It's been a busy day at the dive shop. I like when it's busy; time flies, but I don't get much writing done, or reading, or knitting, or video watching. I suppose I should work for my pay instead of just amusing myself with my own pursuits. Seems a better deal for the money, at least for Mr. & Mrs. Boss.
April 14--Pablo Picasso, Les Demoiselles d'Avignon. The five of them stood looking at the painting. "It doesn't look like us at all," Louise said. "At least you look like a human," said Pauline. "My face looks like a donkey or an ape, and my breasts," she hefted the weighty orbs, "look like scars left by a trowel." She sniffed her disdain and turned to dress in her shabby cotton shift. "It's a good thing he pays well," said Jeanne. "He did all right when it came to my ass." She rubbed her hands down those rounded cheeks, her eyes closing at the sensation, then her eyes snapped open. "But he made my face look like a deformed baboon." The four raised their eyebrows at each other but kept quiet. "I don't look so bad," Trixie said. "He made my eyes crooked, but they are a bit anyway, and he left off my right tit, but I'm happy." The one they called La Goulue, the glutton because she was always hungry, was silent. Even though he had painted her face nearly black and her arms and legs were out of proportion, she just smiled. "We will be famous," she said and left the studio to get home before dark.
Not so bad. I often wonder what the models' reaction to Picasso was. Now I know.
--Barbara
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