Gilcrease Museum (and this Tour Sucks)

Hi.  I would like to report that work sucks donkey balls today. And yesterday.  I have had four cancellations, and only two sessions total.  That means that I have not even covered the cost of the hotel room.  Naturally, my least-favorite client has scheduled a session with me tomorrow at 9 AM (UGH), and I KNOW he will come through.  He is gross and barely tolerable, but at least he always tips.  He’s the guy who slobbers over every inch of my body outside my panties (“body worship,” they call it.  I call it “Being consentlly molested for cash.”). At least he always tips $100.

Anyway, I’m in this hotel room and I’m bored, so GUESS WHAT I’VE GOT FOR YOU?!?!  An ART TOUR!  Just what my 8 readers, all of whom are submissive pervy males, really want, I’m sure!

Let’s visit…Gilcrease Museum, a truly fantastic art museum dedicated to the artwork and history of the American West and American Indian culture located near Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Now, I’ve been all over the US, and OK is the worst knuckle-dragging state in the Union.  I would rather live in Alabama.  Oklahoma is good for nothing except some of its WPA art in downtown Tulsa, its University, Gilcrease Museum, and lighteningbugs (I guess the BBQ is good, too).  Exempting the Indians, who did not deserve to be rounded up and sent to that shithole, the people are barbarians.  They do have a few touching Southern/semi-midWestern cultural habits, such as pulling off to the side of the road and blinking the headlights when a hearse goes by, and you’ll be offered to stay for dinner whenever you’re on someone’s property, even if it’s just to return a tool you borrowed, but, believe me, they’re barbarians. These people noodle, man.  Grown men wear overalls without t-shirts TO WORK. It is the only place in America I would never admit to being an atheist, outside of maybe the college campus.  Oh HELL NO.  It would be risky to even say I was Roman Catholic.

Moving on: Gilcrease Museum is a bastion of beauty, an oasis, in this cultural wasteland.

Gilcrease is a gem and a credit to everyone who works or has ever worked there.

These are some of my favorite pieces.  I’ve intentionally left out most of the Native American art I especially like because I don’t feel qualified to talk about it; I’m not educated enough about it to discuss it in an accurate and sophisticated manner.  I don’t want to be racist or fetishize it.

Click on any image for info about the artist, nationality of the artist (most are American, but a few are not), and more info about the artifact.

 

Colt Single Action Pistol
Colt Single Action Pistol

My kind of gun!  I love wheel guns (revolvers).  In my opinion, if you can’t hit something in 6 shots, you don’t deserve to have the gun. My first (and favorite, to this day) gun is a .32 Smith & Wesson long-nose revolver. It had a beautiful burled wooden grip, but I reluctantly had to replace it with a rubber grip I could keep firmly in my hand.   That is one thing  will still don’t understand about old handguns: why were the handles/grips so damn small? The handle was small for ME, and I’m a woman with small/delicate hands (though I’m tall).  My shooting instructor, a tall big man with big hands, found the grip inconvenient.  So, why did they make them so small?

 

Breaking Through the Line
Breaking Through the Line

My favorite painting in the museum.  It’s huge, and I must have stared at it for an hour.  The artist had a vision, and the kinetic energy captured here is amazing.  In the painting, up close, that soldier is pointing his revolver right at your head.  His eye is on target and his aim is true, even with the glove on.  You’re dead meat.  Kiss your ass goodbye.

 

Hunger c. 1919 by Walter Ufer
Hunger c. 1919 by Walter Ufer, American

This one is an enigma to me, but it’s powerful, even though it’s not the style I’m most attracted to. I see three interpretations: the enforcement of Christianity on Native Americans; the fact that they were intentionally starved after being “relocated” and denied their traditional ways of procuring food; and that a girl-child dying of hunger is among the most pathetic and defenseless (and, hence, heartbreaking, if you value women enough to give a shit) persons in society.  Also, note the statue of the Virgin Mary.  Is it ironical, or not?  I can’t tell.

Black Hawk and His Son Whirling Thunder c 1833 John Wesley Jarvis
Black Hawk and His Son Whirling Thunder c 1833 John Wesley Jarvis

I included this one because the portrait is magnificent, and the men look magnificent.  I bet you anything this is EXACTLY how the men looked.  It could be on their drivers’ license photos.

I love the names Indians gave themselves; so poetical.  My favorite name was a man called “Raven Blanket.”  What name could be more beautiful than that?

 

Girl's dress w/beaded yoke Lakota Sioux 1870 deep skin, beads, porcupine quills
Girl’s dress w/beaded yoke Lakota Sioux 1870 deep skin, beads, porcupine quills

Think about how many hours, months, maybe even years went into making this, even if the women of the family were sharing the work of making it while not attending to their other jobs and child-rearing. That entire blue top is beading. One bead at a time. And beads were not cheap.

 

George Washingtn c 1785 Jean Antione Hundon Culture: FRENCH
George Washingtn c 1785 Jean Antione Hundon Culture: FRENCH

I personally consider Abraham Lincoln to be the Father of our country, but President Washington is also our father.  He is more difficult to relate to: ill-tempered, intimidating at times, completely pragmatic, a true military man.  Intelligent, but unimaginative.  I’ve read his diaries. They are all brief, factual notes about important daily events and the weather.  Nothing speculative about them, no fancy prose, nothing emotional at all.

However, he had balls of steel.  The right man, at the right time.  God bless him.

ANNNND: he underwent a major change in perspective as he went through life: over the course of his life, he turned against slavery, and recognized it as an evil institution and an inherent threat to our Republic (and so it was, and have been its consequences). This guy owned tons of slaves and didn’t think twice about it when he was a young man.  When he was older, and wrote out his last Will and Testament about his property, he freed all his slaves.  When he said he was sorry he ever owned them, he meant it.

Now, you can say that it is cowardly of him to wait until he was almost dead to free them…and you wouldn’t be wrong.  But, consider his circumstances: his slaves constituted about 80% of his total wealth.  Slaves were expensive, even back then–by the time the Civil War started, a healthy young male slave who could work outside was worth over $80,000 (yes, that’s $80k) in today’s dollars.  I have the literature; I can show you.  I used to teach this shit.

Anyway, Washington’s family predictably threw a shit-fit when they found out most of their wealth basically evaporated overnights.  That’s one reason he waited till he was almost dead.

Some of the former slaves stayed with the family, but they had to be paid average wages and “allowed” to live off the property, and they could get married to whomsoever they wanted, and their children were free and could not be sold.

Here’s a good book about the entire story, if you’re interested:

An Imperfect God: George Washington, His Slaves, and the Creation of America, by Henry Wiencek 

 

Pony Express c 1924  Frank Tenney Johnson
Pony Express c 1924 Frank Tenney Johnson

I love this one for its drama and its beauty, an the way it perfectly captures what looks like (to me) as the very early morning–pre-dawn; see the fire or stove illuminating the inside of the Express stop?

They rode like demons; like something out of Greek mythology.  Tough job; tough men.  Pity for the ponies, though.

 

Buffalo Mother by William Robinson
Buffalo Mother by William Robinson

Is this watercolor or oil?  I can’t tell.  Anyway, it’s very moving, for obvious reasons. The wolves must be after the calf, because even an entire pack won’t go after a health adult unless they’re starving to death–buffalo are not docile or domesticated like cattle.  They are mean as hell and every time I hear about a tourist getting stomped on by a bison at Yellowstone Park for being a dumbass and trying to take a selfie with it, I laugh, even though that’s not nice.

They taste delicious, though.

Meats not Meat Till It's in the Pan c. 1915  Charles Marion Russell
Meats not Meat Till It’s in the Pan c. 1915 Charles Marion Russell

Man just shot himself a bighorn sheep and now he’s fucked (indeed, what a head-scratcher) because there’s no way in hell he’s getting it’s body off that ledge.  I’ve seen these animals in person.  They weigh up to 300 lbs and they’re as big as large ponies. I am sure the ghost of the bighorn sheep, while being bitter about being shot, is also laughing its ghost ass off at the hunter’s fuckup. Eventually, at least, the crows and scavengers will get to munch on him.

 

Sierra Nevada Morning c. 1870 Albert Bierstadt
Sierra Nevada Morning c. 1870 Albert Bierstadt

While I’m not the biggest fan of the Hudson River School–too Romantic for me–you really can’t go wrong with Bierstadt.

 

Westward the Course of Empire Takes Its Way c. 1861  Emanuel Gottleib Leutze  GERMAN
Westward the Course of Empire Takes Its Way c. 1861 Emanuel Gottleib Leutze GERMAN

The guy who painted this was a German.  As I’ve said in the past, the Western doesn’t belong to America.  The Western is a fantasy, a certain unique fantasy, and that is why it appeals to so many people across so many cultures.

This painting also perfectly represents the ideas of Westward Expansion and Manifest Destiny,

This concluded my little tour of Gilcrease Museum.  Go if you’re passing through the state (and I do hope, for your sake, you’re only passing through.)  Enjoy some barbecue, too.

Men’s Adventure Magazines: Paging Dr. Freud

I’m a fan of Post-War pulp art.  Well, maybe not a fan, I don’t collect it or know any of the artists by name, but I like to study the images when I find them online.   I also get a kick out of awful men’s adventure magazines.  I wish someone would digitize the back issues and sell it as an e-book.  I’d be all over it!

All that I can do for now is enjoy the covers I find online.  Let’s talk about some of the covers in my desktop folder.  What shall we make of these?

Illustrious publication Night and Day revisits the burning questions: ” Should women be manhandled?”  and “Are you mentally disabled?”

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“Are you mentally disabled?”

This edition of True Men addresses no fewer than three male anxieties: duplicitous, cheating wives; female sexuality (‘nympho torture girls’); and being made useless or redundant at work.   Extra points for the racism!   The artwork is actually pretty good, though.

What the heck is a “sin-doll race”?  Does anyone know?

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Personally, I’m rooting for the tiger here, but you know Buff McDangerpants is going to shoot him (men in these magazine spend a lot of time contending with dangerous animals, as we will see.  Dangerous animals, dangerous women, dangerous Nazis…it’s all danger, all the time):

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NOOOOOOO!  Not the monkeys!   At least three of these guys are toast: the one trying to climb back on the raft–those monkeys are going to drag him right down, the guy laying on his back and getting his face clawed, and the one in the water over by the ‘g’ in stag.  Buff McDangerpants in the black vest must be the hero of the story.  I bet it’s told in first person, and he’s the narrator.  Go, Buff, go!  Throw that fucking monkey!  

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How they BEAT THE DRAFT!

Here we have two, count em, two attacking animals: weasels and a killer shark!  Kudos to the artist, because I actually cringed at the weasel biting the guy’s neck.  Also: can women justify their need for EXTRA-MARITAL RELATIONS?

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Watch out for those giant jungle otters!  Really, though, not too impressed with this one.  The otter’s not doing anything for me and the artwork’s not great, either.

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Whoever came up with “Cannibal Crabs to Kill!” deserves a raise!  It doesn’t make much sense, though.  If the crabs were cannibals, they’d be eating one another.   I’d be afraid of crabs, if they were very very large, because they are fucking hideous sea bugs (they do taste delicious, though).

Why marry a virgin?–obviously, so she won’t have any basis of comparison when she experiences your dick and your technique in the sack, of course!  She’ll have no idea whether you’re inadequate.

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I love Buff McDangerpant’s face in this one:

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Another thing I see in a lot of these magazines is the assertion that there is someplace, somewhere, where women are putting out.  In the issue above, it’s Miami Beach.  Here, it’s San Antonio.

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Turtles…I’m not feelin it, Man’s Life.

A crocodile!  Now we’re talking!  “Give me my arm back!”  Plus: sluts in DC and H-bomb anxiety.  Those were the days!  Seriously, when’s the last time you heard anyone say anything about our nukes?  I remember a tiny bit of the Cold War from my early childhood.  We had bomb drills in class–we’d have to crouch under our desks, as if that would do a damn thing to save us if the Soviets, for some bizarre reason, decided to nuke this stupid town.  Remember when our enemies were Europeans, with a navy?  Who could do calculus?  Wasn’t that romantic?

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“Blasted off its axis!”

Go, vulture, go!  Get that dude!  Tear his flesh with your curved beak!    And….”American men can’t handle women”?  As opposed to who?

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Here they are again!  Those vultures sure get around!  And what could be more titillating than babes in danger?  It never gets old.  This Buff McDangerpants over there is going to be able to save her?

What else do we have in this issue…?  What do you think those “pep pills” are: aphrodisiacs/date-rape drugs for women, or pills to keep your dick hard?

 

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And of course, you can never go wrong with Nazis.  The prevalence of Nazi imagery and as plot device in the stories is interesting to me.  The Germans certainly make handy villains but, at the same time, I would have thought this generation of men would have too much unpleasant personal experience with them to put trivialize them in wank fodder like this.  I have no explanation.

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NOTE THE GORILLA! PAGING DR. FREUD!

“Scream for my kisses before you die!”  I should have used that one in a session.

Seriously: laugh, or cry?  Laugh, or cry?  I think…laugh, so you don’t have to cry!

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gross, on so many levels

Out of all of these covers, this one has the best artwork.  That’s a great image.  It’s visually interesting, and I can feel the movement in her body and the figures behind her.  I wish I knew who the artist was.  I also like how the woman, despite being in imminent danger (by black guys, this time, natch), has a gun, and is pointing it at something.

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And, finally, a Western.  This one has good art, too.  Much better than the otter!

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(15) Movie Review: The Salvation

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        I just watched an entertaining but completely forgettable Western called The Salvation.  I decided to blog about it right away, while I still remember a bit about it.

        I wanted to see this movie for two reasons: it is an ultra-violent Western, the only genre of film I give complete permission to be brain-dead, and it stars my boyfriend, Mads Mikkelsen.


           Now, you might be saying to yourself, “Wait…isn’t that ugly motherfucker some sort of European?”  

            You’d be correct!   Mr. Mikkelsen is, in fact, Danish…the country where they make the delicious Christmas cookies and my favorite client, Fortinbras.   All sorts of good things come out of Denmark.  

Courtesy of our Danish friends

         A Danish film film about a Danish cowboy.   American audiences might be skeptical, but I ask you: Why the hell not…?  The Western is one of our cinematic gifts to the world.  Can you blame other people for loving it and wanting to make it their own?  Of course not!  

            We can’t even rightly call it cultural appropriation when other countries borrow it, because the Western is essentially a fantasy genre.  Most Western books and movies bear only the faintest resemblance to American frontier life post-Civil War to 1900.   The Western has never been about historical accuracy.   It was fantasy when James Fenimore Cooper wrote The Last of the Mohicans and it’s fantasy today.   It was fantasy when the real thing was actually happening, which is very interesting.  Edward S. Curtis and Buffalo Bill were selling a fiction.  They had the real American West, and they sold the fantasy Western.   Crazy, right?  So you have a photographer who travels the West and makes it look like this:

You know it didn’t REALLY look like this

or this

            Now, you can argue–persuasively, even–that the fantasy Western was propaganda.   The people in the photographs above would probably have a lot to say about that.  Yes, it’s propaganda, but it’s more than that, which is what accounts for its universal popularity.  The Western is a sort of Rorschach test.   What does the American West symbolize?  A fresh start.  Opportunity.  Freedom from political oppression and the hypocrisy of society.  A chance to remake one’s image.  Paradoxically, spirituality in nature and triumph over it.  Equality, if you’re white.  Hope.  

           America owns the West, but the Western belongs to everyone.  

           Which brings us back to the Danish cowboy!

            Mads Mikkelsen plays a Danish soldier who moves out West with his brother to (what else?) make a better life for himself after fighting the Germans (Austrians and Prussians).  

       After seven years, his wife and son make the journey to join him.  Alas, they meet a violent and untimely end.  Mikkelsen and his brother spend the next 70 minutes getting sweet, sweet revenge.  The #1 Bad Guy has a black hat, black boots, and a black mustache.  In addition to being an enthusiastic murderer, he extorts money from the decent townfolk and has sex with his sister-in-law.   100% scumbag, no ambiguity at all.   There is a jailbreak, a rooftop shootout, a sheriff with a brass star on his shirt, and a rich guy in fancy clothes from Back East who wants to buy up the town.  The plot contained zero surprises.  

          The action was fast and I was not bored.  Good music.  The town looked like a fantasy of a western town.  Mikkelsen delivers his 20 lines of dialogue convincingly.  So does the Swede who plays his brother.  Good job, guys.  

         I was hoping for a flashback to the Second Schleswig War, but it didn’t happen. 

          This movie is exactly what you’d expect.   I give it a B+.  

Reader Mailbag: January Edition

   “Have you ever been submissive to a domme?”
                                               –Random Internet Stranger

     Hmmm…hard to tell if this is an honest question, or just wank-bait from a random internet wanker. 

     My Ex, the Surgeon, hired a prodomme twice because he wanted to see me dominated and beaten by a woman.  It was not something I would have done of my own volition, but since there was no sex involved, I acquiesced.  I did it for his entertainment.  The experiences were not unpleasant, but if he wasn’t in the room, I would not have been there.  

      I’m a little squeamish about the idea of submitting to women, actually.  Not sure why.  I’ve dominated (hetero) couples at work and actually had fun with it.  

      I do not have sex with women.  Ever.

      “How do you know you don’t have an STD?”
                                  –Whorephobic Random Internet Misogynist 

       The only reason I’m printing and answering this is so that my 8 readers can see, up close and personal, the perennial accusation thrown at women who have sex: you are a poxy whore! 

       But to answer your question: Because I get tested for everything every 4 months when I’m sexually active, you asshole.  I got tested so often that the people at Planned Parenthood started discouraging me from coming in (I still went). When’s the last time you had your bloodwork done? 

       I also use latex barriers for everything.  They work.  I have never been pregnant and I have never contracted an STI, and I think it is probably safe to assume that I have had a sex life that is much more fun and interesting than your own.  

        I hate slut-shaming and I hate whore-phobic “you’re a poxy whore!” bullshit.  You won’t get sick from having sex as long as you take a few simple precautions.  I almost never come into contact with bodily fluids at work, anyway.  Do you sling this shit at nurses and hospital workers? 

        “What is your favorite flower?”
                                     –Random Internet Stranger 

        Wow, a normal question.  You must be a woman. 

         I love flowers!  My home always has flowers. 

         My favorite are Stargazer Lilies…but after I found the Mathematician’s wedding portraits online and saw that they were used in all the floral arrangements, it sort of ruined it for me.  

        Roses, buttercups, lilacs.  Violets. Magnolias.  The little flowers on Christmas Cactus (I love cacti!).  Orchids. 

        I just plain love flowers.  If I was rich, I would have them all over the place. 

        “What are your favorite books?”
                                        –The Same Random Internet Stranger

        My favorite book is Jude the Obscure, by Thomas Hardy. 

         Dominion: The Power of Man, the Suffering of Animals, and the Call to Mercy, by Matthew Scully.  I find his politics objectionable, but this book changed my life.  The only Animal-Rights book I know of written by a right-winger…and it’s poetry.

       Richard III, Othello, and Hamlet

       Francis Bacon, Thomas Hobbes, and the odd man out, Rousseau (fucking Continental philosophers, you know how they are!). Machiavelli, the first modern Political Scientist.  Stephen Crane. Walt Whitman. Battle Cry of Freedom, by James McPherson.

       Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, by Dee Brown. Arguably the saddest book I have ever read. 

      Umberto Eco’s On Ugliness.  

      Robert Caro?  Master of the Senate? 

       Isaak Babel, Red Calvary. 

       Primo Levi

        Marlowe 

        Too many other books to name–these are just the first which spring to mind. 

Circe

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     In Greek mythology, Circe was a goddess who lived in a beautiful mansion on an enchanted island.  She had the power to turn men into animals.  All around her manor were docile lions and wolves and owls and boars–all of them her former lovers.  She had changed them into animals to enslave them and keep them with her forever.

      In Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus and his crew stop to rest on her island.  Circe invited them into her mansion prepared a feast for them.  She cast a spell over the food, and after the men ate of it, they were transformed into pigs!  

      Only one man escaped.  He ran back to the boat to tell Odysseus (who had stayed behind) what had happened.  

       The hero-king set out to rescue his men.  His protector, the goddess Athena, sent the messenger god Hermes to help him.  Hermes gave Odysseus a special herb to protect him from Circe’s witchcraft.  Odysseus went to Circe’s house and threatened her, drawing his sword.  

     Circe was enamored and took him to bed (Odysseus got laid a lot).  Then she changed his crew back into their human forms.  

      She made Odysseus and his men stay with her on her island for a year.  She was in love with him and didn’t want him to leave, but eventually she released him and sent him away with instructions on how to travel to the Underworld. 

        My other favorite mythological goddess is Artemis, goddess of the moon and the wilderness and protector of young girls.  She caught a creep spying on her while she bathed in a lake and she did what every poor woman who’s ever been spied on by a masturbating asshole would like to do: she turned him into a deer, and he was devoured by his own hounds.  I think that’s awesome.  I think I will be Artemis next Halloween.

“Come in and stay for a spell!” HA! lame joke

love the owls, but I don’t get it.  Is she teaching them to read or something?

my favorite


Girl with a Pearl Earring

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     I finally get to see one of my favorite paintings in person!  The Frick is exhibiting Girl with a Pearl Earring and fourteen other excellent paintings from the Royal Picture Gallery Mauritshuis in the Hague! YAAAAY!  I saw the poster for the exhibit this morning when I was walking through Chinatown to get to my optometrist (and don’t you love that fresh-new-contact-lens feeling?). 

      When I was in Amsterdam I went to the Rijksmuseum, and wouldn’t you know it, most of the museum was closed for renovations!  BOOO!  I still got to see a little of it, though.  Then I ate half a bag of hallucinogenic mushrooms and went to the van Gogh museum, which I do not recommend.  The museum was great, but it was way too crowded, which made my trip uncomfortable.  I ended up leaving early and going for a long walk around town.  Amsterdam was very beautiful and the people were very beautiful, and friendly, too!  Everyone looked like a Barbie or Ken doll, and they were very tall.  It was the first time in my life where I was not an unusually tall woman.  

       I learned a few Dutch phrases in order to be polite, but the language was very challenging.  

       I can’t wait to go to this exhibit!  I’ll take photos and post them on the blog.  

       The only thing that is sad is that I’ll have to go alone.  Usually I don’t mind going to museums alone–I get the audio tour headphones and let the experts educate me–but this exhibit is special and I wish that I had a boyfriend to go with me.  🙁  

 

Royal Picture Gallery Mauritshuis in The Hague
Royal Picture Gallery Mauritshuis in The Hague
Royal Picture Gallery Mauritshuis in The Hague

Readers Weigh In: Creepy, Touching, or Both…?

      Do you think this video is disturbing, or touching, or both…?   The first time I watched it, I was frozen in morbid fascination, but the second time I thought it was funny and quite nice.

      What do you think?

      P.S.  As I finish grading the midterms, it occurs to me that the next time I’m at the doctor’s office I ought to have my kidney examined.  I think my kidney crayons are gangrenous, and I need nice healthy red crayons…


Salome and Judith

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    Salome was the daughter of Herodias.  She must have been beautiful, because when she danced for Herod and his guests at his birthday party, Herod was so bewitched by her that he promised to give her anything she wanted.  At her mother’s instruction, Salome asked for the head of John the Baptist.  Herod regretted his decision, but honor forced him to keep his oath, and he sent his executioner to dispatch John the Baptist, whose head was subsequently delivered to Salome on a plate. 

Lucas Cranach the Elder c. 1530  WOW LOOK AT HER CLOTHES!


Salome by Henri Regnault c. 1870
I always make sure to see this one at the Met!


Salome With the Head of Saint John the Baptist c. 1680 by Marinari
Salome Dancing c. 1906 by Franz von Stuch


     Judith was a beautiful and resourceful Jewish widow.  Her country was under attack from the Assyrians, whose military was led by the general Holofernes.  Judith and her loyal maid went to see Holofernes in his army camp, offering her service as a spy (she must have been a powerful and politically-connected woman if she had any knowledge useful enough to interest him).  She seduced him and gained his trust, got him drunk, and then cut off his head. Judith brought his head back to her people to inspire them.  The Assyrians freaked out and ran back home where they belonged. 

      Judith did what Eva Braun should have done if she cared about her country. 

    I love the story of Judith!  I wish that her maid had a name, though, because she was brave, too. 

Judith Victorious c. 1530 by Lucas Cranach the Elder
I love this painting!  She looks smug and I like her armored gauntlets and her badass coat!  She could totally be a domme.
Judith by Franz von Stuck
Sleep it off, sucker!
The Return of Judith to Bethulia by Bottecelli
Judith with the Head of Holofernes  by Peter Paul Rubens


And here is a picture of a greyhound I like, just because.  FYI, it looks like a pencil drawing, but it’s actually painting with very fine brush strokes!

Greyhound by Druer

    I really want to post this video but I have no idea what to do with it so I’m just going to put it here.  

     Back when I accepted that I was an alcoholic, I tackled the medical and scientific literature about it.  I distinctly remember a study where researchers offered unlimited rum to Rhesus monkeys.  Rhesus monkeys were chosen because they have complex social and familial structures.  

Anyway, most monkeys tried it and didn’t like it and never drank it again.  Some monkeys just had a few.

And some monkeys fell in love and became alcoholic monkeys.  They fucked themselves and dropped out of life.  Not unlike myself. 

Awesome Photos! Spanish Civil War!

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Update: Can anyone tell me what the tall black cylindrical objects are in the third photograph?  The photograph of the soldiers marching down the road, with the countryside vista in the background?  The black objects strapped to their backs?    Are they guns of some sort?  Do they launch missiles?  Is it rolled-up tarp for a tent?  What am I looking at?  I’m dying here!  Help an aspiring war geek out!  

Thank you

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Look at this amazing photo I found.  Fascists, during the Spanish Civil War.  That war was amazing (aren’t they all?).  In my fantasy life, I go fight in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade.  I probably would not have the courage to serve in battle and women are last-resort fighters anyway, but I could have helped with military infrastructure.   

    Men are so fantastic looking.  I love how strong they are. 

     JACKPOT!  I just found the name of the photographer: Guglielmo Sandri, name at birth Wilhelm Schrefer, born 1905 in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. 

      I wonder why he changed his name…?  Probably to fit in.

      Anyway, the Internet says he was a fascist photographer, but that is not a helpful description.  Was he a propagandist?  I must research this further.

     In any event, he took some damn fine photographs:

     

what are those black things? TELL MEEEEEE PLEEZE!

This photo is so rad.  What is that tower?  A minaret from the Muslim occupation, or what?  Maybe could be a church spire, but the design looks Arab to me.  Am I wrong?  Does anyone know? 

     As an aside, I have always wondered how the SS & Co., such as this fellow here, could get up in the morning, get dressed in front of the mirror and put on their hats with the idiotic and extremely creepy death’s head insignia, and go to work whilst taking themselves seriously.  

      Am I alone in wondering about this…?  Didn’t anyone ask himself, “Why does my hat have a skull and crossbones on it?  What am I, a pirate?  Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum?”

       Seriously.  Who came up with this spectacularly bad PR decision?  What the heck?  Were they just trying to scare the shit out of everyone they encountered?

      Well…I guess I just answered my own question. 

      Handsome man.  Too bad he was on the wrong side of history.

Do you kiss your mother whilst wearing that hat, Sir?