Good Friday

My apologies for having fallen off with the blog posts, but it’s been a busy couple months work-wise, which has been good for my bank account, but not so good for my writing. With so much work to do, I haven’t had much time to reflect, let alone write.  The good news is, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

By three o’clock this afternoon, I was tired of working.  This being Good Friday, I wanted to do something meaningful. If I belonged to a church, maybe I’d have gone to a service.  I might even have tried my hand at confession . . . This time last year, I was in New York and attended my first Seder.  My friend Robin invited me, and I must say, it was a beautiful evening.   Robin is one of the most soulful people I know, and her Seder reflected her passion for poetry, jazz, and folk music, as well as good food and good friendship. If I could, I’d go to Robin’s every year, but alas . . .

Since it was already late in the day, I went to the De Young Museum.  There was a John Paul Gaultier exhibit that I was vaguely curious about, but honestly, the point was just to get out of the house; to see something, anything, that would inspire me.

The Gaultier exhibit was interesting–lots of corsets with pointy bras, lots of straps, lace and feathers.  I’m not a huge fan of fashion’s “L’enfante Terrible” but I have to admit, his clothes were beautifully made. Every bead, every button, every stitch was deliberately placed. And bizarre as some of the clothes were, they were also sensual and provocative.

A more devoted student of fashion would have stayed at the Gaultier exhibit all day. But I was pressed for time, and wanted to see what else the De Young had on tap, so I wandered through some of the other galleries.

What I realized was that it didn’t really matter what I saw. Rothko, Colescott . . . Just being in the space, surrounded by other people’s creations, their visions was enough.

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