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innocent.
James eats fresh pasta at the local trattoria each day. He converses
with the villagers in nuances and gestures. He drinks life. He
sees earth. He smells wind.
On this third day in San Miniato, however,
James notices a growing frustration from a deep place within, hidden
inside his abdomen. He is experiencing the opposite sentiment from
the one he knew in his New York studio. These two frustrations
are so different, James thinks to himself, that if they were mixed
together, they would probably cancel each other out. James has
become fully aware of the greatest miscalculation in his Tuscany
plan. He is upset with himself for not researching further before
embarking on this journey. He does not understand how such a thorough
planner as himself, did not forecast his current problem. Although
the women of San Miniato are playful, they are also Catholic. James
asked several women in the town to model for him, but they all
refused. He even offered a hefty dollar sum, but not one woman
agreed to pose nude. San Miniato was too small a town for a woman
to risk her reputation. In New York James had the tools to create,
but no feelings to sculpt. Now inspiration swirls within his
body, but he has no mechanism to manifest it. James walks around
town with his growing angst. He is walking in a glass shell,
surrounded by beauty, yet unable to reach out and touch it.
At 8:30
PM, after a burdening day of walking, even the freshness of his dinner
fails to uplift his spirit. James decides to return to his room.
He drank plenty of Chianti with his dinner at the trattoria and suddenly
all the streets look the same. Every piazza he reaches seems identical
to the one he just passed. As James walks, he feels claustrophobic
inside his body. The shell of his skin is too small to contain this
evening’s pasta and
the many sensations he has stored. James picks up his pace, and
his upper body tilts forward over his feet |
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