Painting

I pushed forefully on the large heavy doors. The light poured in from the windows. The wooden floors were old but firm and the old indian rugs offered silence and warmth to the old factory. Id bought the place five years earlier when the previous owner had to sell the old shoe factory for some extra cash in a pinch. It was cheap. And the space had been untouched. The third floor fabric room had become my bedroom. My canopy bed was the only source of darkness in the room, adn the curtains were frequently drawn in the afternoons to block out the garish sun on its descent to the other side of earth.

My morning, like every morning, consisted of getting up early to stretch and get in a run before heading off to set. The past month Id been consumed with the most fantastic of projects. Id arrive each day to put on the most elaborate costumes and have my hair and makeup done to make me look like an angel. The sets were gorgeous and wild beyond imagination. The director, absolutely insane and hilarious to work with. He is a genius in his own right and writes the most brilliant of scripts, this one being no exception. The other actors are veterans and wonderful to work with. They teach me and make me laugh and learn from me and we share stories and wisdom. Its so much fun when we go out together and enjoy dinner and watch the people watching us. Its like im a member of an elite society of artists, or thats the way John makes me feel. He’ll wear his sunglasses all through dinner and as soon as we walk outside he’ll whisk them off, grab my hand and laugh and laugh as the paparazi snap our photos. They inevitably make up wild stories only their imaginations could come up with. THey imagine we’ve just had a wild night and im a wild party girl. But the reality is, I go home to my bed and my cat and my husband. He tells me about his ingenuity and i admire him before i kiss him goodnight and drift away into dreams.

 

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