Saturdate with myself. After downing a bottle of wine with Virginie, pouring out my heart AND crying over the most trivial things (in retrospect), I made it home and settled into the night routine. With a sidelong glance at my drawing books, Year of the Rabbit rabbit limbs, Lady Longbody legs and a bag of batting, I decided to write some letters. My go to, like drawing triangles when I have nothing else. Write a letter Madge, to begin. Then I slept, finally at dawn as the light crept into my back bedroom.
Willa, come for a sleepover. Can't wait to draw with you on a bench one day. Diamonds on a princess belt? You GOT it. Elf shoes for a prince? Absolutement! Rags, what I would give for a walk around Winnipegtown with you two birds today. Can I push the stroller please? It is hotter than Hades here. Sweatin' from the meatiest of body parts. Despite the heat, I left the house to troll around the neighborhood. In my wandering I ended up with a coffee in one hand and a one dollar Darkroom book in my lap. Read for a while, bobbing to the nineteen nineties beats blasting from across the street. Street party, expensive hotdogs, dancing babies. Then I meandered to Monistiraki to say Shalom to Billy, a wonderful man with a great eye for bits and bobs. Picked up some one dollar things for various letters on the go and was psyched when I found another Modigliani post card. Ten points. I love his paintings.
It is not a Saturday without a visit to my neighborhood Japanese paper shop, I am such a sucker for handmade sheets. Departed with two giant sheets--heavily textured pulpy white with rough edges--and a vision of that one house at the mouth of Bell Island burnt forever in my memory. Back to the paint, dip dip drag. Two sheets, in case it gets ugly on the first go (as it tends to).
Off to wig shop for the 3 4 1 Anniversary Costume Party taking place at Casa Clark for Chanel, Lola et moi in a few weeks time. Baby's first birthday as a Montreal drifter. Signage to come.
Happy weekend.
Le Margot.
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