Today, I met with Deborah and Edgar, the people who signed me on to paint their mural, a curious pair. Deborah reminds me of Laurie Anderson, in that she has short, spiky hair, but she seems to be under the influence of a large dose of some strong sedative. Also, she is very hard of hearing. (All those years of loud, electronic music take a toll, I guess.) She has the whip hand in this pair, for sure, although it's hard to picture her in any kind of dominatrix attire. Wait, let me think about it for a second. OK, no. It was unsuccessful. Anyway, she wouldn't torture you into submission, she'd just stare and take a real long time to explain what she wanted over and over, using different words to explain the same concept, until you finally gave in. At least, that is how it seemed to work with her partner, her life partner, Edgar. As in, "I am so very pleased to introduce you to Edgar, my life partner, Edgar..." she did not add, "who shakes hands like a dead worm," but it would be accurate.

Oh, Edgar. Edgar reminds me of Carol Channing. Blond, friendly, kind of spacy, but definitely not stupid. He's very tall and pale, and was wearing an artistic sweater. Where Deborah (who pronounces her name on the second syllable, de-BORE-uh) is droning and forceful, Edgar is flighty, indecisive, and blinks a lot.

We met at the store so I could see the dimensions of the space I'm to paint. This being southern California, we all arrived in separate cars from destinations a quarter mile apart, and we stood in the drizzle, looking at the blank wall as the two described what they wanted me to do. It was a little odd, because I already kind of knew what they wanted, and had actually sent them several designs. But they wanted to stand in the rain and talk about their "vision" for "rebranding the business," or something, so we did. I brought a sketch pad, to seem "artistic," and at times held a pencil in a pose of contemplation, for added allure.

It was a strange encounter. In between telling me a list of things NOT to include in the painting (shoes, for example, because shoes indicate a specific type or class of person, and they want everyone to feel welcome shopping in the store), Deborah told Edgar how marvelous I was, and what a wonderful painting this was going to be. I got the idea that Deborah was the one who wanted to "rebrand" the store's identity, and was using me as part of her wave of positive reinforcement for the idea. But, you know, I've been used--unwittingly--for worse purposes, and at least this is a good gig for me--it's in a big public space, and I can get some publicity for it, so I can take it. Use me, baby! That's what I was thinking, until I got a little skeeved by it, and had to stop.

Edgar told me he was leaving the entire thing up to my discretion (except for the shoes, of course, which are off limits), and while he was talking, I looked up at him and noticed a drift of barrettes keeping his coppery bangs out of his eyes. I once worked for this woman, Carol, who used to remind me that Everyone Is A Sexual Being, usually after I'd met with a particularly unpleasant client, so I'd be certain to contemplate the idea. Unfortunately, the concept stuck, and so as I looked up at Edgar's sparkly barrettes and then back at Deborah's spiky hair and her elongated, Martha Graham gestures, I got a disturbing image in my mind. Which is unkind. I shouldn't be actively horrified by the concept of my benefactors' sex lives while they are speaking to me, but it was difficult to avoid.

I left them at the store, and as I drove away, I realized that my fears about my abilities and my credibility and my technique had totally dissipated once I saw the space I was to paint. The project suddenly seemed completely possible. And my technique is what it is, and the result will be what it is, and it will be mine, and I know I'll be happy with it.

Something I very much enjoy about life is the way odd and disparate elements can bring about wonderful, unusual circumstances.

Star of the day. . .Vincent