- Category: Family
- Written by Jim Dee
Well, you'll get no pretty writing from me today.My mind's turned to mush, and we're not even half way through this noveling business. Recall my ambitions to produce a thing of beauty?Well, it's turning out more or less of mainstream quality (most likely due to the rushed pace at which it's being written), which is actually fine for this project. The story's not bad, anyway.
For another interesting story, we have only to turn to today's news. First, recall that whore picture from 1912 that I ran the other day:
Here's a strikingly similar pose found in a Francisco Jose de Goya y Lucientes (famous, of course, as simply Goya ) painting from not much more than one century earlier :
Clearly, we can infer from this that the true purpose of all known art -- be it photography, painting, literature, or music -- is to coax women into reclining naked on chaise lounges. Certainly that's a solid contention and few would disagree. I'm certain that, with enough spelunking, one could even locate petroglyphs documenting whatever neolithic equivalent existed.
Today, dear readers, a Goya painting was stolen. (Link to Yahoo! article.) They took a rather boring Goya, though -- nothing naked, and nothing from his "fucked up" period (okay, I made that up; it's actually called his "black" period) when he painted such delightful scenes as this:
Anyone out there want to bet whether even one "father-son relationship"-type psychology text fails to feature that work? Not a chance -- not that I own any, though. (Hey, I wonder if Robert Bly mentioned this in Iron John? Haven't read that book in 15 years ... My friend JB adored Bly back in the day, so we all read it. I believe I found it interesting, though it didn't resonate as much with me as it did him. On the other hand, he's the same guy who turned me onto Pirsig, which kept me fascinated for ages.)
Anyway, what caught my eye this time was that the painting was stolen near Scranton, Pennsylvania -- not too far from the hallowed halls of my wonderful alma mater. The piece, said the article, was en route to an exhibition at the Guggenheim entitled, "Spanish Painting from El Greco to Picasso: Time, Truth and History." Well, I don't know about El Greco or Picasso, but I do vaguely remember a awful time, an ugly truth, and an unfortunate history ... well, okay, let's just call it a "small bender" involving downtown Scranton, Pennsylvania and another Spanish objet d'art, 20+ years ago.
In fact, there was a small heist of my own in the works that night. Painfully underage, I'd imbibed at least an entire bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 and possibly a little Night Train, had either left early or was forcefully ejected from some god-awful University of Scranton gathering emceed by Morton Downey Jr., and spent some time sobering up in a small dive that El Greco or Picasso may have similarly found enticing; it was called Taco Bandito. There was a large "Mexican Hat Dance"-type hat on the wall, and I was seriously contemplating a dine-and-dash scenario involving that hat, if memory serves.
But, as I sat there drunkenly cogitating amid the neon and plastic cacti, something unusual happened. I ... calmed down. I even behaved, for once. And that was the end of it.
Still, I'm to this day a big fan of art thieves -- not that a Mexican hat counts. But, hey, even pros have to start somewhere. Had I not straightened myself out, I'd like to think that I'd have successfully stolen a masterwork at some point. Now, now, don't get all judgmental on me; I'm sure I'd have taken great pains to minimize any damage to the canvas and whatnot. I know, I know ... I sound like a complete idiot. Hopefully, a few of you have imaginative lives yourself, though, and can appreciate what I'm getting at. (KW - you're a Thurber fan, right? That's all I'm saying.)
Well, that's all for now, my friends. Just wanted to check in, show some naked people and a father eating his son, tell a brief, boring drunken story involving wine and tacos, and then sign off. Have a nice day. -PH.