My third grade class exercised a broad curriculum with the intention of bestowing an education that was not just academically proficient, but colorful in variety of lessons learned. Often, our Ms. Ellen would gather her students to venture into a modest but carefully kept garden, where each student was given a task such as transferring a single periwinkle from its pot to the earth. Precocious and at times, overzealous, I took pride in my quest for the role of teacher’s pet. The days in the garden, to my dismay, were a different story. The days in the garden in the eyes of Ms. Ellen, I could do no right.
Every Friday, my mother brought me along to her manicure appointment at a beauty shop that was as colorful in appearance as it was in both staff and clientele. Each wall was painted a different pastel hue and a corresponding employee dressed as if appointed by a decorator to complement the decor. The receptionist was a former model with a severe, platinum bob and an affinity for a certain pair of skin tight denim with leather stirrups that I repeatedly placed on my eight-year-old’s Christmas list but to my disappointment, to no avail. After hearing rumors that our hairdresser moonlit a local nightclub solely dressed in a sequined thong, I suggested with a casual curiosity our attendance in lieu of Blockbuster on Friday nights but like many other ambitious pursuits, I was denied. Nonetheless, Salon Beyond Basics was a place I felt a strong sense of kinship and camaraderie and regarded my education every bit as important as my days with Ms. Ellen. Deep down, I knew my mom did too, which was why once a month I was allowed a manicure from one of two women seated side by side in the very back of the salon.
In my eyes, Jenny and Lisa were the tip of the hierarchy; reigning queens who humbly accepted frosted glass tables and Herman Miller chairs as their modest thrones. Once a month, I sat with with my hands submerged in paraffin wax and listened to Jenny dispel wisdom, gossip, and lessons arguably unsuitable for a child my age and in that regard, all the more ardently solicited. Prior to my appointments, I spent the entire month in anxious anticipation but more importantly with my mind on the difficult task of choosing a request for Jenny that was even more challenging, far more elaborate, and inevitably more satisfying than the months before. Jenny was extremely talented with nail art, and using a paintbrush as fine as a single strand of hair, would succumb to my longings for intricate art corresponding to whims of the current season. In the winter, tiny snowmen and reindeer with red rhinestone noses assured my fingertips would never reach my gloves, and in the spring, necking swans and boxes of chocolates were an early indication of the huge romantic I am to this day. In August, I suggested chalkboards with scribbled words and apples for the teacher and on the first day of school, bore a confidence unaffected by fears of having the proper sneakers or the coolest snacks.
Our days in the garden, I would employ my favorite tactic and bat my eyes to Ms. Ellen, sticking out my lower lip and explaining with pronounced regret that on account of my recent manicure I was unable to partake in any sort of digging in the dirt. Her response was harrowing and as a third grader in complete worship of her teacher, distressing close to the point of abandon. But just not quite.
On the first day of fourth grade and during the initial calling of role, my new teacher Mrs. Robyn noticed my fingernails and asked to see me after class. She raised her reading glasses from their place on her chest and upon inspection, let out an excitedly pronounced gasp. Fourth graders are void of garden duties but at mention of basketball in PE class, I would escape to Mrs. Robyn’s empty classroom where we took turns painting each other’s nails and she taught me lessons I could never dare to forget.
I found a new novelty manicurist in Los Angeles. Her name is Jaeme of Kleur Nails and though she travels per appointment and special events, was positioned today at Freak City where I was lucky enough to make her acquaintance and walk out with a fantastic new set of nails. The picture above is of my nails, but for more information and a look at their amazing work, check out the company’s website at kleur.me.
Part one, Damien Hirst:
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View the entire online edition here: WHITEWALL MAGAZINE
Click here for the full text: Whitewall Magazine Armory Week- Gabriel Kuri!
Jon Kessler:
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I was truly honored to interview such a talented artist and delightful coffee companion.
Kime Buzzelli’s pictures are magical and her spirit magnetic- please read my article for Flaunt Magazine below!
