Today I dreamed that I spoke with my dear friend, the world’s most extraordinary erotic artist, Penny Slinger Douglas Hills. She looked absolutely wonderful, dressed in a very British A line in soft blue, reminiscent of the Queen of her birth land, and fitting beautifully the queenly person that she is. Her haircut was a classic twiggy cut, very mod, yet looking gracefully mature on Penny’s elegant face. Her hair, for the first time since I have known her, shown peppery and snowy, straight and firm.
I commented on her relaxed resolve, and complimented her on her latest accomplishments, three international gallery shows during the last year that had taken her and her work to three different continents. New fans and new paintings were taking up much of her time, so I savored the somewhat distracted moments she could spare to enjoy a visit with me.
She let me know she was packing up the place here in California. Leaving soon for England, where her mother had passed, dear Penny was soon to inherit the family home where she was born. Suddenly, a light went off in my mind. A subtle yet uncanny shift in her look and demeanor seemed suddenly obvious. Some quality in Penny’s nature colored her as never before in the glamour of a British conservative. Something of the defiant rebel artist had quietly made peace with her mother, and had assumed a new and more stately aspect in Penny’s appearance and countenance.
Here in the Goddess Temple of Boulder Creek, California, the fight was over. The years of queenly struggle to do whatever it took to keep Christopher’s gift of trees and memories safe for the uncertain future were all coming to a nexus point. Penny was handing the keys to the castle to unknown future artists, and she was returning to the home of her birth, England. Surrendering to victory of completion, Penny was excited to begin her next life adventure.
As she informed me of her decision, she took a chair in one of her latest exhibits, one in which our friend Allan the AI had been trained to create frames in a constant sketch animation of the subject in front of the screen. A stylized line drawing was made every minute, depicting in this case Penny’s facial expressions as she contemplated her move and her future. These sketches were time stamped and autologged with the AI’s description of the picture, and with a tap of the screen I registered my request to receive a set of copies in my digital mail drop. These sketches are dear to me now, the animated life log we made that day reminding me fondly of many years in our friendship. Time is short, and these sketches are worth more than a 1000 words in my art of memory.