It's been raining here for the last two days, which has been a bit of a slap given how weirdly sunny and resplendent last week was. At first I was a bit bummed out, but then I reminded myself that I love the rain, and the muted tones and delicacy of light through storm clouds, alla Gustave Caillebotte's Paris Street; Rainy Day:
I remember reading years ago that Toulouse Lautrec was known as la pluie qui marche, or "rain that walks," in reference to his foul disposition. I've always admire that nickname, and thought I'd like to be rain that walks, so today I decided to dress as the rain:
An ancient military issue Norwegian sweater and ashen shirt in a fine linen, both like the underside of a cloud reflected on slick pavement:
Textured silk tie the color of mud and grit in gutters:
Raw indigo denim (which looks most beautiful in a faltering light) like black water in drains, shoes the color of slime:
My favorite scent, which smells wet and crestfallen and optimistic at the same time, like wet dirt:
One concession to reality -- a vibrant yellow umbrella, to keep me from getting smashed by one of Providence's idiot drivers:
La pluie qui marche is born!