Bitch on the Blog

June 18, 2017

Shades of white

I am no good at drawing. Which is rather surprising since I come from a long line of people who actually made their living painting.

My father who inherited that most remarkable talent – though never made anything of it because he was more interested in pursuing other interests, once helped me out. I was about twelve. Our art homework was to do a portrait of a pirate (water colours no less – the smudge’s devil of all inventions). We had a few days. The worse and the more dreaded the task the more it’ll spoil not only your life in the interim but you’ll put it off to the last minute (deadline by another name). (Un)fortunately my father passed my desk (Sunday afternoon) as I was putting the finishing touches to a half hearted attempt at conveying both the cliche and the menace of a pirate (Johnny Depp my creation wasn’t – it was before his time). So, in a moment of charitable (or was it) intent, my father chucked my effort into the nearest waste paper basket and conjured up the most magnificent pirate ever. Took him zero time – not that he meant to ram home that I most certainly had betrayed the creative family line (on both sides). Not at all. He was far more interested in taking all my essays and other writings apart – even if they rated A* by assorted teachers. You want to know what my father called my teachers? Don’t. Repeating it would be flying in the face of my genteel upbringing and the manners my mother instilled in me.

So Monday was grand. My art teacher’s face lit up. He studied my father’s effort in detail. He was chuffed. He smiled. At me. After an artfully executed theatrical pause  he said: “Do tell your father that, on account of fraud, I’ll only give him a two” (a one being top mark). After that I can’t remember anything. Other than that I was always tops in the theory of art and art history. Brush to canvas? Forget it. Why would I? Know thy limitations.

Not to sell myself short and as befits my temperament, I did and do passable caricatures (of people). That’s about it.

As Karma has a way of biting you unawares,  most nearest and dearest to me, friends and assorted family, are masters of their chosen art. Occasionally forced to remind them, ever so tactfully, we can’t all be artistes. Some of us have to be the appreciative audience. The ones who do the clapping, the stroking of ego, the catchers of tears, the slayers of tantrums, the ones who write the critiques, facilitate you, marketeer your stuff.  And, BUY IT.

Whatever you do, please do not talk to me about gallerists. It was Basel/Switzerland, ca. 1997, when I fell off my chair on learning that a gallerist (the marketeer and provider of large swathes of wall and the monied) will take a  cool 66 % off your sales for services rendered.

Titanium white greetings,




February 16, 2012

Frightened out of my wits

Filed under: Questions — bitchontheblog @ 10:45
Tags: , , , , , ,

Should I get my head examined?

My dreams are so real, I wake up and find myself answering an email, or commenting on a blog post – neither of which exists. Am I going crazy? Last night  Phil “posted” an example of a moral dilemma similar to the one I outlined recently. On waking I saw his text in front of my mind’s eye as clear as if it were on the screen. HELP! It gets worse: Some of you had already “commented” on it. Again, what any of you “said” clearly imprinted on my brain. HELP!

I recently warned my father (I’d never tell my mother – she wouldn’t like it) that I might be going mad: In my sleep I write texts, black on white, as clear as if it were daylight. So far so nothing. However, and this is where even he went quiet: After waking I bloody remember the lot, word perfect. Is this normal? Maybe it doesn’t matter whether it’s normal or not. What’s normal anyway? Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I have three – irrational though not unreasonable – fears: And one of them is losing my sanity. I keep telling myself that there is no need to panic: I haven’t cut off one of my ears or kissed a horse in Turin – yet.


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