My cousin Kirsten and I have a friend named Marianne, who has lived in Vermont for some years now but who used to be a Valley Girl. She is one of the most consistently artistic people I've ever met, in multiple media—drawing, painting, fabric arts, there isn't anything she won't take on. Between a small child support payment for her son, Rex, and a few sales of her art plus the occasional odd job, Marianne managed to eke out a living without having to sacrifice too much of her time to "the man." So she was always up for an outing if one of us called and said "Let's go to the movies."
You never knew, however, who would be showing up. Marianne was a person who believed that getting dressed was either an opportunity to put together some elaborate costume, or a totally haphazard matter of grabbing whatever was at the top of the ironing basket or on the foot of the bed. If you were her friend, you couldn't be one of those people who felt that the person with whom you were seen in public somehow reflected on your own good judgment; you had to have the self-confidence to be you and let Marianne be Marianne.
The last time I remember meeting her for a movie, Marianne was wearing a lime green and Prussian blue plaid jacket over a white T-shirt with a unicorn on it, paired with a rayon skirt patterned with large pink and orange poppies, rainbow-striped over-the-knee stockings, and her favorite orange plastic clogs.
The weather turned cold this weekend after a long period of Indian summer, and my floor furnace isn't working. The temperatures dipped down into the 30s last night, and all I had between me and the cold was a tiny space heater and whatever clothing I could pile on. I took a look at myself in the mirror this morning and started to laugh: I was Marianne come to life, in a mustard yellow T-shirt, my old navy sweater with a couple of gaping moth holes in it, some pink polka-dotted pajama bottoms worn over the top of baggy gray leggings, black socks, and heather wool slippers, and covering it all a turquoise plaid flannel bathrobe.
So this one's for you, Marianne. Pandemic Chic for the remote worker, circa Winter 2020. When I told Kirsten about my outfit, she laughed and said "Well, just don't go out of the HOUSE like that." At eight months and counting, the pandemic worsening all around us, I guess we'll have to wait and see...
Featuring Gidget and my space heater, and picturing me turning blue from the cold...
"Pandemic Chic Selfie": Pencil, Daler Rowney inks, black Uniball Vision pen, white Signo gel pen, on 140-lb. Fluid watercolor paper, 9x12 inches.
