POV: The Beach
The Fire Island of the Midwest
Postcard: Oval Beach, Saugatuck, Michigan
Collection of the Author
At brunch with Todd and Christopher the other day I confess we indulged in a little gossip, but it was all about people who are, for the most part, long dead. I can't help it, I find there's something charming in a story of teenagers in Malibu in the 50s going down to the beach on Sunday morning to look at all the naked men passed out face down in the sand after the wild parties of the night before. Charming I suppose because it was Malibu and long ago, and because now you can rent the television series from Netflix those men face down in the sand used to star on, and try and guess which of the handsome young guests stars who show up in the episodes were guests at those parties. Why gosh yessir thank you I sure would like to be on TV.
Not quite the same as being a teenager on the beach in Saugatuck, because Saugatuck was not exactly Malibu. For one thing there weren't anywhere near as many television stars unless you counted Burr Tillstrom who created the children's program "Kukla, Fran and Ollie" and used to drive my cousin down to the beach in his Cadillac convertible. But "Uncle" Burr was never really in front of the camera.
Perspective is such a big part of it all, of course. Point of View. POV as they say in script lingo. How you see a situation, a time, a place and your place in it; what you call it, what they call you, how you negotiate the terms of your being there, being anywhere. Context, sensibility. What did Jane Austen mean by Sense and Sensibility, someone asked me recently. Such a good question. All good novels are about love. Who do you love? Are you sensible about love? Do you love with your head or your heart?
POV. They've made films and television productions of every Jane Austen novel for a reason. Sense and Sensibility for sure. But love in the film industry can be difficult. Working in the film industry certainly can be. "Cukor was a dictator of Nazi proportions," writes Cecil Beaton (1904 - 1980) (Beaton in the Sixties, p. 236) "with his henchmen thugs ruling over the whole unit with terror and menace. To be on the set was to be in the lobby of the gas chamber."
POV. Not on the beach because it's Kentucky, but I think of the poor fellow they found recently face down not in the sand but on the floor of a supermarket, naked except for boots and chocolate and peanut butter. Life can be difficult in Kentucky, never mind love or finding work. Before passing out he writes "Sorry" on the floor with Nyquil.
Looking for love in all the wrong places, I observe.
He said he was sorry, our friend Ronald points out.
That was just the Bath Salts talking, says Justin.
I really like the image of the woman, alone, in the foreground. Those interpreting the image may conclude that she's waiting for someone, that she's lonely, and, best option, that she is comfortable on her own. To me, it reemphasizes the plight of the modern American writer, going solo. I guess we all need a time to go it alone and a time to band together, even writers or other artists
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