"Facts and Falsehoods About the War on the South"
by Elizabeth Avery Meriwether (1825-1916) writing under the pseudonym George Edmonds, is published in 1904. Elizabeth's husband helped found the Ku Klux Klan in Memphis, TN. "Facts and Falsehoods" is a work which continues to be popular with certain revisionist Confederate lunatic fringe southern historians of the Civil War.
Detail from the Armand Hammer Museum Spring 2008 Catalogue cover, KARA WALKER, "Gone, An Historical Romance of a Civil War as it Occurred Between the Dusky Thighs of One Young Negress and Her Heart," 1994. Cut paper on wall, from the exhibition "Kara Walker: My Complement, My Enemy, My Oppressor, My Love" at the Hammer, to June 8, 2008.
Unseasonably hot yesterday, nearly 90 -- "in the Valley" as everyone always adds, as if that makes it worse or better depending on where you are. I drove out to Santa Monica to meet Nancy and take a walk down the beach to Venice which is already teeming with the hucksters and entrepreneurs and reminds me of the East Village in the old days, but with better weather. Too much sun and alcohol and drugs fuel the economy along this stretch of the Boardwalk ("Where the Debris Meets the Sea"), which is to say that, driven by your addictions or too much of a good thing, you'll find a way to hustle the tourists and make a buck off your art or skills as a break dancer, mime, Tarot card reader, musician, chainsaw juggler, con. We had breakfast, followed by a walk back to our vehicles and a drive to the Promenade for an early showing of "The Counterfeiters" [Die Falscher] [see RJK's insightful review HERE].
Then to Westwood for the Kara Walker show, which I hope all of you locals find time to go see. The genteel art of silhouettes and shadow puppet theater are subverted by the artist in a compelling presentation on Race and Gender and History. The idea of shadows in all senses is played out brilliantly in a show that delights and offends at the same time. Transgressive and captivating.
Then back to West Hollywood and the Sunset Strip to my eyeglass store to pick up my new frames. By this point I was beet red from the walk on the beach and overstimulated by stories of Nazis and Oppression, and in that state I dare you to make your way down a sidewalk crowded with tables and chairs filled with foreign visitors enjoying the weak dollar. In half a block I overheard French and Farsi, Japanese, Hebrew, Portuguese, German and Spanish (the latter an exchange between busboys).
As my new frames were being adjusted, a hushed consultation ensued between two store employees on an order "He" had made -- in this town (where even first names are giveaways) real discretion comes in the form of pronouns only. The decision was made to "call" -- ["I better call," said the one with an encouraging nod from the other]. Which meant calling one of the Personal Assistants, of course.
After the briefest of preliminaries, she cut to the heart of the matter: "She [The Wife? I wondered. The Personal Shopper? The Girlfriend?],like, picked out the same frame for Him? Except in silver not pewter? Right. So He knows, right? I mean, He's like ordered a million pairs from us before, but -- right, with the blue tint. Right. But they're the same and He knows? Do you want to check with Him first? No? Okay. No, that's fine. Just wanted to make sure."
As the cautious clerk hung up with a barely discernible shrug (translation: your funeral not mine) I like to think all of us who have experienced Dealing With Important and Powerful People could appreciate this little moment -- a moment in which you imagine what might happen if He is unhappy with the purchase you authorized on His behalf. Dreams of fame and fortune -- along with drugs, alcohol and the weather -- lure people out here; Addiction and Rage and Ego keep things interesting, and around which a service economy evolves, rising and falling like the tide, on whims and forces beyond your puny attempts at control.
I was reminded of a scene in the film I'd just witnessed in which the Nazi observes disdainfully to the concentration camp prisoner, "You people will do anything to survive." Then he pisses on him. I was reminded of the images in Kara Walker's artful delicate black paper cutouts, of slave women servicing their white masters.
But then I thought how happy I was with my new glasses. I could see so much better now. And it was such a beautiful sunny day.
Detail from the Armand Hammer Museum Spring 2008 Catalogue cover, KARA WALKER, "Gone, An Historical Romance of a Civil War as it Occurred Between the Dusky Thighs of One Young Negress and Her Heart," 1994. Cut paper on wall, from the exhibition "Kara Walker: My Complement, My Enemy, My Oppressor, My Love" at the Hammer, to June 8, 2008.Unseasonably hot yesterday, nearly 90 -- "in the Valley" as everyone always adds, as if that makes it worse or better depending on where you are. I drove out to Santa Monica to meet Nancy and take a walk down the beach to Venice which is already teeming with the hucksters and entrepreneurs and reminds me of the East Village in the old days, but with better weather. Too much sun and alcohol and drugs fuel the economy along this stretch of the Boardwalk ("Where the Debris Meets the Sea"), which is to say that, driven by your addictions or too much of a good thing, you'll find a way to hustle the tourists and make a buck off your art or skills as a break dancer, mime, Tarot card reader, musician, chainsaw juggler, con. We had breakfast, followed by a walk back to our vehicles and a drive to the Promenade for an early showing of "The Counterfeiters" [Die Falscher] [see RJK's insightful review HERE].
Then to Westwood for the Kara Walker show, which I hope all of you locals find time to go see. The genteel art of silhouettes and shadow puppet theater are subverted by the artist in a compelling presentation on Race and Gender and History. The idea of shadows in all senses is played out brilliantly in a show that delights and offends at the same time. Transgressive and captivating.
Then back to West Hollywood and the Sunset Strip to my eyeglass store to pick up my new frames. By this point I was beet red from the walk on the beach and overstimulated by stories of Nazis and Oppression, and in that state I dare you to make your way down a sidewalk crowded with tables and chairs filled with foreign visitors enjoying the weak dollar. In half a block I overheard French and Farsi, Japanese, Hebrew, Portuguese, German and Spanish (the latter an exchange between busboys).
As my new frames were being adjusted, a hushed consultation ensued between two store employees on an order "He" had made -- in this town (where even first names are giveaways) real discretion comes in the form of pronouns only. The decision was made to "call" -- ["I better call," said the one with an encouraging nod from the other]. Which meant calling one of the Personal Assistants, of course.
After the briefest of preliminaries, she cut to the heart of the matter: "She [The Wife? I wondered. The Personal Shopper? The Girlfriend?],like, picked out the same frame for Him? Except in silver not pewter? Right. So He knows, right? I mean, He's like ordered a million pairs from us before, but -- right, with the blue tint. Right. But they're the same and He knows? Do you want to check with Him first? No? Okay. No, that's fine. Just wanted to make sure."
As the cautious clerk hung up with a barely discernible shrug (translation: your funeral not mine) I like to think all of us who have experienced Dealing With Important and Powerful People could appreciate this little moment -- a moment in which you imagine what might happen if He is unhappy with the purchase you authorized on His behalf. Dreams of fame and fortune -- along with drugs, alcohol and the weather -- lure people out here; Addiction and Rage and Ego keep things interesting, and around which a service economy evolves, rising and falling like the tide, on whims and forces beyond your puny attempts at control.
I was reminded of a scene in the film I'd just witnessed in which the Nazi observes disdainfully to the concentration camp prisoner, "You people will do anything to survive." Then he pisses on him. I was reminded of the images in Kara Walker's artful delicate black paper cutouts, of slave women servicing their white masters.
But then I thought how happy I was with my new glasses. I could see so much better now. And it was such a beautiful sunny day.
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