sandandwater

Make a list of things that you would leave to other people in the event of your demise.

As things currently stand, my Last Will and Testament decrees that my my assets both financial and otherwise are to be consolidated and put into a trust for _____________ (name redacted for recipient's privacy). The few personal effects that I would want distributed are more for sentimental reasons than anything else.

To Alessandro, I'd leave my silk scarf. He's always playing with it, rearranging it every time I wear it. When my hair was longer, he used to take the scarf and tie my hair back with it. While we were...involved, he used keep it folded under his pillow at night. He would also retain rights over the glass pieces I have created in his studios these last few months.

To Marcello, certain pieces of my jewelry. His little girls are quite taken with the handmade notions I've put together from dice and bouncy balls, game tokens and the like. His wife, I know, is very fond of my Nana's brooch. And Marcello, my dear, dear, Marcello--to him specifically, I'd leave the bracelet I wear on my left wrist. He would understand why.

To Ro, for Rory I have only one thing I'd like to leave with him. My sketch book. I don't often use it but for this latest project I have. Every stage, every step, has been drawn and drafted. If I can't have the chance to complete what I am working on, I at least want him to have the notes and progress. I need him to know just what it is that has been occupying my every waking moment and most of my dreaming ones as well while I've been in Venice. And I hope he'd understand what I have been attempting to do.

Posted some three or four months into Pippa's return to Venice.

[Filtered to Rory, Cait, Tadhg, Zippy, Aryn, Smecker, Bobby Barnes]

My friend Marcello, he’s someone I’ve known for a long while and we lost touch when I left Venice the first time. We’ve since reconnected and it’s as if we picked up right where we left off. Old jokes are still funny; we enjoy each other’s company as much now as we did back then…we’re slowly catching up on the details of each other’s lives. It’s…nice, actually.

He’s a photographer. A very gifted photographer. He sees the world through a camera lens, sees light and color, contrast and depth…thinks in macro and micro. He always amazes me with the way he can turn the ordinary into something extraordinary. I’ve been letting him photograph me lately. In the evenings when natural light is horrible and I’m dead tired from working with Alessandro all day, after I’ve had one glass of wine too many in an attempt to relax and unwind. After we’ve laughed too much, cried too little and probably not eaten enough to call it dinner.

Marcello is great at getting me to step outside my comfort zone. Convincing me that I want to do things I would never consider acceptable. He has a knack for getting me to trust him, his vision, the art. He’s also very, very skilled at reassuring me, giving me back the confidence I’d lost. He has a way of knowing what I need to hear, how I need to feel. He can make me feel beautiful.

My scars aren’t things to be covered up. My hand isn’t something to hide. Stretch marks, burns, freckles, moles…my big, ugly feet—he loves them all. Proof of life, that’s what he called them the other day. Points of interest uniquely my own. I didn’t really believe him at the time and I think it shows in some of the shots, the look on my face at times—I’m only humoring him. But others…if I step outside myself and look at them objectively, as pieces of art, the way he intends them to be seen and not as if I am looking at myself in the mirror—I can almost see what he means. I understand what he wants from me. And I can see that I’ve given it to him.

I can be beautiful. I don’t have to hide. I don’t need to be ashamed.

There is truth in nakedness, an honesty there. Vulnerability. Strength.


( Photographs, not dial-up friendly and by American standards one is likely deemed not safe for work )



You might think I’m being disingenuous here, keeping this filtered to the handful of people I am sharing these with, but I’m not. I trust you. I know you. I’m comfortable enough with you seeing these images and knowing you aren’t going to look at them as anything other than what they are. One man’s art.

Besides, can any of you just imagine if James Potter saw a semi-nude portrait of me? I’m sure no one wants to listen to that little beast share his thoughts and perversions on the fact that Pippa Kerr has breasts.