When I shivered my way to the car this morning the thermometer read 35 degrees. My husband in Georgia says its in the 20s and my daughter in Chicago is shivering in the low teens…The dogs refused to go out in the driving rain, I had to boot them (they both had on coats) forcibly onto the walk in front of my little Charleston Condo, lest they die of uremic poisoning. We scurried about, me in a badly mangled umbrella, sleep hair, jams & wet shoes. Checking email as we walked, I learned a dear friend had died. I felt punched bewildered and oh so sad. He had had surgeries but was doing better. It was sudden and felt so cruel. I wept, my tears running into the rain. Later as the dogs & I headed off to the gallery, we still looked crazy albeit more conventionally dressed, and were still teary. The southeast is all abluster and the streets are quiet. When I turned on all the lights in my beloved sanctuary of a gallery I glanced up at John Ball’s wonderful painting of the unmade hotel bed and saw myself there: New York Times, room service coffee, snuggly cuddles. Later perhaps a stroll to the hotel bar for soup and a sherry and a discussion of the weather & of all things, the sports scores. No discussions of the economy, politics or local corruption. Only the cocoon of the room, the hotel, and the intimacies there in. A good painting takes you out of yourself, evokes another time & place, gives you perspective, comfort, strength. I love this little painting for its ability to lift the rain, dry my eyes, give me peace, take me out of myself. It and many other delightful gems can be seen at http://www.mgalleryoffineart.com/searchresults.php?artistId=11727
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