. "You've finally sold a painting!"
When we were in Wyoming, after visiting Yellowstone, we found the local artist's co-op (you don't have to break the bank to tap into the art scene either). I told ManO I was obsessed with buying a painting to reflect our time in the park. A buffalo, a dead tree, and mountains. I had to have a painting with those elements. Who buys art that way? Me apparently. We turned into the back gallery and there it was. A lovely framed watercolor of, you guessed it, a buffalo, a dead tree and mountains. I was thrilled. We took it up front. The cashier (another artist, because that is how co-ops work) said, "Oh, I am so glad you bought her painting. She broke her back and has been really down. This will perk her right up."
Now, in San Antonio, we found a local co-op in La Vallita, a group of galleries right on the Riverwalk. We went in there three times and I spied a painting of a quiet turn in the Riverwalk. But I didn't get it. The next day, by the time I realized that painting was haunting me, we didn't have time to get it and get to the airport. ManO knew I was miserable and I called the gallery when I was home. It was a cooperative effort for them to email me a picture of the correct painting, contact the artist. What did the cashier say when I thanked her and the guy taking the picture for their efforts? "Oh, I know she will be so happy. She hasn't sold anything in a month."
Now you are free to wonder about my ability to pick paintings. But I don't. Especially when the artist, an elderly woman who lives outside of San Antonio, called to let me know she had mailed the painting. She was so thrilled I was excited about her work. I got the message from her but I've also gotten the message that I don't exactly pick my own paintings.
|A sweet little painting of a quiet Riverwalk turn.|