Creative Life

Ah to read about Paris, Hemmingway, Frida Kahlo, Anais Nin, the golden era for me that was their world in between the wars.....and to be in Paris reading these books, hmmmmm, stirs the creative juices.

But if I was hanging out with surrealist painters and writers, today, in whichever arrondissement the current artists are sitting in cafes in, perhaps I would be bored to tears or find them wacky and weird.

Instead, we are making our own creative fun by walking the streets and bridges, Pont des Arts, Pont Neuf, going from cafe to cabaret, in three different quartiers, drinking cafe creme or rose, a little bubbly... It's very conducive to the fertile muck stirring a writer needs - to budge from her rut, her comfortable world, and explore the City of Light. Having conversations with cab drivers about the lousy economy and listening to Leonard Cohen dance me to the end of love.

Actually, it's very dark and rainy today, cold, a good day to stay indoors and read the life of Frida Kahlo, parts of which were in New York and Paris, rubbing shoulders with Georgia O'Keeffe and Andre Breton, Henry Miller and Anais Nin.

c'est tres sympa, as they say. To be moody and cold in Paris...next week I have a real writers' retreat booked for myself, a few blocks away, and maybe I'll tackle this O'Keeffe-Kahlo project that has been tickling my mind for a few days now.

Until Monday, hopefully the sun will come out, we'll put on our walking shoes and shop for our baguette and fromage.

salut les mecs!

Musemother/Jenn
a  Paris (where there ain't no cure for love)