The piece by Vivaldi triggered old memories.
When Mary and I lived on Beacon Hill, I opened an art gallery near Louisburg Square. I put on art shows, wanting to combine the visual with the performing arts as one movement in time and space. I would make a stage out of my vacuum press, putting together 3-piece ensembles from one of my favorite periods, Italian Baroque.
My youngest daughter Ariel lived with me during the summer months. I enrolled her in Walnut Hill School for the Arts during the summer, where she studied ballet and where I discovered some of her young prodigy musician friends. All 3 were young beautiful women like Ariel, which contributed to the magical equation of what was about to happen.
During the shows the crowds were so
immense, cars couldn’t get over Beacon Hill. Mary (who was department head at the Sculpture/Art Institute of Boston at the time) was blown away by the electricity of events/shows. She would say what the fuck’s going on here! Of course, cases of wine helped.