|"Magic Street" by Leonid Afremov. This guy, while kind of a|
one-trick pony compositionally, nevertheless paints in
exactly the way I saw things in my head as a child.
(One of the best desserts I've ever eaten was in a dream. It was a roughly coconut-sized ball of a really perfect macaroon, subtle and smoky-tasting and coated in chocolate, and filled with something that was like what whipped cream might dream of being on a night of glory. I was so upset it wasn't real. To further complicate things, when I was in Venice at the age of 18 I found a tiny little bakery that sold something almost like it. It was a sweltering hot evening and they had these slices of a perfect chocolate shell filled with a cool, dense stuff that was like mousse and like buttercream but better. I devoured it with great joy. The funny thing was, I could not find the bakery again. Not the next day and not the next. We retraced the entirety of Venice, which is, may I remind you, an island, and not a large one. It was gone, as if - yes - I had dreamed it too.)
|Here is a sunlit piece of jellyfish I found while camping in|
Point Reyes last summer. Seriously, what's not to like?
|This is what my dad calls elf money - stuff for propitiating|
the spirits of the weird and the playful. You need this.
And somehow, for me, knowing someone else loves that sound the way I do, wants to immerse us back in it like that, well - it makes the world just a few shades more marvelous. And what's a museum for of not for that?