Many years ago I fell in love with the work of Francesco. His paintings have a way of drawing the spectator into his work. A different time, he leaves one longing for a visit to the cafe in Paris. Eavesdropping in on conversations, the rattling of an old fashioned newspaper. People watching, with the sights, sounds, and smells of a bygone era. The smell of the horses, and the dust the blows up as they proceed. The coffee and pastries in the shop, the warmth of the cup against your hands in the morning. Imagine, getting dressed or being among the elitist ones that are dressed by others. All those layers of clothes, the hats, and hat pins. The lost hat pins…I wonder how those ladies lost hat pins the way I lose pony tail holders.
Going to a cafe that only has cloth napkins instead of paper, and they have real table cloths. Was their a certain time that the table cloths would go on the tables? It’s always nice to get lost in a painting with your own imagination instead of the dreaded television.