Sunday, May 31, 2009
OK, for starters, this time I have an excuse for not posting in a while, not visiting your blogs, and not responding to your generous blog comments. My sister had a total hip replacement and I flew to visit her and my mother. She's coming along, but what an ordeal! The surgeon delicately described the situation in the vicinity of her pelvic bones as "a train wreck," but he does avow she is on her way to being far better off than before the procedure. Yes, the indicators are this is the case. Please nonetheless send healing energy in this direction:
What we're aiming for is for things to stay in place long enough for Donna to heal, regain some strength, and be back on her feet (literally.) I have faith. She's tough and determined.
I am now going to pick up where I left off in the Meme of Fame series, although in today's installment I have altered the name of the (somewhat) famous party so as to avoid litigation.
Kevin L, Marty Award Winner, Best New Menswear Designer on the West Coast. Purchased a series of small male nudes from our San Francisco gallery, along with one in-your-face, larger-than-life, male nude. Kevin was up for the fashion award when he bought these. Confided in me he was pretty sure he would win and wanted his house to look fabulous for the celebration party. He won. The house looked fabulous. The revelers adored the colossal painting of the naked man.
Then things began to reverse themselves. Kevin's clothing company's earnings began shrinking. Kevin had an artistic soul which yearned for an outlet other than sweater vests. Kevin himself crashed and burned out at the age of 30. Put his house on the market, told me he wanted out of the "rag trade" and to move back home to southern California and pursue a career in photography. His real estate agent said the big naked man had to go before he began parading prospective buyers through the house. Kevin asked me to buy the painting back. I refused. Where the hell would I hang such a thing? In the children's playroom? I advised Kevin to store the painting until his house was sold, then haul it to the new location. (I'd been trying to get rid of that thing for better than a year. It was a beautifully accomplished painting, yes, but the market for male nudes is limited, let alone six-foot-tall male nudes.) Enough time had lapsed since the transaction that Kevin didn't have a leg to stand on. He pitched a hissy fit, tried to read me The Wright Act. I stood my ground, much to his annoyance. He stalked out of the gallery and I've never seen him since. His parting words: "Your shoes are fabulous, but your attitude is sheer frump." *
And for the record, Keven did re-invent himself as a photographer, and he still does a little fashion designing too. I've seen his stuff in the big department stores and it does have flair. If I were a man, I would wear it. Truth be told, I have worn it. I've been known to rifle through Bennie's side of the closet, searching for his one shirt by Kevin. It's, if you can imagine such a thing, inspired by bowling shirts AND the paper cutouts of Henri Matisse. High-brow culture meets low-brow culture. And the buttons are to die for. Kevin, he always had a way with buttons.
*Not really. I made that up. But, God, I wish he'd said that. How I wish he'd said that.