On Tuesday I was out, for pleasure. Managed twice last year; dreaming of four, five, maybe more times... Went with friends to Dulwich Picture Gallery (in London), Vanessa Bell’s show beckoned. Favourite jeans on (flared), and a wide grin; wheelchair pushed by stronger arms than mine. No coffee afterwards, no sideways glances; all energy assigned and labelled 'art'. Beautiful portraits there, abstraction too; vibrant, colourful work, experimentation on the picture plane. Books feature - people read, which I loved especially (long to myself, so much). Good to know: DPG is well-equipped for rest, and dotted with divans. Very comfy indeed (says one who often lies on floors), in dark emerald green – most becoming with my orange blanket. No protests when I lay. Soles did not touch on fabric, promise! The painting I wish home with me shows Virginia Woolf (Bell's sister), looking worn, in an armchair's snug embrace. She's got a piece of knitting in her lap, red as the flesh of water melon. Her hands seem caught in hesitation. I'd like to look at her every day.
A state of bliss was reached. The fall was deep, pain got so bad I felt beside myself. In process of emerging, starting to remember, with elation.
A state of bliss was reached. The fall was deep, pain got so bad I felt beside myself. In process of emerging, starting to remember, with elation.
