An old friend from the Upper East Side on Manhattan is about to come out with the third volumn of her tongue-in-cheek cookbook, written by her alter ego Parsley. She asked me to contribute a naked sketch of Parsley and one of her lovers. I battled with this commission for awhile, and finally made a composite of some life drawings in my studio.
Totally off key! was the response. Parsley is a size 3, not 18. She is young, trendy and sexy. Her lover is black.
Oops. I realise I have completely fallen of the Style Ladder here in rural France where I spend my day weeding the garden in a frumpy paint splattered tee shirt, doing the NY Times crossword puzzle on the Internet, and searching through piles of rubbish to find small treasures in village vide greniers, or garage sales. I can't even imagine let alone remember my misspent youth as a young zizzy UES girl anymore.
This is bad. I am changing my clothes, gulping down a shot of (albeit non-Starbucks) expresso, gritting my teeth and picking up my pen to recommence...
OK. Here is the second attempt and the author likes it. Not exactly a skinny Parsley, but definitely more funky (as opposed to frumpy.)