bipolar sense of reference

I ask myself, "what the hell are you smoking?". Dunno. I am going deep with Vignee-LeBrun paintings of Marie Antoinette with every other picture of her holding a stylized old style, David Austen-ish, pink rose. The hands are always the same. Always. I'll show you...(not now). Love the ribbons and bows, the flounces and furbellows, the pearls and feathers, hats and the absolutely luscious color. My puritan spirit embraces the sheer baroque, over the topness. So, I sez to myself...I need to see more, more more of this wonderful lusciousness. So off the Dutch still lives from Ambrosius Bosschaert with the quest of the victorian interpretation of these scoops of gloriousity. On the other hand, I am thinking Andy Warhol...and my artdirector and husband out of the blue suggests the I Miller images from Warhol's youth. So, off to that direction. And the Dream Project. I wallow and sink in it's absolute profundity. I am lost. Wandering...albeit mit schlag.