Wake up, late, to a phone call from the designer. Answering tens of questions that were just answered seven hours ago through emails sent before bed.
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Hardly any groceries: spaghetti breakfast. Well technically two bites of banana bread was breakfast, so spaghetti can be "lunch" a few minutes later. Along with an iced coffee.
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Walked to work, began arranging clothing for fashion show-phonecall- from the designer on her way, placing a pick-up order for the fashion showpieces; to go. Car loaded, drive to the High.
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Park where we know to, take the elevator, which leads to the main entrance. At which point people are staring at the designer, the clothing you and your very out of place lot, looking like a rolling pop-up-shop with a purpose.
Inside, security tells where to check the rack and clothes, and signs us in, with visitor stickers which allow us to wander the museum, she said. 50 minutes till rehearsal begins, see some art.
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All the paintings we frantically pass, slowing at ones that lean our direction; we search for the Girl. The Girl with the pearl. Earring.
She is only out of the Dutch Museum and in town for about another month, but this was an unexpected free pass, to see a painting from four centuries ago. On we searched. Remind the coffee minded the teen intern this is the only chance in life to see this painting, for all of us. Remind the rich designer not to touch the sculptures, and art, and displays.
Ask security where to find the Girl with the pearl. 25 minutes till rehearsal.
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The elevator doors open revealing a huge wall sized image of the girl, as in "we put all our money into this huge sign" which must be why there aren't any signs on other floors directing us here.
We make our way through this exhibit in a frenzy, probably to a point of offense- to an art lover. Wanting to stop at each frame and soak in the beauty until it's burned permanently into your retinal memory- but having no time, no proper time at all to inspect one element of design, or spec of paint.
We see her, walking up to her is like walking up to a queen. Framed in layers of gold and lit strategically to shine brightest in the small room. Vermeer's brush strokes inches from our faces. Stunned for a quiet moment, we just stood in a row, in awe. The 1600's woman looked back at us, relaxed. Just as she did to the thousands of other peasants she has reigned over before. 10 minutes till rehearsal- depart for coffee and rehearsal, still gossiping the Girl.
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Coffee and a brownie, and a bit of leering over the models collecting on the opposite corner of the room.
We finish our snack.
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4:00 sharp. Rehearsal. Join the ranks to be greeted by the coordinator of the show, waiting. Chatting. Then, we all continue downstairs.
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Models are chosen, everyone is organized and we re-collect upstairs.
Models begin walking and we wait to see which ones we claimed walk best, which are tallest. What to wear. They spent most of our time telling models how not to walk, how they are walking, and then also how to walk. And we watched them walk and walk again. Then we reconvened below for fittings.
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Aside from picking models and communicating to plus 40 people, fittings are the most chaotic and horrible, dealing with impatient models who are shared with other designers. Girls frantically rippig garments on and off as if they owned them. Remaining focused inside- on what to show, where to tuck, what to pin and photograph it so it's set. Getting models for Fridays media mixer,
And their phone numbers. It's never been so easy for me to get a strange pretty girls number in my life. And also might be the only time I see the Girl in my life.
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Eating bits of chocolate driving back across town to the store to drop off the rack. The designer drops the items at the store and leaves. Set the clothing aside and leave, locking the door of the small dingy store, on a dreary rainy wednesday. Think of all of that art waiting, all of the paintings, they're calling out from their still life frames. And the Girl with the Pearl earring, wondering if she'll ever see me staring back at her again.
Amazing post. Beautifully written, I walked along with you. Thank you for sharing your meeting the Girl with us.
ReplyDeleteOne great aspect about reading this was I felt sort of frantic, and I read faster and faster, slowing a little, then faster again, etc., feeling that sense of urgency the narrator has. Very cool piece. Did I mention you must write? Well, just in case--you must write.
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