Mini-skirts, berets and high heels…

Le Louvre...perfect place for inspiration...

My grandma once made my granddad walk across Paris in exasperation, to get to a shop by the Louvre to buy her a Chanel dress. Apparently he was so tired of hearing about “the damn dress” that he rather just buy it. It gave me much joy as I was playing dress up in their apartment. There are some terrible pictures catching me in this dress that’s about three sizes too big, with matching three sizes too large high heels. I was also wearing over sized glasses at the time and I managed to put a shawl around my head in a rather unsuitable fashion.

Is there anything better than an old wardrobe, or an attic, to rumble about in? I love being arty and having a huge studio filled with everything from old dresses to buttons and crayons, suit me just perfectly. Not to mention sea shells, threads and needles, paints, scrap papers and other bits and bobs. A place where there is space for your creativity. My dad used to say I’d become a millionaire because I save everything in hope that it will one day come in handy. I mean you can use anything when you are creating art…and each home, each room in each home, is a separate decoration project…a place for a specific atmosphere. Just like each theater set is different. You truly never know what you will need. Including that hideous thing from 1952…

I feel a strong urge to be creative this weekend, but I have to pop into the office tomorrow and I also, above and beyond all, have to work on my own biz. I will try to squeeze in an hour and two though to work with my hands. I miss painting, making collages, drawing, photography, acting, dancing, directing…I believe I was born a multi-tasker. My great granddad was actually an artist. I must have gotten it from him. I’m for sure the weirdo in my family. The only one wearing berets and raving about Paris. My dad always say I have “Tomtar på loftet” i.e. I have Santas in the attic…that is to say in my head…meaning I’m crazy… He also once compared me to Ally McBeal. Need I say more?

Actually I do have some things in common with the dear Ally (if not dancing babies…) – my grandma always told me that the ladies in Paris wore super short skirts. So did Ally McBeal and so do I. Topple it off with high heels, a beret on top of my head, constant dizziness, a paintbrush in one hand, a macbook in the other and a pair of bling-bling glasses on the tip of my nose…and voilà you have an impression of me. You just have to imagine me walking down the street like that, suddenly realizing I’ve forgotten something, raising my paintbrush in the “aha” moment, turning around, knocking something or someone down, or simply stumbling over my own heels (or getting caught between cobblestones; another classic).

I just finished watching a French comedy (Prête-moi ta main) and I can’t stop thinking in French, tu sais? Paris, tu me manque…et Provence aussie. Je voudrais aller à Avignon pour faire du theatre. Speaking of which – I think i may have to move back to Europe soon AND I have to finish my French love story about the Jester (Part One….Part Two). One day, one day… Till then my friends: enjoy doing what you love…

Business meets art…


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