Sunday, July 10, 2011

Will this make the difference?

Who doesn't tread with trepidation in the blogland of style and snobbery, acquisition and exhibition, that it might someday all implode upon the perfect pair of shoes? Oh, dear lord, suddenly no more exquisite effect, excruciating detail, indenture to anguished compulsion, corrosive disdain, pretense of patronage. A Listerine heiress once bought 11 canvases from Mark Rothko on a morning walk; have we heard if any of them worked?

Then it was all true. I saw the skins of tigers flaming in his palace on the Grand Canal; I saw him opening a chest of rubies to ease, with their crimson-lighted depths, the gnawings of his broken heart.

And here we are. 4 paintings would miss the point, suggesting they were trifles; 5 would sound uncritical. 10 would be obscene, as if there'd been a discount. Yet who could live with only 9, while 12 might sound like muffins? And any more, my god, you'd notice them.

Superb taste as always, Mr. Siegel.

F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby
Charles Scribner's Sons, 1925©

James Toback, screenplay
TriStar Pictures, Inc., 1991©

No comments:

Post a Comment