Self-Portrait, by Vincent Van Gogh
Vincent looks the reporter earnestly in the eyes and begins to tell his story:
“I always knew my parents were gypsies. When I was growing up my friends even called me Heathcliff. My governess would chastise me and turn my buttocks pink whenever I mentioned the subject, but that was only the “foreplay,” if you will. Later they would take me to the drawing room. My father, a very important merchant, in those days, kept his katana swords in there. She would stand before them and unsheathe the longest one, named Lady Anna for a woman of my father’s acquaintence. (It was rumored that I was half-japanese, but I knew this was an untruth.) The name didn’t suit her–she looked like Lady Colombia to me–with the sword stretched out before my neck and screaming “YOU ARE YOUR MOTHER’S CHILD.”
My only refuge was my secret cave. One afternoon, I fell to the floor, beating down the clay in a fit of rage. I lay there imagining that a very large beast had stepped there and shit me out from under it. I swore to find my real parents. Meanwhile, I began to paint my real family. The first painting I completed was of a woman full of mirth, helping her actress daughter, a prima donna, dress for her show. I imagined that I was this daughter, secretly dressed as a woman, ready to receive roses. I would sleep with any man who approached me afterwards, so warm with the glow of success. I named it “Cornelia.” Every Sunday after that, I would scrutinize the photos of lost children on telephone poles and milk cartons, always seeing some similarity in the child’s afro or his manner of dress.
One fateful afternoon, I met a very similar actress in a bar. I felt immediately that she was my sister and that I had had visions of her, a sort of sanguine bond. When the thought struck me, I began to kiss her cheeks. She was confused for a moment and told me to slow down. I insisted that she did not understand, so I set out to show the obviousness of our connection. I asked her where her father was. Her eyes lost the familial sparkle. Does he not collect knives, smell so sweetly of poppy fields, and have many intimidating tattoos? She assented. I then called the newspapers, elated.
I heard from her a few weeks later, and she asked to meet me. I agreed and I was shocked to see her tear-stained face and she walked into the restaurant. She picked up the nearest glass and shattered it against my right ear, which is why I have this bandage.”
The reporter asked, “So, you aren’t the mystery kid after all?” Vincent looked away abashedly and clucked his tongue.
Posted in Art, Fox Headlines, News, Van Gogh
Tagged actress, Art, artist, cave, child, comedy, culture, entertainment, family, foreplay, fox, gypsy, history, humor, inspiration, kidnap, kidnapped, life, man, michigan, News, painting, random, sword, vincent van gogh, writing
Kuwait City, Kuwait:
The Feast of Belshazzar, by Rembrandt
Little Rock, Arkansas:
Drowning Girl, by Roy Lichtenstein
Buffalo, New York:
The Old Guitarist, by Pablo Picasso
Las Vegas, Nevada:
Sleeping Gypsy, by Henri Rousseau
Dance to the Music of Time, by Nicolas Poussin
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam:
Des Caresses, by Fernand Khnopff
Posted in Art, Henri Rousseau, Khnopff, Lichtenstein, News, Picasso, Poussin, Rembrandt, This Week in Pictures
Tagged acid, arkansas, Art, buffalo, comedy, drugs, entertainment, gypsy, ho chi minh city, hope, humor, imperialism, jamaica, kuwait, las vegas, Lichtenstein, life, LSD, magic, mushrooms, nevada, new york, News, painting, people, Picasso, random, Rembrandt, rousseau, thoughts, travel, vietnam, writing
The Lady of Shalott, by John William Waterhouse; Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddin, by Sir Henry Raeburn
Lady Shalott gazes at her reflection in the water as she drifts along: “Rowing for the Summer Olympics is in just 3 weeks! Like noble Cleopatra, I too have the strength of a Greek athlete within me, and I will make it across the Panama Canal. My beloved Robert would be so proud of me. Too proud to bear it, I like to think. He shall probably buy a bed of roses to lie in before he must continue training for the winter Olympics”
Meanwhile, Robert glides: “Ever since I was a young man, to be an Olympic ice skating champion has been my dream. To let my penguin tail flap in the wind would be my pride. We can be a power couple in our own right, like Sonny and Cher…yes, we should name our first son Chaz.”
That night, as Lady Shalott dozed off, Robert sat there watching her sleep. Suddenly, he jumped out of bed and threw cold water on both of them. “Lady, my Olympic flame burns when I watch you sleep. You see, I have found Faust’s secret knowledge and I can hold this back no longer. It’s like a constant rain cloud over me, and I can only find peace when I pirouette.”
“Well, Robert, you should probably find a way to tame this flame or else Zeus might make you commit seppuku for this outrage against manhood. But I will support you anyway because I love you”
Robert got back in the cold bed and curled up next to Lady Shallot, thankful for her goodness.
At the Olympics, as Miss Shalott stood waiting for her event to start as she watches the long jump competition. She saw the last competitor of the event, number 902, and found herself admiring his eminetly frog-like legs. He could carry her over a river, and no heavy traffic could stop them from crossing a road. She watched in earnest as he soared through the air, and landed farther than all the rest. He jumped up, pumping his fist, and declared that all his earnings would go to PETA.
Robert came up behind her and gave her a squeeze and she screamed.
She hurried to the bathroom and splashed her face with water, but she continued to swell with desire. She wiped soap across her cheeks, trying to exorcise the demons that forced their way into her mind. But there was no luck left for her. She was deeply disturbed.
Posted in Art, CNN Headlines, News, Raeburn, Waterhouse
Tagged Art, champion, cleopatra, comedy, culture, events, horror, humor, ice skating, inspiration, life, long jump, News, olympics, panama, panama canal, people, photography, photos, relationships, rowing, satire, seppuku, shalott, sports, summer, winter, writing, zeus