We had our work.

May 2nd, 2013, 6am

It was 14.4°C. The wind was calm.

It is the most intimate — to work alongside someone, to battle a painting openly, vulnerably, and to fill the empty studio with Tosca and Coltrane and Madame Butterfly and —
 one of my favorites ever since we worked that day and roasted a flaky lemony fish with crisply pan-fried potatoes and sipped on Chardonnay that I found that day in Rio and I lit some candles and you offered to fold the napkins, “I know what I’m doing!” you said, laughing, and jazz filled the space while I took a photo of you standing, silhouetted against the wall of half-painted canvas, battling that Belgian linen square, and I smiled, perhaps already knowing that I’d want to remember this night once you were gone — Ornette Coleman.

Craig said thanks.

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elle luna

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