Wednesday, 27 April 2011

upcoming exhibitions- Paris and Nantucket

So it is set on the agenda, another SOLO at the fantastic Parisian gallery TERRE DES ARTS.  The opening date is June 8, 2011.  This show will be of my latest New York paintings and there should be another poster plastered all over Paris just like for the last SOLO.  IT is fun to walk down the boulevards and see a poster with my painting on it in cafe windows.

Terre des Arts has been successfully representing me for a year and a half in their galleries in Paris, Cannes and Saint Tropez.  Many paintings that will be in the show are not yet on my website nor have been posted on the blog.  If you want to receive an invitation contact the gallery through their website Terre des Arts requesting an invitation to the upcoming exhibition of Brooksby.

Also this season the South Wharf Gallery in Nantucket will be hosting my work.  The South Wharf Gallery is one of the best and oldest galleries in Nantucket, they have had my work on and off since 1996.  It is exciting to be back with them once again.

Cafe at the Marigny - the unpredictable

This morning at the Marigny there is a man harassing all the people sitting at the external tables, he wants to borrow a lighter.  He holds a beer in one hand and wobbles around, he's wearing knee length shorts with a Hawaiian pattern.  The people try to ignore him afraid of some violent jest.  He's obviously drunk and not from around here but from some periphery city of Paris.
His grabs a lighter off the table of two ladies barley touching the face of the blond.  She crunches her nose and everyone looks at him from the corner of their eyes.  He dances to some rhythm we can't hear, the noise from the traffic is deafening.  Everyone is back from Easter vacation.
The unpredictable drunk dances off to corner and without hesitation dances into the traffic.  Now the Parisians openly turn around to stare at the guy. Buses slow down and honk, an ambulance drives slowly by, cars honk.  It's chaos.  The guy dances in the middle of the busy intersection. Untouched he gains the other side and disappears in the crowd.

Wednesday, 20 April 2011

cafe at the Marigny - café, une boisson phsycoative

This morning at the Marigny the dust on the tables is quick to alight.  We need rain says the lady at the market.  she is probably correct but this sun is so delectable. The waiter that looks like an owl serves me.  He is gruff.

"En petit crème."  It used to be called café au lait.  Now only tourists say that.

I look on wikipedia for the definition of café and am thrilled by the description.   It is a une boisson psychoactive.   

The waiter takes forever, his bottle-bottom glasses enlarge his eyes on his face and his hair is uncontrollable.  It is hard to say what color it is.  It isn't blond but something like that.  It looks like a dolls hair that has been drug through the sand pit.  It sticks out.  He is skinny and his face has huge dimples.  Big sideburns that are not brune but darker than his hair.

Finally my coffee arrives.  

Tuesday, 19 April 2011

Cafe at the Marigny - Parisian memoirs

The Marigny is the cafe on the corner.  It is a brasserie and a tabac.  It could be most anywhere in Paris or France for that matter.

This morning I sit at the Marigny with my husband enjoying a cafe in this incredible April sun that has almost lasted a month without a drop of rain.  There are two guys taking down the glass walls of the terasse because it is officially summer.  One guy, the white one, is wirery, small, all nerves.  The other guy is a big happy black dude; they look like chess mates on the board.

They are bumbling around, not quite sure how to remove the thick glass panels and keep bumping into the lady drinking Bloody Mary's. It must be 8 AM.  She's smoking, we're all smoking.

The traffic light turns red and some guy stops on his scooter, he's yelling in some incomprehensible language, he's real pissed.  We think he's got turret then realize he has a head set for a cell phone.

The chessmates bump into the drunk lady that pours tabasco into her drink and put the chairs on top of the table, feet first.  The patron comes out, he doesn't like that.  Cars start honking because the light turned green and the guy on the scooter is gesticulating widly, his feet glued to the tarmac.  He drives off, more cars honk at something else.

A lady walks by crying and stomping her feet, she too is having some phone conversation.  I think the Parisians have gotten too much sun.

Time to get the studio and start painting.

Monday, 18 April 2011

Fed Horse

Finally another painting, whew!
This took about 22 hours 100x70 cm
Fed Horse
April 2011

It was tempting to not just block out all the details and abstract the building in the back on the left but lately I feel compelled to detail things.  Seen this small it looks hyper-real but up close the brushstrokes are chunky and thick.

Meeting with two galleries this week, its a big week.  

About ten days ago I met with another gallerist that has six galleries: Paris, Saint Germain-des-Pres, Geneva, and four more locations in France.  We'll see what propositions are made.  There is another gallery on rue de Seine that is considering my paintings too.  Time to nose grind

Saturday, 16 April 2011

First Delusion - a YA flash fiction for Chuck Wendig's weekly challenge

Chuck Wendig of Terribleminds is an inspiration, he issued the Friday flash fiction challenge of April 15th.  This time around he gave five random words - Figure, Dusk, Flirt, Mobile Phone and Wig - to create a story with a 1000 word limit.

Check out the links to the Paris tango schedule at the end.

tango on the Seine photo by Brooksby 2007

First Delusion
999 words
by Angie Arcangioli

Three knocks on the door broke the laughter.  Chloe ran to open it wide and gasped when she saw him, the anticipation of meeting her father’s best friend was like waiting for Christmas.  He was here for the Paris Tango festival all the way from Buenos Aires. 

“Hello, you must be Chloe.” His deep voice echoed as he stepped inside. Chloe’s father budged past her and hugged Rex.  Rex was not his given name. The tangueros called him that because beautiful women wrecked their lives to fight for his devotion.

Rex hugged her father back and they laughed. 

“How long has it been?” Carlos asked.

“Sofia, the love of my life.  You’re younger every time I see you. ” Rex jested, dropping Carlos to hug her mother with such enthusiasm that he lifted her, swinging her around. She laughed heartily.

“You never change.”  Chloe saw her mother’s face lighten and Rex winked at her.

They moved to the room filled with singing people where her uncle played the bandoneon.  Chloe watched Rex as he warmly greeted every one with a kiss, a slap, some words.  He had something special for all.  He was unlike any Parisian, warm and bubbly.  Rex kept his eyes on Chloe; she was engulfed by his charisma.  He circled the room stopping at the chair next to hers. 

That evening her father threw a welcome party for Rex, it was years since he last visited Paris.  Everyone talked about the days before Chloe was born, a few couples danced in the big hall.

Chloe was fourteen; her figure was flowering gracefully into puberty.  She learnt to dance Argentine tango for fun in the house during parties but fencing was her passion.  The lead and follow of tango aided her footwork in competitions. She was regional champion in her age group and was nicknamed the tanguera. 

“I hear you’ve quit tango for fencing!  How many guys have you eliminated?”  Rex teased.

Chloe said nothing she was too shy and unaccustomed to such flirtatious attention.

“Oh come on, leave her alone. You’re too old for her.”  Chloe’s uncle chuckled. 

Everyone wanted Rex’s consideration but fell quiet when he told stories of Buenos Aires and the wealthy divorced women that flew there to dance with he and the other tangueros.  They asked him for his schedule, when could they see him while he was in Paris.  Everyone wanted a piece of Rex, he was captivating, his allure irresistible.

He moved his face close to Chloe’s and touched her hand.   The room was silent.

“When will I get to dance with you, my rose bud, tomorrow evening? I will be at the arenas on the quais de Seine, you must come.” Everyone laughed but Chloe; she turned pink.

Chloe’s father was behind Rex.

 “Rex, get real. You’ve already broken too many hearts.” Laughter filled the room again.

Chloe had heard stories about Rex and she was flustered, she knew at that moment that she wanted him to hold her.  It was a yearning inside her that was new, adrenalin rushed in her veins. She secretly decided she would go to the Seine to dance with him.

“Chloe, it’s getting late, remember you have a match tomorrow.” Her mother said softly in her ear.

“I can’t decide who is more beautiful, the mother or the daughter.” His eyes glittered.  He looked at Chloe and her mother smiling maliciously.

People began to leave and Chloe escorted some to the door kissing each person on the cheek as French children do.  Rex was the last.

“Remember, tomorrow at the Seine, nine o’clock sharp.” Rex joked and let her kiss him.

Chloe went to her bedroom. She had a plan.  She skyped her best friend. 

“Hi Isabelle. What are you doing tomorrow, I need help?”

“So did Rex come?” Isabelle snickered.  She knew all about him.

“Tomorrow night I have to go to the Seine, Rex will be there, he asked me to dance with him.  I need you to cover for me, I told my parents that we are going to a movie together, okay?”

“I’m stuck tomorrow. I wanted to come with you. What about your match?” Isabelle whined.

“It doesn’t matter, but if they call, tell them I’ll call back then call me, I’ll skip the match, I need a wig.” Chloe hung up before Isabelle could speak then jumped in bed.

The next day she rode her bicycle to the wig shop on rue Vaugirard and bought a brown bob shape cut.  It was discreet and she would blend in.

After dinner, her parents wished her a good evening with Isabelle. She left stashing the wig and her dance shoes in a scarf then ran to the bus to go the Seine before dusk.

The long June shadows from the dancing crowd pulsated. Rex glided over the pavement with a girl in his arms.  The crowd was huge. Chloe recognized many people but the wig and big shaded glasses hid her.

She waited on the steps of the arena for a long time. Her heart beating wildly; then joined the crowd.  She approached Rex and took his hand. 

“Oh my beauty, I’ve waited for you all night, dance this one with me.”

When the music ended Chloe lifted her glasses and grinned at Rex.  His face clouded.

“What are you doing here Chloe, you must go home.  This is no place for a kid.” 

Tears welled in Chloe’s eyes, she expected a loving embrace not anger. Rex took his mobile from his pocket, phoned her father and then escorted her to the taxi stand ranting at her stupidity.  She refused to look at him and entered the taxi crying.

“Chloe, go home, go back to your épée forget tango.”  He slammed the door to the taxi.

The taxi stopped in front of her house, her mother waited on the doorstep. She ran into her mother’s arms sobbing,

“Rex says those things to all the women. He’s just a flirt.”

A.E. Arcangioli, © 16 April 2011

Paris tango agenda - Quais de Seine

video tango on the Seine