From my 17th Summer, staying with my sister, niece and sister’s American boyfriend, Kurt, in a 2nd-floor flat across from a super-marché. We listened to a lot of G-love & Special Sauce, Beck, and (when I was alone) Sebadoh. We ate delicious home-made french fries, split-pea soup, and yogurt with spoonfuls of sugar added. We sat in windows, cleaned, talked about fasting for health, went for long city walks, did art, cut hair and took baths, and went on a vacation in the country with several of Kurt’s gregarious French business partners, all in their mid-20’s. I was a novel tag-along at 17, not quite ready to drink wine every night, delightfully shy, yet not at all timid about animating a dance floor.
I made two (kick-ass) paintings*, one serious portrait plus sketches, and a 3-D illustration/map of the apartment.
When I was working on this one, I actually had to get up out of bed to keep painting because I was seeing those flowers bounce in my eyes.
*It is the second of the two paintings. The first one is the same format, but sadder.
(cray-pas & acrylic on paper)