I normally respond by saying something like, "Paying attention while I'm down the rabbit hole."
Like Alice in the famous wonderland, there are some things in life that just draw me in with an inexplicable force. It happens to me daily. I've grown to the point where I don't fight the feeling. I gotta know what's on the other side.
So today after having breakfast at the bar like I do almost every morning and making a list of stuff I need to be doing but ain't doing right now, I walked out and ran into this incredibly well dressed gentleman...
Adriano. The incredibly well dressed Adriano. |
I have a FB page dedicated to all things chic in the eternal city, Roma Trending, so I asked to take his picture for that purpose, and he obliged. I introduced myself as Tamara, and he said, "Io sono Adriano, sono gallerista..."
I asked him to take me to his gallery, which is just around the corner from my house and I never knew it, and he did...
On Via Margutta |
See, the story's already interesting, ain't it?
I'm telling ya.
The rabbit hole is where you wanna be...
So he asks who I work for and I say myself...
it's kinda hard to put into words all that I do, so recently I just describe myself as a creative who writes primarily. I ran home to get my books and business cards. I mean, it's that close.
On my way in the house noticed this above the community trash can. Been living here since October and had never noticed it. Ever. |
Adriano invited me to sit down while he pondered a painting with some potential clients.
These moments right here.
These moments are the reason I always try to have a pen and paper with me.
I soon found myself scribbling down the words, the adjectives he was using.
Noting his mannerisms.
As well as the couple's.
The inflections in his voice. His routine.
What a delicate dance...
wanting to sell something as unique and precious as a painting
but having to strike that balance
between being knowledgable but not insistent.
Secure but in no way 'stressante'...
To ensure the potential buyers feel like owners
of their perspective.
And I imagined a little girl in a corner watching him
bored out her mind.
Perhaps his granddaughter
with wild hair and a crayon box or better yet coloured pencils
learning the lessons he has to give her
passively.
I told him that as he perused and complimented M is for Marrakech.
And he's down to tell me more.
And that, decisively, will be a book.
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