THERE IS A SEASON turn turn

Café de la Paix Warm and Cozy

Bûcherie de la Paix Cold and friendly

There was a time when I braved the bitter cold and painted outside in mid-winter without even thinking about it. And there were days in March when the wind blew so fiercely, my easel fell

a dozen times or more. I trudged on like the mailmen of yesteryear.

Now, I sit happily painting my dream seen water-colors as if that alone is why I was put on this

Earth.

LE BEAUJOLAIS NOUVEAU EST ARRI...STOP THE MUSIC

"A little Banana..."

"NON."

Stop the music! Wait a second!

I just heard that the Beaujolais Nouveau is not ready.

The third Thursday in November is the offciel date to celebrate since I can remember. When Les Halles was still a hole in the ground and I was doing odd jobs at Mother Earth's on the rue des Lombards,( not the first American restaurant in Paris, but the grooviest),

The wine distributor for Mother's, let me sample it the day before the official designated date.

I still remember his blue overalls, white hair, and red face as he as he unveiled the bottle from

under his jacket - nearly a capital crime.

The festival has since grown to a world wide sensation. some restaurants in New York had it delivered via the Concord - so to be the first.

This year, a vineyard announced that because June was quite cold, the harvest was late. They advised their customers to wait until it's really ready.

What next?

Parties are scheduled in all the cafés in Montmartre just the same and the folk will drink the recently harvested wine

green as it is.

FROM THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

I spent three weeks in the country this fall in a region appropriately called Le Centre.

Geographically, the center of France. Otherwise, in the middle of no where. Not a one horse town. Many horses grazing on the verdure - nice horses. Nice cows also.

I hope they (the cows) remember me as I remember them - coming up to the fence staring, chewing, emontionless as adolescent boys on a street corner.

There was a wooded area nearby frequented by hunters of wild boar and deer during their season. We were only there for the wild mushroom chase.

There was also a café in this hamlet and a beureau de poste open for a couple hours in the morning, and an eleventh century church which had a service every Thursday.

After three week of detoxing from internet, wine, and friends I was anxious to return home only to find all trains canceled with the rail strike. Real life nightmare and city stress retuned as I eventually did to Montmartre and my love for making images on paper and surfing on the net.

ISA

She danced in a dream last night.

SUMMER AFTERNOON

A TREE I MET

EXHIBITION CAVES DES ABBESSSES

rue des Abbesses 2001

I'm showing some works that I made in the 'hood' at a very groovy wine bar that I love.

Caves des Abbesses, 43 rue des Abbesses. It is unbeatable. A wine store that has a hidden wine bar, charcuterie - good cheese resto in the back room. Come visit.

Only open in the evening. Saturdays an d Sundays - all day.

Here are some abstract notes from my 1995 move to Montmartre

I had tried not to think about what life would be like after my eventual departure from rue Pierre Larousse. I assumed it was not going to be better and hoped it would not be a whole lot worse. Moving into the little apartment on rue Ravingnon, my apprehensions transformed to ecstasy.

It was as if the best artist of them all had lifted me up between His thumb and index finger and placed me exactly where I should be.

Music. Was I in heaven? Ruby and I had just stepped out the door to the sound of an incredibly powerful saxophone player. I didn’t realize I had such a great musician living so close to me, but, this was Montmartre. Arthur Rubinstein had lived up the hill on rue Orkchamp and the French singer Dalidia down the street from him.

The young musician, as I had imagined him, must have opened his windows to the beautiful spring day. All of rue Ravignon was benefiting to the glory of his gift. With Ruby anxiously pulling me along. I was just approaching rue des Abbesses. I ran into Robert, le patron of Chez Camille.

“He’s really good.” Was my first comment.

“Who?” Robert asked.

“Le saxophonist.”

“Oui, je l’aime beaucoups. Le Duke."

Luckily, I saw the loud speakers attached to a wire that had been stretched across rue des Abbesses.

“What’s that?” I asked him pointing.

“Celebration Village Lepic /Abbesses."

"You’ll get tired of it. It goes on three days and nights."

he murmured with his typical French enthusiasm."

SPRING HAS SPRUNG

Well, "dank it" the Good Lord said to Paris in springtime. The 21st. There are promising buds and longer days and hope that global warming might find us. This winter was colder than I have ever known in this city of light and lots of snow. Today is grey.

One would think that with all the great sculpture here, they'd know how to make a snowman.

Not a clue. Not fun.

Inevitably, les printemps will come. The beauty. The splendor. Sitting at a sidewalk café. And boys and girls watching each other.

AUNTIE ROSE

"Auntie Rose" took part in my recent exhibition that I had on the rue des Trois Frères. The water color reminded me of an old-maid-aunt, who wore gloves,and a hat with a veil. She visited us with her companion Margaritte, the first Sunday of every month. We sat on the veranda, drank iced tea, and behaved.

There were some inquiries at the vernissage if I had made a self portrait.

VALENTINE'S DAY