At 5:30 am this morning I was suddenly awakened by the most beautiful fight I have ever heard.
It was in French.
The voices belonged to a young, quarreling couple on the streets below.
For several minutes, I laid there in sheer awe of this beautiful language, spoken unlike anything I had ever heard before: It was loud, fast and full of passion and energy.
To no avail, I tried hard to decipher the words. No luck. Expect for this: Swear words can be understood in any language when the right intonation is used.
Finally I couldn’t resist any longer: I got up and quietly undid the latch to my patio door and snuck my head outside. There they were:
Young, beautiful and as I predicted, drunk. By this time, the woman (who appeared to be the one most affected by the drug) had stopped shouting and was sitting on the ground with her face buried in her hands.
After a few moments, he lit a cigarette, and finally managed to get her up.
More arguing, hand gestures and more delicious-to-my-ears French cussing, they finally let up and kissed passionately.
For me, the most comical part of this incident was that they did it all, unknowingly, in front of a bridal gown shop.
This blog was created to share my belief that the art-making process is a catalyst for transformation and
I am living proof.