What a dreary day. Already I'm feeling like I'll need a nap soon. I hate overcast days. But it's supposed to be warm-ish so maybe the ice floe at the end of the driveway will diminish. Maybe if I go out with some salt it'll disappear altogether. That'd be good.
March 6--John Singer Sargent, La Carmencita. Emily stood at her mirror in her golden yellow dress. She admired her narrow waist and how the skirt flared out from it like an overturned flower. The bodice, what there was of it, fitted her closely, the built-in corset holding her like a lover's hands. The neckline barely reached her shoulders and almost covered her nipples. She had a beaded and fringed wrap to cover herself with, to provide a bit of modesty on the ride to the party and to appease her dragon of a grandmother. She fully intended to leave the wrap on her chair once the dancing began. Emily was grateful for her pale gold skin and dark auburn hair. They made it possible for her to wear this vivid yellow dress instead of the insipid pastels favored by most young women. She gazed at her reflection. She wore no jewelry, nothing to interfere with the expanse of flesh she intended to show off tonight.
Enjoy your day. I hope someone else writes and posts something too. I want to read your stuff too. Please? Just a little scribble?
--Barbara
1 comment:
I loved the yellow dress. There was enough detail, but on closer examination, the dress was drawn in broad strokes and only give the impression of being detailed. The artist seemed to put a lot more detail in the face.
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