Petar

I sat in a swirling cafe with my two new best friends. We had just seen some old stuff, followed by an expensive bus ride, followed by a visit to the nearest Kiwi. We were in Oslo. The two girls are from New Zealand and surfing the same couch as me. I must have looked lonely because they intived me to explore with them. Ironicly we were taking the same train to Bergen the following day. But, that is not important. So we sat at a metal table stuffing our faces for the day. We talked about all sorts of topics. However, our conversations were rather circular and kept returning to home and food and sheep. These two girls live on farms, one of them lives in a small town of 31. Not 31 billion, million, or thousand. Just 31 people. It was nice because they are my age and also taking a gap year, two things in common right from the very start. I don't know why but we really hit it off. They were completely absorbed in excitement and curiosity about halloween. I had lots of questions about sheep.



There were other people at near by tables, concidering we were in a corner and my back was to them I wasn't in a prime seat for people watching. We talked for sometime. I have problems sitting still and continualy shifted in my seat. Eventually I decided that it was most comfortable to lean against the wall, this exposed my profile. We continued to talk. Then I glanced and noticed an artist of some sort out of the corner of my eye. This glance sparked a life long friendship. My newest best friend was painting me. Actually, he was in the early stages. He was only sketching me... He started to talk. And talk. And talk. He is famous. There is an 1.5 hour documentary about him. Everyone knows who he is and he doesn't know them, just that famous. a book just came out about him. What else, what else? As soon as he signs the painting it is worth 10,000 kroner, before that-it is worthless...his name is just that big. Petar P. Tale, do you know that name? I didn't. He gives excellent compliments. When I smile, "it looks like 100 teeth are coming out of my mouth." And there is something in my eye...I can't remember what though. I almost lost it at the teeth coment, i mean compliment. And then I looked down at my face. This was after he asked if people paint me often. ''Only in the nude,'' I said. Not really, still haven't warmed up to that topic. But, my face, i looked like a man! Complete with facial hair. And this man was calling himself famous? What else. I started crying when we finaly left I was laughing so hard. It felt so good, haven't laughed like that since a fine meal home from Lowry when Chelsea declared she used to cover herself in mud...had to be there. He gave me his web site. He is also a collector, has a museum named after himself! Bought his first Picasso at age 17. We looked him up and he is legit. Real legit.

Next time you're in the MoMA look for my face, this version may or may not have facial hair...I have heard traveling can change you...your gender?

The famous ride to bergen, yet to come. Ran. Wind. Cheap, yet expensive chocolate. Running shoes cost about 250-300 USD in this country! A bus ticket, eh. 6USD for an hour.

Love,
Claire