The artist in me was in love with Paris. Never mind that in 1960 nice Midwestern young ladies did not travel third class across an ocean—alone!—to visit art galleries and sketch. What's more, at twenty-eight years old, I should have already been married and living in the suburbs. The evening I met Yves, I still believed that if I had a fabulous studio in France, my life would be perfect.
—For more Where Are You? answers, visit Raidergirl3 at An Adventure in Reading. (Text by me, based on today's read.)
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It was the most exquisite painting I had every seen. In all Yves' work, the paint was thick and tactile, without detectable signs of brushwork or palette knife. It was as if paint had fallen by its own power onto the canvas without calculation or design and had magically twisted and intertwined to become these objects of beauty. I was transfixed. (p. 24)—From A Gift from Brittany by Marjorie Price (Source: Review copy, see review policy)
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