March 2024

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At 6 PM, my cell phone rang. It was Honza, an artist from Prague. Also, the hotel sent a message: Mr. Mun "no name," couture called. I refreshed and dressed. Here is my outfit for tonight. A black vintage velour dress is from a thrift shop Jet Rag in West Hollywood, paired with a Hermes belt, a neckless made of a Waltham gold pocket watch from the 1950s, and a pair of black-red-stilleto shoes by Temu. Over my naked shoulder a Triangle shaped gloss bag in black with a large orange moon clasp. My face was crowned with Mac red lipstick. I topped it off with a dark, red-felt Italian Berbry-Cory hat, adding flair to my look. This accessory makes you stand out in a crowd.

Around 7 PM, I went down by an elevator. A stylish elderly woman asked: “In the hotel lobby, I observed a peculiar gathering of people, do you know who they are?” I responded: “They are an eclectic assembly of affluent artists, and rich life connoisseurs as the cynic Diogenes would describe them. They were preparing for their live play performance liturgy, "Art to Ashes, Art Performance Liturgy." "Is it only open to men?" the elderly woman inquired. "No," I responded, "I'm also part of the group, not wealthy, but keen on engaging in conversation." The elevator halted in the lobby. A man inquired if I was heading downstairs. I replied affirmatively. It was Claude Chevillot, one of the most renowned and eccentric French painters. He belonged to the circle, an artist with a captivating tale.

His art sells for upwards of 1 million. As if written by Colette, I remember the Paris Match expose story of two years ago: his jealous girlfriend artist, devised a cruel romantic punishment to get her revenge. She gave him a half pill of Rophynol. As he slumbered, she adorned his nude body with large abstract yellow and green snakes using Charvin's extra fine acrylics-Goth Set. Then she drove him on a Sunday in her convertible Peugeot 208 to Place de Vendome to be discovered by Parisians, who suggested some clothes and sunscreen as they devoured chocolate croissants from the vendor. Next year his spring art show at Bastille Gallery titled: "Kidnapped by a Woman" sold out in a matter of 2 days. But now a unique Art Salon greeted me as the elevator doors opened. I was in the mists of something very special. I presented my press credentials and gained access to this thrilling venue. Just five feet away, a gold rope blocked the surroundings to the Art Liturgy tables.  Originally accommodating 60 guests, the art extravaganza quickly expanded to host 180 attendees’ The waiters  

circulated with hors d'oeuvres in small bento boxes, each accompanied by miniature forks. Delicacies included thin slices of Wagyu beef adorned with Parmesan wine cream on brioche, alongside wild mushroom blinis stuffed with Mimolette cheese.  As I savored a bite-size gallery cake, my attention was caught by a stylish couple playfully feeding each other hors-d’oeuvres. Suddenly, a glint caught my eye—a shimmering object fell to the floor. My senses tingled with anticipation as I noticed something shiny.  Seizing the opportunity for a good deed, I hesitated for a moment before striding purposefully towards them. There, on the ground, lay a stunning bracelet. I lifted it and inquired of the woman if it belonged to her. She gasped audibly, expressing her gratitude: "Thank you, thank you. It's my grandmother's precious gift—a 1940 Tiffany bracelet engraved with the Latin phrase: 'Amantes

in lecto manent,' meaning lovers stay in bed." With a smile, I assured her, "Certainly, you deserve it." Laughter bubbled between the couple as relief of could precious loss washed over them.

It seemed the Champagne in flutes bubbled to Beethoven's 5th, signaling a unique event. Amidst the crowd, I heard my name, Lucienne, called out. Approaching was Claudio, hardly recognizable, akin to a character from Shakespeare's Romeo ready to serenade Juliet. His clothes were fitting black Versace ballet pants and a ruffled white shirt. I would envision him strutting the catwalk at Los Angeles Fashion Week, shirtless, igniting excitement among the senior female audience.

Respecting mature women's lives is key, infusing them with joy rather than boredom.  My heart went out to Claudio, I refer to paintings of Amanda his girlfriend. How much a man loves a woman when he paints her eight times? Then she left him for the auto dealer in Madrid, Spain, promoting Byd, a Chinese electric car brand. Our lunch date was set for the next day, where I planned to interview this "artist with a story" about his paintings, love affairs, and social scandals—a hip interview indeed. 

Hypothetically, if someone were eavesdropping on our conversation, perhaps in Café Doney in Rome, they'd find their ears tingling and knees itching. Their secret reward? A conversation piece with friends to cherish. At precisely 8 PM, the announcement of the Art to Ashes Liturgy Art Performance rang out with fanfare from Verdi's Force of Destiny. This majestic introduction was followed by the melodious strains of the 16th-century baroque viola da Gambist, skillfully played by Henrike Goldfarb from Thornton School