Up at the villa

The sun was just setting behind the olive groves. The shadows fell vermilion now on the faded grandeur of the villa on the hill top. She’d painted on through the damp violet mornings, the white hot citrus noonday light, through the shining blue afternoons. And if it wasn’t Stephen’s birthday, and if there weren’t guests coming, she’d darn well paint on into the deep crimson evening. They would be dressing now up at the villa. Soon there would be music and twinkling glasses and laughter and dancing on the terrace. She painted on. She had bought herself this hour with cunning foresight. For this morning she’d dressed in her evening gown and sapphires, thrown her painting smock over the lot, and set off with her easel. As soon as she saw they first car creep up the driveway she would tear off the smock and sprint up the hillside. They would forgive the streaks of burnt umber and raw siena and the cobalt blue she suspected she had across her ear. After all, as an artist she had a reputation of delicious eccentricity to uphold.
It was funny that the more eccentric you were, the more talented people assumed you to be. Perhaps a couple more splashes on her face? A hint of viridian and prussian blue should bring out her eyes nicely…

This pattern and a couple more are up in the Etsy store. Click on the pics for the listings and more pattern back stories!