In the hotel lobby, each day, Augustino unfolds his tables.

On one of his tables he places undecorated bowls,miniature football helmets, action figures. On the other table, where he sits and works, he has finished products for sale, hand painted and top coated with a lacquer finish.

He dips his brush into color and applies paint, then cleans the brush in a glass of water and switches to another color. 

The little bowls are finely detailed.

The one I pick up has turtles swimming on the inside. Any of these will look good on a coffee table and put conversation in motion. They make a good place for rubber bands off your morning newspaper, hard sweet peppermint candies, wandering coins.

 An ancient God, playing flute, dances around the inside of a different bowl by his right hand. It takes me to a far different time and tempo.

Whether Augustino’s muse is Gods, or money, is a question only he can answer?

On the walls of his home he might have spectacular canvases of Incan jungles, ancient costumes, and wild untamed animals.

Modern life takes the spirit right out of you, if you aren’t vigilant. 

 

 

 

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