hola hola -
so sorry i missed a day, for the three or four people in the universe who are keeping track - the snails were on strike yesterday, and the network was being so irritating, losing emails before i could send them etc that i just gave up. but hooray! here i am (on L's computer, which is kind of fun, because i am getting all these instant messenger messages in chinese from friends in hongkong thinking i am her). the two pics above are first completed real painting (ole!) and a representative snap from the bunny night party.
so, an update on the brussel sprouts competition: i tried cooking them TWO ways, and the butter/olive oil/salt/pecans what-have-you were delicious, but the brussel sprouts part of the equation, i am sorry to say, still tasted like brussel sprouts, which is to say, like the vegetable version of a public toilet. i am not going that way again. and to those who are offended that their recipe did not get chosen (daddy), you have only yourselves to blame: i grew up on your method of brussel sprouts preparation, which has led to my current state of aversion. if your recipe was any good i wouldn't have to be holding brussel sprouts competitions in the first place, now would i? never mind, you can prove me wrong by cooking sprouts for me the next time i see you, and i will even wait until you are not looking to spit them out under the table.
the biggest news du jour is that aliens came in the middle of the night and stole my body, replacing it with one that looks just like me, but which woke up at six a.m. excited to go running (up until this point it has been an exercise in dutiful masochism, mostly so that i can have a croissant every day for breakfast and not feel like a piggy). i ran for an HOUR (in the dark! past all the cowfields!) and it felt fucking fantastic (that is the alien part of the story). sadly, they seem to have removed my power over the weather with this new body; it rained today, but oh, well. it was fun while it lasted. perhaps tomorrow i will wake up and be able to have ultrasonic vision, something i have always wanted.
this week has been portrait week, which has meant several inTERMinable demos by Head Honcho ohmygod he is the least efficient lecturer ever but never mind. it is also krystle's last week (tomorrow is her last day), so Head Honcho let her do what we have been joking about all month, which is to pose in the classic contemplative saint pose (left hand outstretched, right hand raised), and we have all got the giggles too much to draw. i am going to draw a little gothic stained glass window around her, and if it looks OK, i will give it to her as a going away prezzy. my feet painting is going well; i think i am going to actually be able to finish it by the end of the day tomorrow. i am well on the way to developing a full-on foot fetish. that'll be TWO real paintings completed! burning through the canvas at a furious pace...
there has been a request for a precis of the cast of characters in the class. alors:
residents of the student dorm, les sylvains:
apartment no. 1: G (late twenties, long hair, computer whiz, spends most of his time surfing for arcana on youtube as far as i can tell. more or less full time art student; studied for a year with ted seth jacobs, which is where he met H) and H (belly dance pro, immaculate painter, also full time art student. they have both come to AC to study w/ Head Honchos several times.
apt. no 1.5: krystle. model. canadian, eh, from toronto. she is definitely a Young Person; her natural environment is a very loud club wearing a crazy outfit at 3 a.m. drunk on something radioactive and horrible. but she is very funny and i actually like her a lot, despite the fact that she comes from a different planet. she and H and i do yoga together every morning.
apt. no 2: T. previously described. could turn out to be the unabomber, but he is one funny smart dude (and an incredible artist). no fixed address, no fixed employment.
apt. no 3: moi - a relative unknown in the art world, critics in AC are praising this new talent to break on the world artistic scene with accolades such as "that's looking OK, although you might want to make that bit there a bit darker" and "you've got her head the wrong shape, look, it's like this." we are keeping a close eye on this fresh new talent! and L - hong kong native, student at gage academy in seattle. very sweet. pockets of ignorance/innocence that are astonishing sometimes (recent example: "if i take the donkey this apple, do i need to cut it up first, or can he eat around it? i don't want him to accidentally choke on the seeds.") responsible for introducing me to "so you think you can dance". now that she has got me hooked, she is probably going to start charging me exorbitant amounts to watch subsequent episodes. dealers are like that.
apt. no 4: m.c. (cute little blonde thing from rural quebec. big catholic family. plays the flute beautifully. class nickname: m.c.nardo dasminchi). teller of the zombie rabbit story. T - waiflike lost soul out of a rossetti painting, previously worked as a theatre manager, but gave up her job to come and live in france with a boy and paint (boy didn't work out, painting so far so good). my mission while i am here is to feed her up with comfort food and feminism. all she lacks are carbohydrates and confidence, that's my theory.
down the road at number 17 rue porte viresche: G (very tall, very quiet brazilian boy. graphic designer in real life. not a big chatter. probably he runs a mafia brothel or something on the side and we just don't know about it.) and P (very short, very quiet parisian guy). the two of them pretty much keep to themselves. apparently they eat nothing but beef ravioli out of tins.
number 15 rue porte viresche: C, fifty, midwestern art gallery owner, chatty lovely sociable.
across the square: M, forties, liverpudlian, retired to new zealand. we like him.
across town: J (sixty?) and his wife J. not much of a talker, tends to disappear quickly after class, leaving this weekend.
down the road: M., bretonne portraitist, cute little girls and teddybear husband with ludicrous nineteenth century handlebar mustache.
ennyway. i think that is all i have to say about that.
hope everyone is doing bueno, and lots of love to tout le monde.
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