Mantra

Sylvia was inviting me to one of her group meetings so I could play the guitar while they recite mantras. Self-deprecatingly I told her I'm not really that good. Liesbeth stood up and opened the shiny black piano and started playing the music to the mantra Sylvia just chanted. She was playing by ear. She told me she has very sensitive hearing. I listened and tried to chant the mantra but I couldn't seem to get it right.

Fré the teacher asked me if I was staying longer. He wanted to show me how to do the "bronze finish" on the two blackboard-black figures.

Marianne

I finally met her yesterday. I must have given her the wrong impression. And she told me she didn't know what to do yet. She didn't have the knowledge and experience. She wasn't an expert. But she was willing to help me.

I gave her suggestions. I asked her to call some people up and to find out what she could about the matter. And she did. She told me I was right. She said there was another possibility.

I had called some weeks ago and complained about another matter. I told her some people didn't take me seriously. She probably called the people involved and someone called me up. He tried to listen to me as much as he could and didn't finish our conversation until I was satisfied. He apologized for letting me wait; he said they had a long list. We agreed to close the matter. He was happy I found the solution.

At the door Marianne scolded me for not trusting her. I had warned her that if she didn't come up with the right solution I was going to sleep it off and let things happen. She declared that I was seeing too many problems. She promised to call me up soon.

Picasso

Today I saw him again, my painting teacher at a local store, where about two years ago I bought a reproduction of Vermeer's the Milkmaid -- I mentioned that to him. He was looking around for some housepaint of the right colour. He and I have always very interesting discussions together. We talk about art, styles, methods, principles, techniques, painters, and just about anything that has to do with painting. In others words just about everything. I told him everything has to do with everything. And he liked the idea. He seems to enjoy our conversation because he listens attentively everytime.

I gathered he had studied at the provincial Art Academy; he mentioned it to me a few times. He just told me he makes his living as a painter doing art exhibits from time to time. (He had told me I could do an art exhibit myself if I painted a lot and long enough.) He just bought an old school somewhere and is turning it into his residence together with his girlfriend.

One thing I noticed about him is that he is shy, self-conscious, extremely careful, and very polite. Sometimes apologetic. His posture and body language says it all. Exactly my opposite. I try too hard to be funny or crazy. So it seems. But he doesn't seem to mind: he loves to chat.

At the local painting club they mentioned it. My personal style. And they seem to accept it. Like I couldn't help it. It's just me. One of the members even suggested giving me the honour of thinking of and giving the club its name. As if I could think of the right name just out of the blue. I declined the honour.

I often wonder why people are extremely open towards me. It must be the local mentality.