TA week before the queen died, I bought a small drawing Cecil Beaton: Yellow hood design. It’s undated, and perhaps not very special, even though Peyton won an Oscar for the costumes he created for it. GG And the My Fair Lady. But these things hardly matter to me. I love their colors – shades of green-yellow, like the wings of a goldfinch – and they cost me no more than the price of a return ticket to Manchester (I feel like it’s a shabby, but very poor accusation for our rail companies).
What is the timing, though. Beaton was one of the The Queen’s favorite photographersan affair that began when she was sixteen – she wore pink taffeta, and was intended to be photographed “in the “Gainsborough manner” – which could be said to have reached its climax when he was chosen for the official photo shoot at the coronation, an event for which he is famously known, Hanging, a stock of sandwiches hidden inside his top hat.
Peyton Could Be a Wasp: Malice in Wonderland, as did Jean Cocteau. But he loved the portrayal of Old Man Baked Bean, who described his look as “unhurried and gentle” and whose “too young” character didn’t cease to impress him when she appeared at the end of the aisle, swaying.
It’s always exciting to get a photo from a designer. But I am waiting for this little drawing to come back with more anticipation than usual.
The hand I drew pressed the shutter that was used to photograph the woman whose death tomorrow would bring London to a complete halt.
cup for art
Barbican Carole Schneemann (1939-2019) retrospective It is, to use the critical non-technical term, Crazy Bat: A true parody of a show by a feminist performance artist. Staring in astonishment at the coil pulled by the artist from her vagina! Pamper your eyes with confetti from the bathroom roll imprinted with menstrual blood. Wander through these “vulval spaces,” feeling anger, power, and all kinds of other major emotions. (In the store, I experienced a flurry of greed when I saw handmade Schneemann-inspired mugs, more attractive than anything else in the showrooms.)
Did the curators try to scoff when they thought of showing Schneemann about herself having sex in a very dark room lined with red velvet cinema seats? I don’t know. Either way, I couldn’t have imagined settling next to the two men who were having fun when I visited. No wonder the show seems to be aiming for some sort of record when it comes to raising caveats, though I didn’t take for granted the offer of “support” he kindly offers in one of these on behalf of his crew.
It’s my funeral
It can only be a good thing if the Queen’s funeral encourages people to think about them Special arrangements. But you can take this too far. While sipping on a bottle of red wine, my beloved housemate and I talked about what we want in the end and it all got out of hand. For him: Boys choir singing love is the answer to Todd Rundgren (“Can you make sure the sounds crack on the falsetto piece at the end?”) and the last lines of Tennyson Ulysses (“May we touch the happy carrots, and see the great Achilles, whom we knew…”).
For me: a brass band that plays Elgar Nimrod And many TS Eliot’s Little Giding As the (inevitably wide) crowd will tolerate, in a light voice from Simon Russell Bell.