Levi 501 Button Fly Jeans
The woman who used to do my laundry must have looked at my socks and wondered what the hell I was up to. Even as I now type I'm wearing navy socks with red, blue, yellow and white paint marks on their soles. It's quite festive, in a discrete sort of way.
All of which leads me to a further explanation of what I do and how I do it.
On a logistical level, every painting goes through more or less the same sequence over and over again. The sequence is this:
I am sitting on my sofa staring at the unfinished painting on the wall of my studio. Depending on how the painting is going, I am filled, for example, with unbridled optimism (usually at the beginning) or extreme self-loathing (usually about 3/4 of the way through) or elation (sometimes, at the end, if I'm pleased) or some other emotion. In any case, I am invariably studying the painting, deciding what to do next. When the fit seizes me, I stand up, tear the painting off the wall, throw it on the floor, kick my shoes off, rip my pants off and start painting.
I keep my socks on because, really, if I get paint on the soles of my socks, who cares? My pants are another thing entirely. First, if you get paint all over your pants (and if your painting style involves throwing paint from the end of a stick, you will get paint all over your pants), they are essentially ruined. Second, they cost a lot more than socks.
Thus Levi 501 Button Fly Jeans. Provided you are not wearing a belt, there is no faster pant to be ripped off one's body than a pair of button fly 501s. You just grab the fabric in the vicinity of the top button and yank. The rest of them pop open in sequence, making a pleasing machine-gunny sound as the five buttons part company with their respective buttonholes. I'm reminded of how, back when the Knicks were really something to see, Pat Riley would signal to John Starks to enter the game and he'd jump up and somehow (I still don't actually know how--Velcro maybe) yank his warm-up pants off in one fell swoop, the way a magician yanks a tablecloth off without disturbing the dishes, and rush to the scorer's table.
Done painting, I let the canvas dry on the floor then put it back on the wall, put my shoes and pants back on and return to my spot on the sofa. The sequence then begins again.
All of which leads me to a further explanation of what I do and how I do it.
On a logistical level, every painting goes through more or less the same sequence over and over again. The sequence is this:
I am sitting on my sofa staring at the unfinished painting on the wall of my studio. Depending on how the painting is going, I am filled, for example, with unbridled optimism (usually at the beginning) or extreme self-loathing (usually about 3/4 of the way through) or elation (sometimes, at the end, if I'm pleased) or some other emotion. In any case, I am invariably studying the painting, deciding what to do next. When the fit seizes me, I stand up, tear the painting off the wall, throw it on the floor, kick my shoes off, rip my pants off and start painting.
I keep my socks on because, really, if I get paint on the soles of my socks, who cares? My pants are another thing entirely. First, if you get paint all over your pants (and if your painting style involves throwing paint from the end of a stick, you will get paint all over your pants), they are essentially ruined. Second, they cost a lot more than socks.
Thus Levi 501 Button Fly Jeans. Provided you are not wearing a belt, there is no faster pant to be ripped off one's body than a pair of button fly 501s. You just grab the fabric in the vicinity of the top button and yank. The rest of them pop open in sequence, making a pleasing machine-gunny sound as the five buttons part company with their respective buttonholes. I'm reminded of how, back when the Knicks were really something to see, Pat Riley would signal to John Starks to enter the game and he'd jump up and somehow (I still don't actually know how--Velcro maybe) yank his warm-up pants off in one fell swoop, the way a magician yanks a tablecloth off without disturbing the dishes, and rush to the scorer's table.
Done painting, I let the canvas dry on the floor then put it back on the wall, put my shoes and pants back on and return to my spot on the sofa. The sequence then begins again.
posted by Geoffrey at 3:30 PM
1 Comments:
So when you rip off the pants, are you left with undies and socks, or are you going commando under those 501s?
As you describe in such detail just want to get the visual right.
Post a Comment
<< Home