Enjoy the phantoms in the rainy sidewalk.
I'm still preparing for my upcoming art show opening June 5 (gulp) and am unable to update my blog until I get every last bit of work shipped off. When the final box is dropped at the post office and I've consumed a sufficient amount of champagne to celebrate, I'll be back to regular postings.
How exciting! Good luck and have fun.
Posted by: Faylinn | May 17, 2009 at 09:39 PM
love this one. have you seen my new blog babysnohelp.com? you might like. have a great show, 14! xox kb
Posted by: Knox Bronson | May 18, 2009 at 02:55 AM
I am certain of your smashing success...and LA trembles in anticipation.
xoxoxooX
L
Posted by: ChaosbyDesign | May 18, 2009 at 06:29 AM
I SO wish I lived near LA and could see your show in person! Congratulations and best of luck with the show! But you don't need it!
Posted by: alice | May 18, 2009 at 01:24 PM
Is the show coming to LA? I would love to see it. Good luck!!
Posted by: ev@brooklynpowerandlight.com | May 25, 2009 at 07:36 PM
A few more days to go. I am sure it will be a great success.
Renee xoxo
Posted by: Renee Khan | May 31, 2009 at 06:07 AM
I still love this shot. Hope the show goes great!
Posted by: Knox | June 04, 2009 at 03:01 PM
Wow!! What talent and marvelously wacky view of celebs and life!! Love it!! I can't stop looking at Rainy Sidewalk. It truly envokes that feeling of walking in the city on a miserable rainy day. Have you been to Seattle-lol??
Good luck on your show!!
~Cheryl
Posted by: Cheryl | June 08, 2009 at 04:52 AM
Phil had never really seen her: He’d always clutched his bumbershoot so tightly that it was nearly jammed over his head, and all he saw was her abstract form reflected back at him. But she’d become a fixture that August, and he recognized the Siren every time she appeared. She stood at precisely the same spot every day waiting for the bus, holding her light-colored umbrella high, and at an angle in her slender right hand. She always swayed back and forth in a slight but buoyant manner, and frequently hummed classical pieces (Debussy seemed to be her favorite). Sometimes she spun like a leaf on a zephyr; always, she moved with grace. And Phil was so smitten with the reflection that he never lifted his umbrella high enough to see what the object of reflection really looked like before she disappeared onto the 8:27 shuttle every morning. The illusion, he surmised, would be shattered if he actually glimpsed her for real.
On the first Tuesday morning in September God stopped chucking the moisture down upon hapless England, and a cloudy but bright sky nudged transit riders into sheathing their umbrellas. Philip Miles walked out to the stop with his bumbershoot at mast, but then realized that the sky had dried out some. A few feet to his left where she’d always staked her space stood his Umbrella Siren.
Her form pirouetted gracefully as she whistled a facsimile of Arabesque #1 in high notes that sounded like a bluebird nesting in a tea kettle. The only difference from her usual stance: Her light-colored umbrella was folded inward and perched upon that shoulder like a foreign legionnaire’s lance. Phil folded his umbrella, tucking it under his raincoated arm and looking at the woman who owned the Umbrella Siren Silhouette.
He smiled. She smiled back. And somehow Philip Miles knew the rain would never alight on him or her again.
Posted by: FandralGlissando | July 18, 2009 at 09:18 AM