Diane Root Inspires Our Inner Pleasure Woman

35 Look the Birdie

Well-written words bring such delight to our lives, if we are listening. Working hard on my own writing, I relish compliments and encouragement from friends and strangers, especially when they describe the impact of my words on their senses.

This short reverie “The Artful Dodger” , written by Diane Root, an artist aka Matakia, gave me more luchtime pleasure than a peanut butter sandwich when I first read it. Ms. Root seduced me completely with her delightful tale of a childhood lunch in Nice, with her beloved uncle and Picasso, the great. Dad was there as wallpaper.

Now that we are leaving for France, traveling through Nice on our journey to “la dolce vita” in Sensual and Superyoung, her impressions of pleasure are a “must read”.

Because I’ve spent so much time in the south of France, passages like this one unearthed my own memories:  “We were to meet for lunch at one of the many bistros that blossomed near Nice’s flower market — a riot of parakeet-feather colors — and the vegetable market, so fragrant that the aromas competed with the blooms nearby. The restaurant, which very probably no longer exists, was a typical family-owned place where the tables were bedecked with red-checkered tablecloths covered with embossed rectangles of white paper.”

 

Let the Sun Shine InWhen Root writes about the food, my mouth began to water: Pissaladière (half onion, half tomato, crisscrossed with anchovy fillets and dotted with tiny Niçoise olives), mounds of moules marinières and a flurry of pommes frites were ordered, to be washed down with multiple bottles of pélure d’oignon, a regional rosé. Oh, and not to forget the brandade de morue, the requisite ratatouille, and aioli to slather on bread, cod and anything else we could spread it on. Aioli, that silken, garlic-licked wonder, was my idea of the perfect mayonnaise. I would have spread it on the floor if I thought I could eat tiles.

Reading the passage again, my mouth is watering, and I’m not in the mood for pizza and anchovies, early Sunday morning.

I love the cadance of Root’s writing. She explodes with flourish in the sentences above, but then turn to short, almost cadance-like phrases of six words. What a gorgeous and captivating writing style, one that took me hostage from work, men, global poverty and the stock market for 15 minutes.

Thank you, Diane.

I printed out Root’s article, in order to study her technique. And Googled her, to know more about her life.  Diane Root uses the name Matakia, and describes herself as une illustre inconnue (“an illustrious unknown”).

Chant for a ChandelierImagine growing up in this environment:

Brought up in an artistic environment, replete with painters, sculptors, composers, musicians, poets, journalists and writers, the fine arts and foreign lands were a an integral part of the peripatetic landscape of her childhood, thanks to her journalist father.   Her appetite already whetted, she traveled to the Sahara, to North and West Africa, Mexico, Central and South America, Scandinavia, the Philippines, Turkey and all of Europe.   It doesn’t take long to see glimpses of them all in the lifetime journey that is her work.   Everything, she says, is grist for her mill.

Life send us delicious pleasure when we least expect them. Reading Diane Roots’s childhood reflection was such a moment for me yesterday. My producticity didn’t suffer very much, when I dropped everything to Google her story. I knew the added joy of visiting her website, and also gaining insights into her psyche.

The same mind that produced the 21st century abstract painting above, also created this collage, which I just discovered, looking for art photos to share with you.

Always SexyFinding the pleasure woman in ourselves is becoming my theme at Anne of Carversville.  Most of us are more than one woman, but we tend to lock up the sensual side of us … the self that laughs freely and runs with the wind at her back … the side that is — yes, delicious.

Each of us must find our own “simply delicious” version of ourselves. Maybe this is the name of my proposed new column: “Simply Delicious Selves”, the engaging woman in all of us. Men, too. Forgive me, guys; I know that I have male readers, too.

When we discover our “Simply Delicious Selves”,  magic happens … and everything else falls into place. You’ll see.

Love,
Anne