The Edward Hopper show at the MFA in Boston was a revelation for several reasons. I had not known he was such stunning watercolorist. The watercolors were wonderful, and according to the text, done on the spot in one afternoon. The artist's notebooks contained small sketches and details of each painting in beautiful legible handwriting. New England scenery. Hopper was always a city painter to me, and he did great work in Gloucester, MA and on Cape Cod around Wellfleet and Truro. The show was on one level a restrospective of New England coastal architecture, from lighthouses to fish processing plants and beach houses.
He painted what others avoided. When everyone else was busy painting the beach at Gloucester, Hopper was off in the neighborhoods, doing old houses. I was struck, too, by the loneliness of the subjects in all of the paintings, just like the Modernisme painters in Barcelona. Alienation in the 20th Century! Now there's a topic that would fill a warehouse or two with painting, poetry, writing, music, everything, mostly people.
Yet Hopper had a long and presumably loving marriage.
When we walked into the exhibit, I had a revelation. My California book could have an artist as a character, even a painter. Once I decided that this book would not be Crime Fiction, all sorts of possibilities have presented themselves, but this one I really liked. So I'm thinking hard about that.
No more ICONS. The word "icon" and "Iconic" are so overused that I may vomit the next time I see those words writ large. Please, spare me. "Icon" isn't quite as bad as "wellness," but it's right up there. Add to the banned list, please.
Speaking of wellness, I noticed the people at the MFA seemed to be enjoying themselves and a number were actually smiling, in contrast to our health, never wellness, club where everyone looks grumpy as a bear. Maybe we should all forget the weights and the treadmill which engender frowns and grumpiness and take off at a brisk pace for the nearest museum, look at the art, relax, smile and give our bodies a break. There were lots of infants and even a few toddlers at the show, all of them cherubic and/or asleep. Didn't hear a single squawk. Must have been the happy people and the alienated art.
So think on that. Tomorrow at the club, I promise to smile and say "Hi!" to every single person whose path I cross. Maybe some will even return the greeting. I'll let you know.
In the meantime, no icons, no wellness, but SMILE!
Grapeshot
Friday, May 04, 2007
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