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Today I decided that I needed to keep to the consistent black and white elements in my studio, whipped out the white paint and went nuts.
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I was in a drawing mood and it couldn't be a more beautiful day. We decided to head to the city and visit the Frick. We weren't sure where it was exactly, but we headed to Museum Mile (which runs on the east side of Central Park), hoping we'd run into it. Instead we ran into a young English gentleman sitting in front of The Met. He was kind enough to let us borrow his copy of Time Out New York which told us that we were only 10 blocks away. Once we finally made it to the Frick we did a bit of drawing there. I don't know what it was, perhaps because it was literally a house full of accomplished masters, but my drawing was feeling a bit lifeless. I was drawing a few statues that came out stiff and mannered, as good as a student exercise.
Not exactly the ego boost I was looking for. So I just decided to enjoy the paintings as accomplished works and draw the people looking at the paintings. Afterwards, we went to a snooty, Upper East Side brunch place called Sant Ambroeus, where I had a perfect salad of thinly sliced Parmesan on a bed of artichokes. I drew Dennis and cleaned my plate. Then we had some wonderful gelato and a strawberry and white chocolate dessert. The service was excellent, despite the upper crusty clientele. We managed to avoid most of it until, close to the end of our meal, two young women, maybe fresh out of college, were seated next to us.
They spoke one decibel over earshot, which wasn't difficult since their table was less than a foot away. Each name-dropped designers and actors like they were going out of style. We learned that one of them, the louder of the two, has a family friend who designs jewelry for Gwyneth and several other famous women, and that her father made an enormous amount of money on side jobs editing music videos. In short, she was basking in the success that was her father. Actually, I was very impressed by her father, even though I've never met him, let alone his daughter. But really, I almost wanted to erase them from my memory (my husband's smarter technique) but the situation was in such poor taste, I had to pen it here. Well, suffice it to say, we left rather irritated, exchanged snide comments a few decibels above earshot, turned our noses up and walked out.
My husband's wallet was stolen at Chicago's O'Hare Airport last night. Right away we canceled his card. This morning we headed over to the DMV to replace his license. One would think it to be a lousy day, but we had a fine time sketching all the personalities that were waiting around for their number to be called. We waited so long we decided to take a quick lunch break in between, gambling our number wouldn't be called in the time we were gone. We headed over to Sparky's, our favorite diner, grabbed a couple burgers and headed back in time for my husband to file for a duplicate driver's license. When all was said and done, it was a 3 hour wait. That's about as long as one of my old college studio illustration classes. Then we headed over to the police station to file a report in case of stolen identity. We found out his credit card was used at a local Chicago gas station after it was canceled. We smiled knowing that the thief didn't get what he wanted, plus I got some precious life drawing time.