Today an American friend studying in Kent came for a visit. Meeting at St. Pancras made me realize how easily I could hop on a train in be in Paris, my second favorite city. The thought was tempting and even a friend whom has a house in the South of France has beckoned me only yesterday to come for a month or two.
Alas, I cannot leave London now. My time here is so precious already that the thought actually tears at me a bit. And showing my friend My London made me love the city all the more. The library's quirky metal stairs and endless books, the rain on the umbrellas as we sip coffee outside St. James's Piccadilly, even the odd damp Londoner's huddled on the Tube. To me it is great treat, a living art piece that one is allowed to jump into like Mary Poppins into a chalk drawing.
I was able to share the frustrations we American's have coming to live here: the Motherland. It is not made easy for us and she, at university, pays more than three times what our UK and EU brethren pay. Yet we come, we odd American's, and wonder at our silly ancestors for their ill-fated need to escape in the first place.
On a warm grey rainy day, such as today, watching pigeons over rooftops, I cannot imagine a place I would rather be. Oh you wretched Puritans, what could you have been thinking.
I lived as a 1950s housewife for three years. Click below to see that project.
Donna Davis is a painter and printmaker living by the sea. Her work deals with women, history, the seashore, and moments in time. Follow along to see the process behind the product.