Was I wrong. Dude.
But the overall rustic charm of the place won me over. I overlooked the stifling heat, the all-consuming smell of incense and armpits from all the skinny, hunched over, baggy-clothes wearin', shaggy-beard wearin' artistes. And the death sticks. I didn't realize people still smoked cigarettes. And the wine. Let's not forget the wine. Smelled like balsamic vinegar to me. But then again I'm not much of a wine connoisseur. But it was kewl. Lots of friends came out to support us, which meant so much to Michael and I.
Oh! And the studios...I totally want to rent one. I was totally on the artists' jocks about their studios.
I wanna open up my studio and burn incense...patchouli or Egyptian musk or black love...heh...I said black love...heh...and I wanna display my paintings and open up the windows to hear that dude playing Grateful Dead songs on the roof...and be a cool artist.
Until then, its back to my kitchen table and five-drawer storage on wheels. Yeehaw.
Michael peeking out behind the Sugar Skull. Photo taken by Punk Rock Mom.