(no subject)
I'm in Rome.
The women are beautiful, the men even more so, and the fashion is giant sunglasses and handsome brown leather shoes. Nuns and priests pop up wherever we go.
The building are orange, yellow, stucco white and sometimes red. The shutters are pale blue, or green, or a faded mauve. Everything's drenched in sun. The streets are of course cobblestone, windy and narrow, and you turn a corner and suddenly there's the pantheon lunging out at you.
Our building is the 15th century Cenci with a column-surrounded courtyard, mysterious virgin mary frescos, and old old old giant marble staircases. Everything in it is old, and falling apart, dearly loved. The girls hang their lingerie from thread strung across the room. Its haunted. By a woman (whose name I've forgotten) was molested by her father, had him beheaded, and was beheaded in return. Lani saw her in the old blue bathroom.
We're right by the river lined with the mysterious umbrella pine trees. We go out to eat everynight, drink everynight, got so uproaringly drunk the first night it was hard to believe. Overly friendly trio of italian men at a bar, prociutto con melone, wine, wine, wine.
(A few of us stayed up uber late last night, my roomate cut lines of adderoll for herself and talked talked talked of all sorts of indecencies)
Two streets away from us is a large piazza surrounding an enourmous pit that exposes some crumbling Roman ruins and its been dedicated to cats, its a cat sanctuary. The strays lounge in the sun, totally protected, all day. Dozens.
We all have our own studio spaces. OUR OWN. Mine is a tiny room I share with one other sweet Californian girl and I just bought sunflowers for it today,; from a charming and extremely old Italian man who overcharged.
I am CHOKING one how fucking unbelievable all this is.
I start painting tonight.
The women are beautiful, the men even more so, and the fashion is giant sunglasses and handsome brown leather shoes. Nuns and priests pop up wherever we go.
The building are orange, yellow, stucco white and sometimes red. The shutters are pale blue, or green, or a faded mauve. Everything's drenched in sun. The streets are of course cobblestone, windy and narrow, and you turn a corner and suddenly there's the pantheon lunging out at you.
Our building is the 15th century Cenci with a column-surrounded courtyard, mysterious virgin mary frescos, and old old old giant marble staircases. Everything in it is old, and falling apart, dearly loved. The girls hang their lingerie from thread strung across the room. Its haunted. By a woman (whose name I've forgotten) was molested by her father, had him beheaded, and was beheaded in return. Lani saw her in the old blue bathroom.
We're right by the river lined with the mysterious umbrella pine trees. We go out to eat everynight, drink everynight, got so uproaringly drunk the first night it was hard to believe. Overly friendly trio of italian men at a bar, prociutto con melone, wine, wine, wine.
(A few of us stayed up uber late last night, my roomate cut lines of adderoll for herself and talked talked talked of all sorts of indecencies)
Two streets away from us is a large piazza surrounding an enourmous pit that exposes some crumbling Roman ruins and its been dedicated to cats, its a cat sanctuary. The strays lounge in the sun, totally protected, all day. Dozens.
We all have our own studio spaces. OUR OWN. Mine is a tiny room I share with one other sweet Californian girl and I just bought sunflowers for it today,; from a charming and extremely old Italian man who overcharged.
I am CHOKING one how fucking unbelievable all this is.
I start painting tonight.