Mon deiu! The oppressive heat of Paris makes me as limp as a lettuce Anglaise! I drag myself from ze boudior and wash my face with chablis and a nice ripe camembert. I roll myself in a turkish rug and hop to the tabac for some Thrimpton's Olde Peculier. I fill my beret and I'm off to ze charcouterie for some fresh couts, hot from ze oven. Voila! Breakfast is served. I fan myself idly with a copy of the Fluxus Times and munch happily away until the cock strikes eleven and I roll myself down to the studio stopping several times to fill my pipes and beret. Zoot alors! I must work like a demon now until eleven thirty when it's time for an early lunch and several bottles of vin de plonk. The swirling thoughts and emotions of the artist shower themselves onto my pencil and emitted via the papier as divine scrapings of an imbecile! Ha ha! I laugh at the folly of art and the poetic shining of my silver nose which illuminates the dark recesses of my baguettes. Soon it will be time for lunch and talkings with my bohemian friends at the Cafe Le Frommage Vert. Here we bandy words and legs as we smoke our pips and crunch our noisettes. The silver nose beckons me to the chablis once again and I empty my beret upon the upturned cheese board that groans with ze hungry growl of a ferret. Oh the heat - it is melting my brie which i hoped to save for a snack.
Later after a siesta I crawl from the donkey's shadow and stumble to the studio again where I work furiously until afternoon ( The Donkeys Shadow is a small bar down ze Boulevard Les Dennis) . Ooh lallala! Its time to shine my silver nose on the hankie of despair once again as I roll myself back to my bungalow where I am administered once again and the tag safely clocked into the machine. Sweet puddings of Fluxus!
1 comment:
Go, Hazel. I may never fully recover from these 2 pieces. Brava!
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