Marige

So VallyP has changed my name! (see last comments, previous post). I now remember where I have seen the fabulous image she inspired me to conjure up for my new self.

Brassai was a psudonym of the Hungrian Gyula Halász, a journalist, artist, writer, filmmaker and photographer who lived and worked in Paris from about 1930. Most of the images for which he is best known are from the early thirties, many from his first published collection, "Paris de Nuit". This one is dated 1933, and is one of my favourites. It is from a series of images of "La Mome Bijou" (copyright Estate Brassai / BnF). I love the powerful combination of dignity and decadence this fabulous looking woman exudes.

Brassai's images of night-time Paris between the wars are among my all-time favourite photographic works. If you don't know them, give yourself a treat and do some Googling or visit a good bookshop.

And don't spare the pearls or the red lipstick!

Greta Garbo at Brighton.

Well, a darker and less aloof Antipodean version, anyway. It was sunny but freezing, so the mystery was not contrived, but necessary.

This photo thing is tricky. No idea how to put one up as a profile pic, but if I did, I think Greta would be the one.

More recently though, I have discovered my face, at least in profile. This was taken at an exhibition opening last month. I seem to be looking a bit pensive, and not at all brimming with wit and sparkle as dear Val suggested I might be. I was probably wondering if anyone would notice if I had a third glass of wine. I'm sure I was wittier once I did.

Now to trawl through all those holiday snaps ...

Go on, say something.

After my last post, I have decided to behave with a little more decorum, which is nice of me and has taken a special effort since just yesterday I came across an article discussing the fact that more and more women are electing to have "labiaplasty", or surgery to reduce the size of part of their genitalia for "aesthetic reasons". God help us.

Oh. Well, so much for good intentions. I humbly offer the following as penance:


Contrition.
I came back with good intent
(Gave up naughtiness for Lent)
Not even in the cause of good debate.
But the words they typed themselves;
(Must be wicked little elves
In the keyboard when I try to be sedate.)

Still, no more I'll talk of regions
Which cause cheeks to blush in legions,
For I do not wish to challenge or offend.
I will let all outrage pass,
Write with dignity and class,
And revel in my niceness to the end.


There. I feel better already.
(Much less interesting though.)