Death of a Salesman
Here's something ...
And here's the same thing, cleaned up ...
Do the tighten-up. James Brown.
Exactly.
I can't wait for that movie.
Me neither. Owwwww!
Anyway, what I didn't photo-document, because I'd done all the painting before I remembered to go upstairs and get the camera, was Boris' transition from a really dark blue face to a really whitish-pink one. Now we've come back to a sort of a middle ground.
What was lost in all the backing and forthing was the man's features. Lost as in obliterated. So now the features are starting to emerge again. This time to stay. And the cleaning up meant removing the grid lines from the canvas. Obviously.
He's a nice looking man, upside down.
Thank you. Nice of you to say.
Attention must be paid. Willie Loman's wife.
Exactly.
I can't wait for that play.
Too late. Somebody already wrote it.
Speaking of writing, I am reading something with the word salt in the title. It's a fictional memoir of Gertrude Stein's Vietnamese cook in Paris in the 30s, with flashbacks to Saigon and vicinity as frequently as the author deems prudent. Quite lovely, really. I'd certainly recommend it if you're in the right mood.
Update: The Book of Salt: A Novel, by Monique Truong.
What I'd also recommend is turning to FX on Sunday nights and watching The Strain, which is unique among vampire sagas in that nobody in the viewing audience (or the cast for that matter) wants to go to bed with either the handsome vampire or his beautiful victims (see: The Vampire Diaries and/or the Twilight series), since neither of those things exist. The vampire appears to be about ten feet tall and looks more like a lizard than anything else. And the victims appear to be pretty much run-of-the-mill folks who wander by at the wrong time.
Plus there are these extremely disturbing, blood-sucking worms that, honestly, you do not want to get one on you.
Next time we speak of The Strain, remind me to broach what I call the The Following Paradox. Although it might not actually be a paradox.
Exactly.
I can't wait for that movie.
Me neither. Owwwww!
Anyway, what I didn't photo-document, because I'd done all the painting before I remembered to go upstairs and get the camera, was Boris' transition from a really dark blue face to a really whitish-pink one. Now we've come back to a sort of a middle ground.
What was lost in all the backing and forthing was the man's features. Lost as in obliterated. So now the features are starting to emerge again. This time to stay. And the cleaning up meant removing the grid lines from the canvas. Obviously.
He's a nice looking man, upside down.
Thank you. Nice of you to say.
Attention must be paid. Willie Loman's wife.
Exactly.
I can't wait for that play.
Too late. Somebody already wrote it.
Speaking of writing, I am reading something with the word salt in the title. It's a fictional memoir of Gertrude Stein's Vietnamese cook in Paris in the 30s, with flashbacks to Saigon and vicinity as frequently as the author deems prudent. Quite lovely, really. I'd certainly recommend it if you're in the right mood.
Update: The Book of Salt: A Novel, by Monique Truong.
What I'd also recommend is turning to FX on Sunday nights and watching The Strain, which is unique among vampire sagas in that nobody in the viewing audience (or the cast for that matter) wants to go to bed with either the handsome vampire or his beautiful victims (see: The Vampire Diaries and/or the Twilight series), since neither of those things exist. The vampire appears to be about ten feet tall and looks more like a lizard than anything else. And the victims appear to be pretty much run-of-the-mill folks who wander by at the wrong time.
Plus there are these extremely disturbing, blood-sucking worms that, honestly, you do not want to get one on you.
Next time we speak of The Strain, remind me to broach what I call the The Following Paradox. Although it might not actually be a paradox.
posted by Geoffrey at 3:52 PM
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