Dorothy Writing...


It was hot as we waited. The little ones were crying. Thaniel played with his younger brother and sisters to distract them. He was the one who had wanted to come and was anxious in case I decided that we should all return home. It was very hot.
Even when we first arrived at the mountain side, it had been crowded with people. Thaniel had insisted that we arrive early, so that we could sit near the summit and have more chance of seeing him. It soon became clear that there was little chance of that. We had partial shade, under an olive tree. An old man and woman shared it with us, their backs against the trunk.
As I have said, it was Thaniel who wanted to see him, but I was the one who did. I was looking to my left...
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I walk into a mall, and step on an escalator. As I move up, I realise that many people, all around are coming down. Then I realise that they are moving fast, at least three times the speed of myself. For a moment, this makes me anxious. I worry that I will... More

Maurice Utrillo (1883-1955) was the son of Suzanne Valadon.
“Don’t go!”
“I must. I must go to work. “ Suzanne, the odalisque, Suzanne with the moon white face, her dark hair, lapping against his skin. She kisses him, soft. “Go to sleep Maurice, and in the morning, when you wake I will be home.”
She worked as an artist’s model.
He rushes to the window, and watches the street, her back retreating, she turns the corner, she is gone, the street is empty. “Ma mere, the murmur of the sea.”
Utrillo was an alcoholic from an early age.
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