I’ve waited 20 yrs to paint this apartment. It was our first home in Europe and now it’s our little escape place on the lake. It’s tiny so I put lots of tiny pictures of Diaghilev and Modigliani and Schiele on the walls.
When waiting in line to see Klimt and Schiele in Vienna you hear the Viennese whisper their names in the same way they whisper Mozart. At least most do. And I do love Schiele, no one paints choral red the way Egon does and he takes my breath away, still.
I couldn’t paint the living space now, it was yellow and that will have to be done next year. I’m tired after painting the bedroom and bathroom. They are small and there were so many small walls and angles and trims; I’m tired. But thrilled.
Fresh as paint as they say. As a writer there’s nothing more exciting than having a minor task when you’re working on a major book.
Again, the walls are mostly blue. They say blue is the color of healing, of the throat chakre- expression. All I know is so many of my walls are now painted blue.
The place may be small but the memories and the views from the balcony are enormously satisfying. Practically cosmic.
I’ve learned so much about space here in Europe; most of it’s unnecessary.