Venezia
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Venezia

When we are not in Possagno, Sabin makes dinner at home, at the sweet apartment in the Dorsoduro we’ve rented from his boyhood friend Carlo. It’s all luscious foodstuffs from the supermercato Billa Billa. Tonight  we feasted on mozzarella di bufala con tomate e pesto, and green olives and paper-thin slices of chicken with herbs and a rather nice Dolcetto D’Alba… Molto buono.

We’re on a quiet canal with little traffic and the light from the sky still seeps in late in the evening. A bell tower nearby rings in the hours, and tonight riffs of noise drift up, all discussion about the World Cup. The last few nights have seen raucous thunderstorms, so now the air is clean and fresh and smells softly of the sea. Just before noon, Carlo’s daughter pointed out a fish in the canal, a silvery thing wiggling around an abandoned peach pit with a few tufts of yellow meat still attached. In the afternoons, I stretch out my travel mat and do 45 minutes or an hour of yogaglo, and hope that the repetitions of downward facing dog and chattarunga dundasana will combat the calories, of which there are many, all richly enjoyed.

Venezia

 

Venezia

Delicious Girl Porn: CW’s Beauty and The Beast
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Delicious Girl Porn: CW’s Beauty and The Beast

Imagine eating a Mallomar cookie. It gives itself over to you on your tongue, surrendering utterly, melting into sublime marshmallow and chocolate mush. It’s so gooey and rich and sweet that you can’t stop with just one. You sort of hate yourself while devouring the next five, but you’re also secretly exulting in the vice.

I am, of course, talking about CW’s Beauty and the Beast, starring Kristin Kreuk and Jay Ryan, both of whom are utterly gorgeous and drool-worthy.

During the long hours of posing for Sabin at night, I’ve Netflixed a lot of TV shows. I don’t like TV much, in general, so finding shows I enjoy is a challenge. There’ve been some fun surprises. I enjoyed The 4400 and Continuum. I really grooved on White Collar. I have a running daydream about my second career as an art thief. Art thieves get to wear sleek black leather catsuits, use all the coolest gadgets, and go into great museums at night, when no one is around to disturb them. Also, do you realize, they search you when you enter the Pinacoteca Vaticano, but they don’t search you when you leave? If you can get that superb little Fra Angelico panel under your shirt, you might be able to keep it!

Last week Netflix suggested Beauty and the Beast, and I started watching. It took me a few episodes to get engrossed. Then, suddenly, without my even realizing it, I was hooked.

It’s all that gazing into each other’s eyes and talking about their relationship. The desire and the longing, the stolen kisses and murmured declarations of eternal love. The intensity of their oft-thwarted passion–and how they discuss it endlessly. Oh, lordy, my girly heart swoons at all that flowery verbiage. I just can’t help it.

No one’s picking up anyone’s dirty socks, which strikes me as highly romantic.

A few nights ago, as Catherine and Vincent dissolved into each other’s arms in a ravishing tangle of beautiful limbs, I sighed. “They’re going to do it,” I cried, clasping my hands to my chest. “They’re finally going to do it!”

“You’re such a girl,” said my husband, rolling his eyes.

“You noticed?” I responded.

He groaned.

This is the man who phoned last week, disgruntled after a long day’s work on a business trip, and declared, “I’m going to eat, poop, and go to sleep!”

“That’s so romantic,” I replied. I mean, you’d think the world’s greatest living figurative artist could muster something a little less pedestrian, right? But I guess all men have a bit of the beast in them.

“I’m not feeling very romantic,” he muttered. I understood that he was tired and that he hates to sleep apart from me and that he travels because the money is good on these gigs. In their own way, his commitment and hard work as a husband and family man bespeak grown up romance. I reminded myself of all of that.

Still, it would have been nice to hear something throaty and suggestive and oozing with ardor. But that’s what TV is for, right?

Last night, after an extended bit of dialogue during which Catherine and Vincent once again affirmed their abiding love and passion, Sabin threw down his sculpting tool. “I can’t take that show anymore!” He stalked out of the bedroom where we work. We were almost done with our third hour of work, and it was after 10 pm,  so it was a good time to finish for the night, anyway.

LISTEN TO THIS BLOGPOST AS A PODCAST HERE.

 

 

Self reflection
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Self reflection

Self reflection

My husband, missing me, asked for some pictures. I did my best, using a mirror. This is the only picture for public consumption; I got creative with the others.

self reflection

 

Posing for Sabin
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Posing for Sabin

Posing for Sabin

Marriage is hard. The great philosopher of our time, Chris Rock, has this insight into love, but it applies to marriage even more. Just substitute the word “married” for the words “in love”:

If you haven’t contemplated murder, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t seriously thought about killing a motherfucker, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t had a can of rat poison in your hand and looked at it for forty-five minutes straight, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t bought a shovel and a bag and a rug to roll their ass up in, you ain’t been in love. If you haven’t practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, you ain’t been in love. And the only thing that’s stopped you from killing this motherfucker was a episode of CSI: “Oh man, they thorough. I better make up. They might catch my ass.” Never Scared, HBO, 2004

So, added to the usual rigors of the institution, is posing for my husband. He’s in my face, literally, every night. I don’t think the piece he’s making resembles me in the slightest. The two sides of the face are wildly different–am I so asymmetrical? My nose is that lumpy? Really, my ears stick out that much?

But yes, he says, and it’s in process. You can’t judge it for months yet, nor will you ever be detached because it’s a portrait of you. 

Insult and injury. Such are the sacrifices we make for art, and for our spouses.

 

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CATCH SABIN HOWARD & ME 1:00 PM ET 11/10 ON THE POWER OF WE

THE POWER OF WE

THE POWER OF WE

My husband sculptor Sabin Howard & I will be live on internet radio “Power of We” on 11/10/11 @ 1:00 pm ET.

Maryanne and her husband David Raynal will be interviewing us. How fun is that?! Check out their great website!

Call in with questions: 1.800.555.5453

We look forward to hearing from you!

THE POWER OF WE

My husband Sabin Howard’s sculpture
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My husband Sabin Howard’s sculpture

My husband Sabin Howard’s sculpture

He may drive me crazy: leaving his dirty bicycle shorts on the back of the dining room chair, turning off the heaters in the winter so that the apartment stays in the frigid 50’s, over-peppering the food he cooks until my tongue swells and I can barely swallow, staring at me blankly when I suggest that there is no such as thing as a Shopping Fairy who magically leaves groceries in the fridge for him to consume (has he never considered that someone, a.k.a. moi, lugs home the 5000 calories he ingests daily?)… But Sabin Howard is the greatest living figurative sculptor.

Sabin creates beauty, and I respect that.