The week seemed to run by in hyper-time, and i didn't get to exert any creative energy on blogger or anywhere else, unless you count LA PEINTURE.

The stress level of the week was moderate most of the time, with a couple moments of code red when we rigged the scaffold to do the 35' high sunburst of bartlett St. My dad seems to think I'm going over budget, and I need to start thinking about cutting corners. I'm of the mind that there couldn't be a less perfunctory prep, unless we painted right over the cracked, peeling paint. Sigh.

Last night Terry and I went to see an old French film at the castro, and I found myself uplifted by the experience. When we entered the theater, the old Wurlitzer organ was playing LA VIE EN ROSE in baseball-time and we giggled at the wonderful otherness of it. I found myself thinking about value and romance, and the book of short stories i want to write which would explore those themes.
Sitting in the theater, as the lights dimmed down, I was struck like lightning with the conclusion that exposure to life, and people and ideas and culture saves us from our own nihilistic thoughts. In that moment, I realized that the Herculean task of painting our old house has a certain, preciousness to it - if i can find it. I can be Chaplin - or harold Lloyd - riding on the hands of the big clock tower, or scrambling up and down the scaffold, with gallons of beautifully colored liquids -clanging against each other, gently seeing to every inch of the old, wooden facade. A nail or a screw here, and some sanding there, and as we move the scaffold another 10' feet, the poor, broken old house emerges with a sparkle; and every passer-by smiles, and thanks us for taking care of the old place.

This week I will begin the first installment of the "Painting the Gingerbread palace" feature on filbert.net. There will be pictures and stories. I hope everyone stops in to take a look.