
Mon Cher Dom,
Oh, How thrilled I was when I received your latest correspondence. Actually, I let it sit in my mailbox for a week, just to prolong the joy of coming home to a letter from you for several days.
I’m beginning to have doubts about finding my understanders down under. My run at the Club Paw Paw was terminated after one show. Here’s one review:
“Is this the direction of American Art? Ms. Hagen has finally premiered her much-publicized spoken work performance,‘Slipped in A Dry Spot’. The title itself is open to several interpretations; all of them repulsive. Perhaps the show would be better appreciated had we taken hallucinagenics–or amphetamines.â€
Rather poorly worded, isn’t it? Je t’emmerde.
Honestly Dom, being a kept woman is different than I’d expected. While Paolo is sublime and never refuses my whims, his colleagues in art-import inhabit a different world. Their girlfriends and wives all look like they stepped off the pages of fashion magazines. You know, the young, outdoor-vacation types. Paolo tells me to spend more time with them, to “shop, do lunch.†I tell him:â€No, no, I’m much happier creating.†He seems to be encouraging me to do so less these days. He must be jealous of my art and its place in my life. Something else rather odd: he and his cohorts speak Dutch whenever the women are around. It’s just that I could have sworn that Paolo told me when we first met that he spoke only English. At least he’s still surprising me, which has always been one of my favorite qualities about him.
Well, I’m off for now. Weather’s been beautiful the past couple of days. Bit of an Indian Summer (I wonder if it’s called an Aboriginal Summer here). Cheers, Mr. Casual. See you in my visualizations.
The Bella of Oz