Wynton at the Fairmont by Carla Saunders
Probably no one will notice that I’ve been put under house arrest. I’m not Lindsay Lohan or Aung San Suu Kyi. All I want to do is go to the studio and paint, hang out somewhere and draw or take some photographs, even try writing a poem. My studio is neater than my room at home. There are three paintings at the studio waiting for me to complete. But, here at home there are bills to be paid, forms to be filled, magazines to be read or to be thrown away and piles of papers, books and ‘stuff’ waiting to be put someplace. We’ve moved a bookcase into my room. It’s empty. Books are in bags, piled on the floor. Papers are stacked in the bathtub. There is a tower of art that is about to topple. A soft white rabbit ready to pop out of a soft black top hat, sits by my computer. Legacy by Linda Spence is open on my desk.
Michael Ondaatje’s book, Coming Through Slaughter is on top of a pile of books somewhere in this room. Ondaatje wrote about Buddy Bolden a New Orleans cornet player in the early 1900’s. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fezzxFjcf This book is my all time favorite. It’s as if you are reading a poem, or going in and out of jazz improvisation or wandering through an abstract painting. Today and until I finish this room, time on all technical devices shall be limited (after I finish this post.) Permission is granted to go out to buy food or get some exercise. Maybe I’ll listen to some jazz while I get this place organized.