Love in the Afternoon
Post #1510 • February 3, 2012, 12:31 PM • 1 Comment
[Betsy] was excited that Andrew was home again working on a painting out of their bedroom window, looking out past the milldam. The Helga story had broken in 1986, and the sting was still evident in the air around there. As I recall, Helga had seen the painting of the window and suggested a title, later when Betsy came up with the perfect title and usurped the temporary title it was a victory in more ways than one.
Bartlett, one of the finer realists we have, is teaching a master class in Georgia in March. I sometimes long to live in Bartlett's orderly world. It borders on William Bailey's and Balthus's and Piero's. But I am not welcome there. I am the barbarian from the South. My paint wants to be known as paint, my marks as marks. I would be an impostor there, pretending, among walkers, not to want to sprint. It can't be helped.