A pocket size, canvased covered notebook sat on a stack of books. The antique ephemera dealer, who I am sure rubs his hands and licks his lips when he sees me coming, "Oh that lady who loves old papers!!" Grabbed the book and handed it to me, "Wait to you see this!" I knew the minute I opened the first page that I had to have it for my shop.
1918, is the date marked on most of the simple sketches and paintings.
The artist book is not from Provence, the building tell me so.
In the back of the book are scribbles and funny drawings, I imagine they happened later from a younger hand.
The first part has sketches like this one, and later paintings…
I imagine the artist is in school and these are his lessons.
They are not serious, but they do have spirit.
A work in progress.
Do we allow the artist child within us to progress?
Adore! The splashes of color on the side of the pages, like the untamed nature growing along the river, like the water splashing from his toes.
The baguettes in the window.
Golden wheat.
Sweet aroma.
Crusty crunch.
No need for color it is already in our mind's eye.
This is my fav.
Which one is yours?
And then a complete different direction in the middle of the book, four pages of the changing of the guard, well army attire throughout the ages, with descriptions underneath;
Darling.
The dealer was happy,
I was happy, and G who bought it from me will be happy.
The end.
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