Jan 6, 2004

Bring on the Harpsichord and Euphonium

I just saw "Guest Appearance...David Tomlinson" flash across the screen. What a treat that would be. To have David Tomlinson make a guest appearance somewhere that you happened to be. Maybe he would sing Let's Go Fly a Kite! He's one of the first fellows who made moustaches make sense to me.

The guest appearance was being announced at the commencement of the classic Tom Jones, in which it is nearly impossible to believe what a strapping young bloke was one Albert Finney. And how scandalous and rompy this film must have seemed at the time. There is something particularly naughty about British versions of ribaldry. Like with Benny Hill. When American people make those mugging takes, it just seems backwoodsy and poverty-stricken. I was just reading a recent issue of Vanity Fair, and there was a lengthy article about Wallace Simpson and the abdication of Edward, the would-be king turned duke. What a tawdry and secretive life they led. She with her affairs, at times with gay men. He, rumored to be gay all along. And yet he gave up England to marry her and was exiled for the rest of his life from the country which would one day have knelt before him. Sickly and twisted, but romantic nonetheless. Even in exile, they were enviable. Leisurely globetrotters. Fashion cognoscenti. The smutty royals. And ever so thin. I am curious about the lives of others. Especially those who live on a plane I've not yet seen. I've always had a rich fantasy life. It's the actual day-to-day that's been on the disappointing side.

I bought large-ish canvases and boards today. And I completed several paintings. I sometimes wish I was forethinking enough to take pictures along the way. Inevitably I get to a place where I think I've ruined it and wish I could just see the canvas as it was when I was only a few strokes in. And then after a while, I grow accepting and can scarcely recall what the original strokes looked like or why I might have preferred them. In time, it seems, even ugly things grow weary of offending. You just get used to them is all.

I got some good news today. That's always better than a punch in the face.

glow worm

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posted by Mary Forrest at 2:10 AM | Back to Monoblog