Life of Wry

… always an artist.

Met my old kindergarten buddy Sarah for lunch today… hoping these meet ups just keep going and going, because damn they’re fun.

One reason we got together today was to transact an art deal.. that is, I expressed interest in one of Sarah’s paintings at an art show last month, she said yes, she’d set it aside (yay!), and today I went to Sac to pick it up.  Here it is (it’s actually two pieces):

Probably too small for the space above the fireplace, but sure looks great against that wall color.

Here it is closer up:

Besides being colorfully rich and appealing, it’s just incredibly charming.

I’m so happy to have this painting! Will love looking at these two folks walking down the road every day.

So here’s an early work by the artist. From 3rd grade.. our unit on the pilgrims, apparently. You can see Sarah had it then, as she does now.. a keen sense of human goodness.

This picture comes from a book our teacher assembled of all of our Thanksgiving art that year.  I had a similar interpretation of that first feast:

I should point out, the rest of the drawings in the collection look nothing like these two.. so I imagine Sarah and I were sitting next to each other. I expect I was an admirer of her art even then, and just plagiarized her entire theme–embellishing with some hills, a tree and, of course, the sun to make it my own. Ha!

I’m really appreciating, and loving, this story:  That there was a pint-size friendship that existed way back in the early sixties, and evidence of a wee artistic “collaboration” between 8-year olds. That then, following graduation from high school, a 40+ year gap happened in which we each lived full, entire lives, becoming people in (or near) our 60s.. only to discover, all this time later, that we live within easy driving distance and can meet up occasionally for lunch. And that one of us is still a great artist, and the other of us can buy her fabulous art and hang it in her very own house.

Is that great or what?

Mrs. Von Mueller would be so pleased.