Art, music, whatever
Because it’s my birfday, I’m going to indulge myself with today’s totty, and feature an actual totty: Brianna Beach. She’s a one-time model and more recently an actress in, shall we say, a more dubious genre (feel free to find yer own links, ya pervos). Here she is as a youngin:
I may have mentioned before that one of my favorite artists, Giovanni Boldini, made a name for himself as a portrait artist during the late 1800s and early 20th century. But I didn’t feature too many of those portraits — which oversight I’m now going to rectify.
Here’s La Contessa Speranza:
…Madame E.L. Doyen:
…Madame Juillard:
…Madame Veil-Picard:
…Mrs. Howard Johnston:
…Lina Bilitis (with her two Pekinese):
…and one of his favorite subjects, La marchesa Luisa Casati:
All these, and many more can be seen here. It’s only when you look at portraits done by other artists of the time that you can see how different Boldini was, and why he was one of the most popular. Here’s one (Florence Chambres) that he himself painted in about 1862, before he developed his signature style:
I think you get my point.
But just in case you were getting sick of all those society dames, here’s another of my non-portrait Boldini favorites, At The Paris Opera:
This one was painted sometime during the late 1880s, as I recall, and just looking at it makes me want to go back in time to the fin-de-siècle period. What a riot.
Apparently Brooks Nader was a Sports Illustrated (who?) swimsuit model, then did something else of equal significance. Whatever.
This story (ordinarily the type I’d ignore) really struck a chord with me:
I decided, four years ago, to leave London, selling the flat I owned in Dalston and moving to Somerset.
The life I’d been building in London evaporated and I felt broken. The country seemed to offer a gentle place where I could retreat, lick my wounds and start again. After all, the countryside is where I had always been happy. Or so I told myself.
Of course, the reality blew a ten-foot hole in that dream, because of course life in the country isn’t as idyllic as it’s often painted. Read the thing for the details.
Anyway, the reason why this silly woman’s article interested me is that I’m a little like her (minus the foolishness).
I’ve often thought about finding a small place out in the boonies — “small” in country terms, i.e. just large enough to where I could make a short .22 range where I could bang away for hours on end without disturbing the neighbors — but of course there are several factors which have always stopped me from doing just that.
The first is that I’m a city boy by inclination. I mean, most of my life has been spent in the ‘burbs, but the times when I’ve really enjoyed my life was when I lived in downtown Johannesburg and Chicago, and spent lengthy periods in places like London or Vienna. I liked having a dizzying choice of places to eat out and drink, the movie houses and auditoriums, the shops which sold pretty much anything I needed (outside the gun world, of course), and even art galleries: all within walking distance of my living room. For that, I was prepared to put up with the noise of the city, the proximity of neighbors and all the things which would drive other people away.
Likewise when I’ve traveled abroad, I’ve always preferred to stay in the great cities (London, Paris and so on) over the small countryside towns. Then again, it must be said that I really enjoyed living out in rural Hardy Country at Mr. Free Market’s country estate as well — probably the first time in my life that I’ve properly lived out in the sticks.
I have no illusions about living in the city, because I’ve been there and done that, on two continents. Also, having spent half a year out in the company of The Englishman and Mr. Free Market, I have no illusions there too — although it must also be said that the Brits do a good job of making their small towns very livable, as anyone who’s ever been to places like Marlborough or Devizes will attest.
So while I often ask myself the question: if you won the lottery, where would you spend most of your time? the answer is probably “close to or actually in a city” more than “out in a country retreat”.
If for some reason I did choose the country option, however, I know I’d make a better job of it than the stupid woman who wrote that article.
Keats once wrote: “A thing of beauty is a joy forever”, and he was quite right.
Here’s a piece from Jamie Wilson at PJMedia, and she has the right of it too:
Our exterior world isn’t harsh or ugly, not like the concrete fortresses of Brutalism or the boxy little cars of the Eastern Bloc, but neither is it beautiful. It is merely acceptable.
And beauty matters. It’s not decoration, it’s expression, a way of saying that life means something, that creation itself is worthy of reverence.
Read the whole thing. It could have been written by me — especially the parts about cars and architecture — except that her article contains no anger or cursing.
It’s a delight, and thankee to her hubby Clark for sending it to me.
Here’s young Grace Bowers, for your delectation:
Girl cleans up pretty good, too:
