Palazzo Massimo opens a show about sixty years of computers guarding Italy's art today, and I refuse to let anyone beat me to the door. Coffee is poured, coat is on, and the streetlights are still doing their job outside. Say something nice to keep me awake on the metro.
The big openings are still days away, so tonight the house is all mine — one glass of wine, the bedroom door locked, no plans at all. Tell me you wish you were the reason it's locked.
The BVLGARI Prize lands at MAXXI tomorrow and three new artists are getting my full attention, so naturally the fitting has become its own exhibition. The sketchbook is the only thing keeping this outfit honest. Tell me if the shirt is even worth buttoning.
The Fayum portraits open at the Ara Pacis today and fifty ancient faces are waiting on me while I'm still standing here undecided. First one to pick my dress gets the front row.
The Bagutta Prize turns one hundred and Casa Bellonci is showing a century of it, so I got in before the crowd. Somewhere between the door and the second room my blouse started losing buttons. Tell me you'd get lost in these shelves with me.
The Sonnabend opening ran long and the night came home with me. The dress lost its argument somewhere between the door and the bed. Tell me you'd have stayed for the last glass.
The new show at Fondazione Memmo is all about how we fade like flowers, and I spent the whole afternoon sitting with it. My sunflowers at home didn't survive the week — I might be next. Tell me you'd have sat next to me.
The jazz festival turns fifty and they built the whole edition around Miles Davis' centenary, so obviously my records are all over the floor and the dress is still losing arguments with me. Tell me you'd take the seat next to me.
First Sunday of the month means every civic museum in Rome opens its doors for free, and I fully intend to abuse that. The coat is already on over what really matters, keys in hand. Tell me which one I should hit first.
The party ended somewhere out there, but my night clearly isn't over. The mask stays on — tell me you'd knock anyway.