by Andrea Mulder-Slater “I have a reservation.” I was at the front desk of the Fairfield Inn in Smithfield North Carolina – a welcome position after the day’s drive, which had taken us through states crippled by an early ice storm. “You are in room 106” , said the angelic young man behind the counter – who was most certainly fresh out of finishing school – courteous, well mannered and highly manicured. Sigh. The lobby was lovely, with soft colors and an accent wall behind the counter depicting tree limbs. Or a spider web. Or maybe capillaries. Photo: Fairfield Inn Either way, it was stylish and also hypnotic. I felt instantly in harmony with my guest services agent who - in the time it took to write down my license plate number - walked me through three of my past lives. Twice. Then the phone rang. Opposite to the check-in zone, was a seating area, plucked straight out of an episode of Mad Men, season 5. Very modish with a long low table, orange lounger, an
Showing posts from June, 2014
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by Andrea Mulder-Slater My time in art school seems like it happened an eternity ago. Mostly because it's been an eternity since I attended art school. I love to make art, but I also love to write and I find that the words don't ever seem to flow at the same time as the paint. To give you an example, it took me approximately 17 and a half minutes to write that last sentence. In other words, here's what I've been up to lately... Did you spot the disappearing (and reappearing) roof? Artists are magicians. No, really.
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