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Stay Frosty
Jan 16, 2002, 3:40:31 PM1/16/02
to
Emotion and Design copyright 2001
The afternoon was stormy, and Deirdre's mind was clouded. Too many demons
were lurking there. She couldn't find solace in the espresso coffee before
her. She was
what society labeled as a "beatnik", and she reveled in her creative flow,
but the ideas
were not coming to her lately. A few sketches on napkins here and there, a
sip of the
mind-blowing brew, then a blank. The jazz was cool, but her spirit was not.
There had
to be something out there to inspire her. Where was her muse? Not in this
place. She
swallowed the rest of the strong coffee down, and left the coffee house for
the violent
beauty of the elements around her.
The heavy rain pelted her bobbed dark red hair, and drenched her navy blue
cotton dress. She knew she must be a frightful sight, but no one was out in
this storm to
see it, as far as she could tell. A rebel had seen the artist from afar,
and this was the
perfect opportunity to learn more. He came over to her, holding a rather
worn umbrella.
"It's getting cold," he said. There was an invitation in his words, making
Deirdre
curious.
"Then why are you out here?" she asked. The raindrops pattered against his
leather jacket, and there was a slickness to his black hair, but she
couldn't tell if it was
dressing gel or just water.
"To bring you out of it. Come on." The rebel offered his hand, and
Deirdre
grabbed it. He pulled her under the umbrella. They walked together in a
silence. The
only noises to be heard were the boomings of thunder, the splashing of
rainwater, and
occasionally a close-by crack of lightning. Deirdre felt a slight sense of
dread when it
boomed too close.
"We've got to get out of this," she yelled over the rain. The rebel only
nodded.,
and lead her to the garage close by.
"I guess it will do, for now," remarked Deirdre. The place smelled of
oil, used
and new, rubber tires, and hand cleaner. "I hope it lets up soon."
"Why are you in a hurry? It's not as though you've been doing much
lately."
Deirdre pushed the rebel away. "How would you know?"
"I know, and I know who you are. Even in this city, it's not hard to
figure out
who the people like ourselves are. You may look different from me, with
your dark
clothes, and sound different, with your cool jazz, and your smooth words,
but we are the
same."
"I didn't let you rescue me from the storm for a lecture. What do you know
about my work?"
"I've seen it. Asked about it, been to the galleries around here. Good
stuff, but
expensive."
"Don't I know it! You would be amazed at how much the galleries and agents
get of that, and now, I've hit a block."
"Maybe I could move that block for you."
"How so?" Deirdre knew smooth talk when she heard it, because she did it
herself, but the rebel's words were full of mystery and fun. "How can you
do that? I
don't even know you."
"Not yet, Deirdre O' Malley. I'm Alan Ramsey, and together, we are going
get
your gears working again."
The storm was clearing, but the sky was growing dark as the sun was going
down, and Alan lead Deirdre away from the garage, and to her building. The
climb to
the top floor was exhausting, but Deirdre liked the privacy it gave her, and
the view, as
she found ideas from it, but her the view in her mind's eye had been
abstract lately,
which was unusual, as that was really not her style.
Alan found the artist's flat to be rather minimalist with lots of colour,
with a few
De Stijl knock-off pieces here and there. There were a few blank canvases
sitting under
a skylight, and some art supplies nearby. Definitely not the bohemian
lifestyle he was
expecting to see. It seemed the only thing about Deirdre that fit the
"beatnik" stereotype
was her love of very strong coffee and cool jazz. Her body was of Hollywood
screen
siren quality. She had curves that put her up there with all those busty
blonde beauties,
like Jayne Mansfield, and Marylin Monroe, but she held a mystery in her
Celtic manner
that they never would have.
Deirdre never would have guessed Alan to be a fan of her work, yet the only
thing that seemed to be stereotypical of him was his job as a mechanic and
the leather
jacket he was so fond of. He was full of energy, and she could see he was
naturally
trim. The wide shoulders, narrow hips, and tight bottom would make any
woman want a
rebel like him, even though some would think him "dangerous" or "a bad
seed". In these
times of seeming innocence, anybody who didn't fit a mold was considered "a
bad seed",
and maybe it was this that brought the bad seeds together to build a
beautiful forest of
creativity, whether that medium be pistons and hydraulics, or watercolours
and oils.
Deirdre knew her muse had come back in the form of this "greaser".
"Well, there's the workstation. studio, or whatever you call it. You want
a beer?"
"Sure. Is there anything that has your former works in it, like some
photos?"
"On the table by the red and green chair, there's a photo album." Deirdre
went to
get a couple of longnecks from the fridge, and Alan pulled the books down.
A quick
scan revealed Deirdre's experiments in different mediums and styles. It
seems she had
dabbled in many forms from the serious realistic looks of the Renaissance to
Impressionism, to the simple contemporary abstract. She had even done some
work
using an Irish influence, with knotwork around the edges, and legendary
mythical beings
like wee folk, fairies, and some darker beings like the bain sidhe, or as
they were more
commonly referred to as, banshees. After a few moments of thought, he knew
where her
true talent might be, but there was a stirring within him that wanted to be
part of her next
project.
"I see where you need to go with the next project. I think a mix might be
the
way to go." He took the bottle she handed to him, and swallowed the bitter
ale she
preferred.
"A mix?"
"Old and new. The knotwork and Irish stuff with something really modern.
What better to say 'O'Malley'."
"I think I can see where you a going with this."
"There are many places I want to go." His dark eyes were full of promise
and
mischief.
"I don't doubt that." Oh, the places she could take him! She couldn't
deny the
stirring in her core, and she didn't really care that she might be
considered easy. Society
had already outcasted her, so what did it matter?
"Why don't you get comfortable? I'm going to change out of this wet dress.
Be
right back."
Alan removed his jacket, and Deirdre came back in shorts and a camp shirt.
Her
red hair hung down about her chin in wet curls, and she went over to her
small studio to
gather up some old cans that had dried paint splattered on the sides. She
filled them with
water from the kitchen tap, and took them back to the worktable. Alan put
the photo
album down and came over to her. "I guess you're ready to work."
"Yes, thanks to you, but I think I'm going to need your help."
"Really?"
"Yes, and this method is going to be sort of unorthodox, but very effective
to
make my background." She was uncapping jars of green, white, and blue
tempera
paints, and she took a rather large brush, and dumped the three colours
together in an
empty jar, and swirled them together just enough give a whirl of mixed
colours, rather
than a simple light turquoise, which was what Alan was expecting. He was
curious to
see what her next move was, and was all but floored when he heard say, "Now,
we need
to get undressed." He took a gulp of ale, and his eyes grew wide in
surprise.
"How far?"
"How ever far you want to. I have no issues with nudity, but that comes
with the
territory that people like me are in." She undressed quickly before him,
and did not wait
for him. She was soon nude before him, and taking down the largest canvas
against her
wall. It looked to be thirty-six square feet. She laid it down on the
floor, and walked
back to the work table, then picked up the paint jar that she had mixed the
paints in
before.
"What exactly we going to do?" Alan found her shape to be incredible. Why
was this woman painting pictures instead of making movies?
"Watch and learn." Deirdre dipped the paint brush into the jar, and pulled
it back
out. It was covered with a glob of swirled paint that contained blue,
green, and white,
and their mixed variations. She drew the paint brush over her outer thigh,
and it was
soon covered in the mixed hues. She then went over to the large canvas, and
lied on it
sideways, so that her thigh met the canvas, and left a colourful impression.
The
impression had an unusual texture that was a copy of the tiny indentations
and
minuscule variations that were her skin. She got up slowly, then said,
"It's that simple,
but as big as this canvas is, I need to do this on a bigger scale, and since
you want to be
part of this new project, you're going to help me."
"And if it becomes more than a project..."
Deirdre smiled slyly. "It just does."
Alan was liking this artist's style more and more. Where were the other
women
like her? Did it even matter if there were more? There was only one
Deirdre O'Malley,
bold, bright, and here before him, waiting for him to strip down, wanting
this painting to
be so much more. Alan wasted no time in granting her request, and Deirdre
was pleased
with the result. He was a beautiful gift wrapped in a rough package, but no
more.
"I'm going to paint you up, then you get started, and I'll join you as soon
as I'm
covered," she said, and dipped the brush again. Alan was unprepared for the
sensual,
silky feeling of the wet paint and soft paintbrush bristles against his
skin. It was a cool
touch against his warming skin. This gliding and sliding or colours on his
legs, and
Deirdre's soft red hair gliding daringly on once forbidden places. She was
teasing him,
and she knew it, even though she said nothing. Nudity is part of the
territory, she had
said. How vast was this territory she was part of? He would soon find out.
The brush kept gliding over him, and Deirdre was very aware of his desire,
and
her own was growing, but she wasn't ready to quell it yet, not until they at
least reached
the canvas. As she worked the paint upwards on his body, she skipped over
the hottest
part of him, knowing that the cool paint would bring a chill onto this
special time. She
continued working upwards, and stopped at his neck, and put the brush away.
He
seemed unreal, his hard body awash with sea colours, yet too real, since he
was so close,
and wanting to be closer. "Let's just get started now. If you wait for me,
then the paint
might dry on you. Even though it's tempera, it might get itchy, and it
won't take to the
canvas. Come on." She lead him to the canvas, and they moved down to it.
"Roll with
me," she instructed. She turned her back to him, and rolled over twice away
from him,
then back towards him, and she was facing him. "Now together..."
Alan took this as his cue, and pulled Deirdre to him and they
rolled together, but
as a single unit, not separately. No words were needed to let Deirdre know
that they
should be a single unit. Their mouths met to begin the joining, and they
took to a
personal exploration of each other in their primitive kiss. Each had a
flavour of their
own that the other was willing to savour. The paint was sticking well to
the canvas as it
came off Alan's body, and well to Deirdre as it stuck to her. She parted
from Alan long
enough to roll over, and let the pain that was on her come off to the
canvas. "Would you
paint me now?" she asked.
"But not with a brush. I think I like finger-painting better,
but I want to choose
the colours this time." Alan took a larger jar, and swirled red, green, and
yellow
together with his hand just enough to get a streak of the colours to come
together, and he
pulled a small amount out. He took small strokes downwards, over her
shoulders, back
and breasts, over and around her bottom. Such mesmerizing movements upon
her body
made her arch towards him, and collide, getting the warm colour mixture on
them both.
Warm colours that melted into a fire upon her own flesh.
"Down to the canvas again..." she said, and drew Alan down. He was not
about
to object. They rolled together, mixing the warm hues with the cool ones
under the
skylight, and the night opened to them as Alan's hands explored Deirdre's
painted body.
The faint chemical taste of the tempera paint reached his senses, but it
soon disappeared
as he feasted on the rosy tips that were once covered by it. She reached
down to find his
hot weapon, and stroked its silky length. A gasp came from him, and he came
up, and
met her mouth again in another invasion, as his hands continued to explore
her. Her core
recess was open to him, and awaiting his touch. Plump pink petals were
hidden in dark
red curls, wet with Deirdre's dew, slick with want. This place was
untouched by paint,
and inviting, but Deirdre had her own agenda. She flipped Alan onto his
back, and held
him for a moment. "You might think you want to get to the sundae between my
legs,
but don't go looking for a cherry, because you won't find one. I, on the
other hand,
prefer the entree' to dessert. Mind if I get a sample?" she asked.
"I don't mind giving away samples, as long as I get something back."
"Oh, you will." She proceeded to move over him, letting her soft hair
trail over
his chest, abs, and nether regions, teasing him into letting out a sigh of
contentment. She
enveloped him with her warm mouth, and slid up, down, up, down, slowly,
tightly,
drawing on his length, working him into a marble-like hardness. The timing
was right,
and they had all night to explore other creative possibilities, but this
part of the project
was reaching it's height, and they had to find theirs. She straddled him,
and Alan was
pleasantly surprised when she wrapped her dewy, warm core around him. The
heat that
came from this Irish artist was astounding. She held a rhythm of her own,
and he moved
along with it. The tempo quickened, and their fiery ride into an amazing
crescendo of
feeling and sound. Deirdre looked up to the night, into infinity itself as
she found the
most primitive part of her tightening around Alan, and pulsing along with
him. Alan
rode along with the waves she gave him, only to soon find his own infinity
in the night.
The waves pulled him in, and he produced his own deluge within Deirdre.
They waited a few moments, then came up from the canvas, to see what their
minds and bodies had created. There was a mix of warm and cool colours in
swirls and
spirals, and other unusual shapes and blends. Alan rather liked the effect,
but Deirdre
was not pleased with the work.
"I think it looks great."
"I don't think it's done. Let's let it dry for now, and we can add some
new things
later."
Alan said nothing, but looked at her, and raised his eyebrows. "Come on,"
said
Deirdre. "We can clean each other up, and paint again later. I don't know
about you,
but I'm pretty hungry."
He looked back at the canvas, and followed her to the bathroom. "You know,
a
few spots of magenta would look good..."
The afternoon was stormy, and Deirdre's mind was clouded. Too many demons
were lurking there. She couldn't find solace in the espresso coffee before
her. She was
what society labeled as a "beatnik", and she reveled in her creative flow,
but the ideas
were not coming to her lately. A few sketches on napkins here and there, a
sip of the
mind-blowing brew, then a blank. The jazz was cool, but her spirit was not.
There had
to be something out there to inspire her. Where was her muse? Not in this
place. She
swallowed the rest of the strong coffee down, and left the coffee house for
the violent
beauty of the elements around her.
The heavy rain pelted her bobbed dark red hair, and drenched her navy blue
cotton dress. She knew she must be a frightful sight, but no one was out in
this storm to
see it, as far as she could tell. A rebel had seen the artist from afar,
and this was the
perfect opportunity to learn more. He came over to her, holding a rather
worn umbrella.
"It's getting cold," he said. There was an invitation in his words, making
Deirdre
curious.
"Then why are you out here?" she asked. The raindrops pattered against his
leather jacket, and there was a slickness to his black hair, but she
couldn't tell if it was
dressing gel or just water.
"To bring you out of it. Come on." The rebel offered his hand, and
Deirdre
grabbed it. He pulled her under the umbrella. They walked together in a
silence. The
only noises to be heard were the boomings of thunder, the splashing of
rainwater, and
occasionally a close-by crack of lightning. Deirdre felt a slight sense of
dread when it
boomed too close.
"We've got to get out of this," she yelled over the rain. The rebel only
nodded.,
and lead her to the garage close by.
"I guess it will do, for now," remarked Deirdre. The place smelled of
oil, used
and new, rubber tires, and hand cleaner. "I hope it lets up soon."
"Why are you in a hurry? It's not as though you've been doing much
lately."
Deirdre pushed the rebel away. "How would you know?"
"I know, and I know who you are. Even in this city, it's not hard to
figure out
who the people like ourselves are. You may look different from me, with
your dark
clothes, and sound different, with your cool jazz, and your smooth words,
but we are the
same."
"I didn't let you rescue me from the storm for a lecture. What do you know
about my work?"
"I've seen it. Asked about it, been to the galleries around here. Good
stuff, but
expensive."
"Don't I know it! You would be amazed at how much the galleries and agents
get of that, and now, I've hit a block."
"Maybe I could move that block for you."
"How so?" Deirdre knew smooth talk when she heard it, because she did it
herself, but the rebel's words were full of mystery and fun. "How can you
do that? I
don't even know you."
"Not yet, Deirdre O' Malley. I'm Alan Ramsey, and together, we are going
get
your gears working again."
The storm was clearing, but the sky was growing dark as the sun was going
down, and Alan lead Deirdre away from the garage, and to her building. The
climb to
the top floor was exhausting, but Deirdre liked the privacy it gave her, and
the view, as
she found ideas from it, but her the view in her mind's eye had been
abstract lately,
which was unusual, as that was really not her style.
Alan found the artist's flat to be rather minimalist with lots of colour,
with a few
De Stijl knock-off pieces here and there. There were a few blank canvases
sitting under
a skylight, and some art supplies nearby. Definitely not the bohemian
lifestyle he was
expecting to see. It seemed the only thing about Deirdre that fit the
"beatnik" stereotype
was her love of very strong coffee and cool jazz. Her body was of Hollywood
screen
siren quality. She had curves that put her up there with all those busty
blonde beauties,
like Jayne Mansfield, and Marylin Monroe, but she held a mystery in her
Celtic manner
that they never would have.
Deirdre never would have guessed Alan to be a fan of her work, yet the only
thing that seemed to be stereotypical of him was his job as a mechanic and
the leather
jacket he was so fond of. He was full of energy, and she could see he was
naturally
trim. The wide shoulders, narrow hips, and tight bottom would make any
woman want a
rebel like him, even though some would think him "dangerous" or "a bad
seed". In these
times of seeming innocence, anybody who didn't fit a mold was considered "a
bad seed",
and maybe it was this that brought the bad seeds together to build a
beautiful forest of
creativity, whether that medium be pistons and hydraulics, or watercolours
and oils.
Deirdre knew her muse had come back in the form of this "greaser".
"Well, there's the workstation. studio, or whatever you call it. You want
a beer?"
"Sure. Is there anything that has your former works in it, like some
photos?"
"On the table by the red and green chair, there's a photo album." Deirdre
went to
get a couple of longnecks from the fridge, and Alan pulled the books down.
A quick
scan revealed Deirdre's experiments in different mediums and styles. It
seems she had
dabbled in many forms from the serious realistic looks of the Renaissance to
Impressionism, to the simple contemporary abstract. She had even done some
work
using an Irish influence, with knotwork around the edges, and legendary
mythical beings
like wee folk, fairies, and some darker beings like the bain sidhe, or as
they were more
commonly referred to as, banshees. After a few moments of thought, he knew
where her
true talent might be, but there was a stirring within him that wanted to be
part of her next
project.
"I see where you need to go with the next project. I think a mix might be
the
way to go." He took the bottle she handed to him, and swallowed the bitter
ale she
preferred.
"A mix?"
"Old and new. The knotwork and Irish stuff with something really modern.
What better to say 'O'Malley'."
"I think I can see where you a going with this."
"There are many places I want to go." His dark eyes were full of promise
and
mischief.
"I don't doubt that." Oh, the places she could take him! She couldn't
deny the
stirring in her core, and she didn't really care that she might be
considered easy. Society
had already outcasted her, so what did it matter?
"Why don't you get comfortable? I'm going to change out of this wet dress.
Be
right back."
Alan removed his jacket, and Deirdre came back in shorts and a camp shirt.
Her
red hair hung down about her chin in wet curls, and she went over to her
small studio to
gather up some old cans that had dried paint splattered on the sides. She
filled them with
water from the kitchen tap, and took them back to the worktable. Alan put
the photo
album down and came over to her. "I guess you're ready to work."
"Yes, thanks to you, but I think I'm going to need your help."
"Really?"
"Yes, and this method is going to be sort of unorthodox, but very effective
to
make my background." She was uncapping jars of green, white, and blue
tempera
paints, and she took a rather large brush, and dumped the three colours
together in an
empty jar, and swirled them together just enough give a whirl of mixed
colours, rather
than a simple light turquoise, which was what Alan was expecting. He was
curious to
see what her next move was, and was all but floored when he heard say, "Now,
we need
to get undressed." He took a gulp of ale, and his eyes grew wide in
surprise.
"How far?"
"How ever far you want to. I have no issues with nudity, but that comes
with the
territory that people like me are in." She undressed quickly before him,
and did not wait
for him. She was soon nude before him, and taking down the largest canvas
against her
wall. It looked to be thirty-six square feet. She laid it down on the
floor, and walked
back to the work table, then picked up the paint jar that she had mixed the
paints in
before.
"What exactly we going to do?" Alan found her shape to be incredible. Why
was this woman painting pictures instead of making movies?
"Watch and learn." Deirdre dipped the paint brush into the jar, and pulled
it back
out. It was covered with a glob of swirled paint that contained blue,
green, and white,
and their mixed variations. She drew the paint brush over her outer thigh,
and it was
soon covered in the mixed hues. She then went over to the large canvas, and
lied on it
sideways, so that her thigh met the canvas, and left a colourful impression.
The
impression had an unusual texture that was a copy of the tiny indentations
and
minuscule variations that were her skin. She got up slowly, then said,
"It's that simple,
but as big as this canvas is, I need to do this on a bigger scale, and since
you want to be
part of this new project, you're going to help me."
"And if it becomes more than a project..."
Deirdre smiled slyly. "It just does."
Alan was liking this artist's style more and more. Where were the other
women
like her? Did it even matter if there were more? There was only one
Deirdre O'Malley,
bold, bright, and here before him, waiting for him to strip down, wanting
this painting to
be so much more. Alan wasted no time in granting her request, and Deirdre
was pleased
with the result. He was a beautiful gift wrapped in a rough package, but no
more.
"I'm going to paint you up, then you get started, and I'll join you as soon
as I'm
covered," she said, and dipped the brush again. Alan was unprepared for the
sensual,
silky feeling of the wet paint and soft paintbrush bristles against his
skin. It was a cool
touch against his warming skin. This gliding and sliding or colours on his
legs, and
Deirdre's soft red hair gliding daringly on once forbidden places. She was
teasing him,
and she knew it, even though she said nothing. Nudity is part of the
territory, she had
said. How vast was this territory she was part of? He would soon find out.
The brush kept gliding over him, and Deirdre was very aware of his desire,
and
her own was growing, but she wasn't ready to quell it yet, not until they at
least reached
the canvas. As she worked the paint upwards on his body, she skipped over
the hottest
part of him, knowing that the cool paint would bring a chill onto this
special time. She
continued working upwards, and stopped at his neck, and put the brush away.
He
seemed unreal, his hard body awash with sea colours, yet too real, since he
was so close,
and wanting to be closer. "Let's just get started now. If you wait for me,
then the paint
might dry on you. Even though it's tempera, it might get itchy, and it
won't take to the
canvas. Come on." She lead him to the canvas, and they moved down to it.
"Roll with
me," she instructed. She turned her back to him, and rolled over twice away
from him,
then back towards him, and she was facing him. "Now together..."
Alan took this as his cue, and pulled Deirdre to him and they
rolled together, but
as a single unit, not separately. No words were needed to let Deirdre know
that they
should be a single unit. Their mouths met to begin the joining, and they
took to a
personal exploration of each other in their primitive kiss. Each had a
flavour of their
own that the other was willing to savour. The paint was sticking well to
the canvas as it
came off Alan's body, and well to Deirdre as it stuck to her. She parted
from Alan long
enough to roll over, and let the pain that was on her come off to the
canvas. "Would you
paint me now?" she asked.
"But not with a brush. I think I like finger-painting better,
but I want to choose
the colours this time." Alan took a larger jar, and swirled red, green, and
yellow
together with his hand just enough to get a streak of the colours to come
together, and he
pulled a small amount out. He took small strokes downwards, over her
shoulders, back
and breasts, over and around her bottom. Such mesmerizing movements upon
her body
made her arch towards him, and collide, getting the warm colour mixture on
them both.
Warm colours that melted into a fire upon her own flesh.
"Down to the canvas again..." she said, and drew Alan down. He was not
about
to object. They rolled together, mixing the warm hues with the cool ones
under the
skylight, and the night opened to them as Alan's hands explored Deirdre's
painted body.
The faint chemical taste of the tempera paint reached his senses, but it
soon disappeared
as he feasted on the rosy tips that were once covered by it. She reached
down to find his
hot weapon, and stroked its silky length. A gasp came from him, and he came
up, and
met her mouth again in another invasion, as his hands continued to explore
her. Her core
recess was open to him, and awaiting his touch. Plump pink petals were
hidden in dark
red curls, wet with Deirdre's dew, slick with want. This place was
untouched by paint,
and inviting, but Deirdre had her own agenda. She flipped Alan onto his
back, and held
him for a moment. "You might think you want to get to the sundae between my
legs,
but don't go looking for a cherry, because you won't find one. I, on the
other hand,
prefer the entree' to dessert. Mind if I get a sample?" she asked.
"I don't mind giving away samples, as long as I get something back."
"Oh, you will." She proceeded to move over him, letting her soft hair
trail over
his chest, abs, and nether regions, teasing him into letting out a sigh of
contentment. She
enveloped him with her warm mouth, and slid up, down, up, down, slowly,
tightly,
drawing on his length, working him into a marble-like hardness. The timing
was right,
and they had all night to explore other creative possibilities, but this
part of the project
was reaching it's height, and they had to find theirs. She straddled him,
and Alan was
pleasantly surprised when she wrapped her dewy, warm core around him. The
heat that
came from this Irish artist was astounding. She held a rhythm of her own,
and he moved
along with it. The tempo quickened, and their fiery ride into an amazing
crescendo of
feeling and sound. Deirdre looked up to the night, into infinity itself as
she found the
most primitive part of her tightening around Alan, and pulsing along with
him. Alan
rode along with the waves she gave him, only to soon find his own infinity
in the night.
The waves pulled him in, and he produced his own deluge within Deirdre.
They waited a few moments, then came up from the canvas, to see what their
minds and bodies had created. There was a mix of warm and cool colours in
swirls and
spirals, and other unusual shapes and blends. Alan rather liked the effect,
but Deirdre
was not pleased with the work.
"I think it looks great."
"I don't think it's done. Let's let it dry for now, and we can add some
new things
later."
Alan said nothing, but looked at her, and raised his eyebrows. "Come on,"
said
Deirdre. "We can clean each other up, and paint again later. I don't know
about you,
but I'm pretty hungry."
He looked back at the canvas, and followed her to the bathroom. "You know,
a
few spots of magenta would look good..."
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Saturn
Jan 16, 2002, 3:54:47 PM1/16/02
to
On Wed, 16 Jan 2002 14:40:31 -0600, "Stay Frosty"
<lad...@celticvoice.com> wrote:
<lad...@celticvoice.com> wrote:
>Emotion and Design copyright 2001
> The afternoon was stormy, and Deirdre's mind was clouded. Too many demons
>were lurking there. She couldn't find solace in the espresso coffee before
>her. She was what society labeled as a "beatnik",
This story is verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry familiar. is the writer toronto
based, by any chance?
- M.
_( )_ http://members.rogers.com/saturnglitternglam
| (I could't think of a better username...but at least its not geocities!)
| sat...@uprise-nospammyrecords.com
Saturn
Jan 16, 2002, 4:00:58 PM1/16/02
to
On Wed, 16 Jan 2002 20:54:47 GMT, Saturn
<sat...@uprise-nospammyrecords.com> wrote:
<sat...@uprise-nospammyrecords.com> wrote:
>On Wed, 16 Jan 2002 14:40:31 -0600, "Stay Frosty"
><lad...@celticvoice.com> wrote:
>
>>Emotion and Design copyright 2001
>> The afternoon was stormy, and Deirdre's mind was clouded. Too many demons
>>were lurking there. She couldn't find solace in the espresso coffee before
>>her. She was what society labeled as a "beatnik",
>
>This story is verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry familiar. is the writer toronto
>based, by any chance?
Oh, forget it... I've gotten through the bit when she leaves the
coffee shop. nope. definitely NOT what I thought it was. (i replied
to soon and wish I didn't bother).
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