Every once in a while, as a meander around the globe, I come across something that stops me in my tracks.
A gorgeous building.
A beautiful child.
The wing fan of a colorful bird.
cue: rainbows and unicorns
More likely, it’s the shop window of a butcher hanging freshly cured Soppressata. (Seriously- you’ve got to try it. Slice thinly and pan fry. Your welcome).
Or, dog shit on my Manolo Blahnik’s.
Yesterday it was a teacup Pomeranian that had pierced ears- I kid you not.
But last week, in Chicago to visit with Princess Bryn, it was during a spin through the Waldorf Astoria lobby that I stopped talking mid-sentence, turned on my designer heels, and quietly advanced in the opposite direction.
To touch the head of a woman.
Made of sugar & salt.
I wondered what size shoe she wore or if she liked Italian dry sausage, or if she would have pierced her dog’s ears?
Cabeza de Mujer Series
(Head of Woman)