November 12, 2017

So concentrated on getting through that I may have neglected to observe what a remarkable weekend this has been. Dragged myself to the studio for the November stroll, and had the first surprise when R and his beautiful eyes appeared to keep me company, the second when he brought his rent money, the third when people began buying my paintings, at a rate for which I had no precedent. Five, all in all. Rosemary took the bladder campion on art paper; some woman came in and took the radiant toad (which I will have to repaint, not wanting a toadless wall); a husband and wife from Southern Pines chose three, and may have taken more had I dropped the astonishment and picked up salesmanship. They have the moody moonlit picture of me on the Tubber Road in Ireland; the parula warble on golden paper, and–most astonishingly– the big “Moonlight,” with its mystical animals on an African plain, rhino, giraffes, and, downstage, a black crowned night heron.. I thought that would hang on my own wall forever. It would be interesting to see the rest of their collection. J and L had come up from Atlanta. They suffered the ordeal of Biltmore House at Christmas; then we had some barbecue at Moe’s and it was off to the theater. Our meal included the Platonic Form of yellow squash casserole. Friday the Magnetic was all but filled to the chair; Saturday was absolutely filled, with not a spare chair. The room was full of friends, and the performance went well, and I was very happy. Q’s dad came from Durham (is it?) For the second time, bringing Q’s sister. So, this is to say, trying to put modesty and anxiety aside, it was triumphal, the weekend, and I will try at once not to get used to it and prolong it such as I may. Everyone is asleep downstairs as the north, which is what I can see from the study window, pales.