Alena, the gift and Lena in Moscow
Milestone. I just passed it, and I am waving my hand. Good bye avarice! There is no mirror living of your neighbor to be admired. Adios oneupmanship! I am not nearly as accomplished as the worst painter. I am going to free up my archive of its output—and I shall do this while out walking the village, going door-to-door with my empty begging bowl. Put paints in it and you shall have a painting. Add stretched canvas and a desire to know me, then clear up a wall for my work. Basically, if you’ll have me, the painting is yours.
Two arrivals yesterday of paintings so close yet separated by thousands of miles. It was like I was split in two. At three in the afternoon I was not ready for the joy-energy to hit me like it did. Like a mortal head-on collision with a Zeus thunderbolt. I am still…
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