The photo is from 1978. My son, his truck. Behind him, my truck.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Frida Kahlo on Drugs

Wednesday, January 18, 1995

Justine is an artist with big dangling earrings and a gypsy rag around her hair.  An attractive woman, thirtyish, with a dimpled smile, she bought a wreck of an old house in La Honda and simply maintains it - that is, she hires me to maintain it, calling me frequently to replace a faucet washer or clean a gutter. 

We joke a lot.  I tell her that her paintings look like what would happen if Frida Kahlo dropped acid.  She laughs.  "That'll be my epitaph: Frida Kahlo on drugs."

 As I work today, she's painting what appears to be a naked woman with a red body undergoing an abortion performed by lizards. 

I'm a licensed General Contractor, insured and bonded, charging my full professional rate.  My job today is to hang a curtain rod, mend a door latch, replace a light bulb.  I tell her, "You should get a husband or at least a boyfriend, Justine.  This is honey-do stuff.  Think of all the money you'd save."

"You're expensive."  She stabs black paint at her canvas.  "But you're cheaper than keeping a man around the house.  And you're a lot less trouble."

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