Every day I walk to the edge of the continent.

Each time I do, I pass by a mysterious house on a beautiful street, named after the daughter of the founder of Santa Monica named Georgina.

I wonder what it was like -- to have a street named after you, near some orange groves in a sparsely populated city by the ocean. I envision her dad, getting off a horse. "Honey, I have some exciting news. I'm going to name a street after you."

The house has a round archway on the entry with large banana plants framing it like bangs or servants ready to greet you.

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At dusk, the doorway remains aglow with a golden light.

A few years ago, I painted it. Of course, I named it “Georgina.”

“Georgina” was presented in a 2017 exhibition called Fever Dreams and of course, she made the cover of the postcard.

I slipped her in my purse and wrote a note on the back, thinking, I must tell the owners of the mysterious house. Maybe they’ll come to the opening. I knocked. No one answered. I waited. I knocked again and then slid it under the door, hoping that maybe I’d meet the owner at the opening.

When I turned around, I found myself standing underneath the hood of the magnificent curved entryway seeing the world suddenly anew - the sun-dappled and shimmering steps. The plants became black in contrast and the interior walls held another place and time altogether.

I had to paint that too. I struggled with the name. I took an anthology of poems by Emily Dickinson off the shelf and pointed to a single line at random. “G-d Does it Every Day.”
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Perfect.
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​Above Image: Santa Monica 1922