Smokey, camp, and Peter Max
Have I told you about my cat, Smokey? If I have, just skip this paragraph. I tend to repeat myself. She's a Russian Blue and just the sweetest thing in the world. She acts like she's really tough and will hiss at you if you do anything she interprets as suspicious. But she'll also jump into your lap for petting or roll over like a dog so you can rub her stomach. And she sits at my feet when I write every day which I find lovely. Anyway, Russian Blues are natural hunters and if she were able to go outside, she'd be hunting mice, birds, and other rodents. But we don't let her go out and there are no mice (or birds or rodents) in our apartment. So, Smokey hunts pens - ball point pens. At night, when everyone is asleep, she prowls the apartment in search of her prey. Her best hunting ground is my desk, where pens are plenty. Sometimes, I'll get up in the middle of the night, having thought of something to write, and I'll turn on my study light and there will be Smokey, on my desk, with her enemy already captured in her mouth. In the morning, and I mean EVERY morning, when I open my bedroom door, a pen is waiting for me, an offering from my Smokey. I just think that is so sweet.
We visited Schuyler yesterday and it was so great to see her. She performed magnificently at circus doing tricks on the trapeze that I would never have been able to do, ever, in my entire life. She's totally in her element, happy as she can be, with nice cabinmates and great counselors. I dropped off teen magazines, along with pounds of candy, potato chips, and other unhealthy foods for her and her friends. It was a long trip up and back and I'll do it again in three weeks. It'll take three weeks to recover from the long drive.
I've been trying to interview this man named Paul Zerler. Paul is a accomplished, distinguised, and famous art appraiser who I met not too long ago. He has been assessing all the artifacts that have come off the Titanic since they began excavating it, and that's just a tiny piece of his practice. We haven't been able to settle on a date, and we were going to meet tomorrow. But there was a death in his family. So, he asked me if I'd meet him at Peter Max's on Thursday so we could work out a time. I said of course, thinking Peter Max's was a restaurant, like Peter Luger's. But it turned out he meant Peter Max, the artist's, house. I remember what a phonomenon Peter Max was in the 60's. As an artist myself I would adore meeting the man and seeing his own art collection. I am a painter myself and if I could ever figure out how to post pictures on this blog, I'd show you my paintings. Maybe when Schuyler comes back from camp, I'll ask her how to do that. Anyway, isn't it exciting that I'm going to meet Peter Max? Doesn't that sound like an adventure? I once went to Andy Warhole's studio (called the Factory) and met his manager, Fred Hughes. But this is even more exciting because I'll meet the actual artist. I'll tell you all about the visit later in the week.
Ta Ta, karen
Sunday, July 17, 2005