It’s been a while since I last could find time for painting. That made it all the more enjoyable to muck about with colours and brushes. This painting is so new that I haven’t thought of a title — but it’ll come to me.
Not so long ago, I watched Lover Come Back with Rock Hudson and Doris Day. No need to mention that it’s a pre-feminist movie, notwithstanding that the female lead is an advertising executive. The portrayal of her can be explained in two words: dumb blonde. She accepts everything her antagonist says, no matter how ridiculous it may seem to us today. Obviously, they end up married – and there you have it.
The film was funny in some ways, but it was embarrassing. In the end, it didn’t make me laugh. Doubtless, it is an accurate presentation of the fifties and early sixties. The question is, have we come that far since then? In certain ways perhaps, but there’s still huge gaps between what men and women earn for equal work.
There are less female than male representatives in any government or high finance. There are less female than male leaders in any business, as far as I know. The number of male chauvinists hasn’t changed — much. What can be done? Women may carry part of the responsibility. It’s difficult to change the way people think. Regardless of all the brave women who fought for equality, most people haven’t changed their ideas about women’s place – or men’s – in the hierarchy.
Take a simple issue as height. Women prefer dating men who are taller than they. It’s something they say openly. Any woman likes to be swept off her feet by a strong alpha male. Many women look for a partner who earns more than they. Women who become mothers to sons often don’t teach them to sew buttons or do the washing up. Girls learn those ‘female’ skills without a question – and yet some of the most famous clothing designers are men. Go figure.
It’s a marvel that we can’t seem to accept that the sexes aren’t that easy to separate or determine. This reminds me of a book I just read, Beneath an Indigo Moon by JT Atkinson. He makes some pertinent points about gender. It is a thought-provoking book and hard to deal with in some places. Nevertheless, it is well worth tackling. Anyway, these days, it becomes increasingly obvious that there is an entire spectrum of sexes, spanning from alpha male to alpha female. Some are easily recognizable, but the difference becomes difficult to see when boys grow up in female bodies and vice versa. Yes, that can be remedied nowadays. All the same, the confusion reigns and will continue to do so, until we accept that we’re all human beings, regardless of sex, sexual preferences, and colour. There are still many people who resent anybody who doesn’t fit the norm, which is their norm.
For some reason, this reminds me of a sign outside a barbershop. I saw it not three weeks ago on a sidewalk in Bremerhaven. It said Racists Aren’t Welcome. Next to this was another sign saying that the salon isn’t open for ladies. Food for thought. That’s how far we’ve advanced since women should only concern their little heads with their children, the kitchen, and the church. Of course, they had to maintain cleanliness in household matters too. In many heterosexual households, these issues still fall to the woman. A patriarchal society that has worked for around two-thousand years doesn’t change fast.
Maybe there’s reason for rejoicing that husbands can’t commit their ‘unruly’ wives to asylums any longer. There’s also ground for rejoicing that women are allowed to have possessions and earn money after marriage. In most countries, females even have the right to vote. Forget that the most progressive countries granted that right to women about a hundred years ago. All the same, there are many countries where girl children are mutilated at a young age, to keep them innocent until they marry. To return to past politics, there were times when only the ruling or moneyed classes, obviously only the men, had the right to vote.
Males and females indeed have different bodies. Men are endowed with stronger muscles, but only females can procreate and carry a child to full term. That doesn’t mean that men have intelligence and females – souls. That idea is too simplistic. Will it ever change? It is delightful to be a female as it is probably great to be a male. It is alluring to be complimented, wined and dined. All sexes enjoy that game. Isn’t it time to accept that it’s a game and has no real substance? Let us be as feminine and as masculine as we can and as we like, without pulling rules around our necks that limit our humanity. Is that too much to ask for? Just wondering.
My last piece in this miniseries of Steen Espersen’s art is a nude, seen from the back. I selected it because of its tender rendition of the female form. The ink lines and the light brown colour wash creates a feeling that the woman in the picture is alive.
Hogarth’s painting in the lost series ‘A Harlot’s Progress’ causes mayhem and murders when art dealers meet on a private flight bound for London. Connor takes her readers to seedy and coarse surroundings and uses violence as a plot device.
The convincing flashbacks to Hogarth’s time may feature the best writing in this thriller. The murders in the book’s present are graphic and frankly disturbing. All in all, the plot builds up to something spectacular, but in the end, everything falls flat. The reason is one of those barely concealed hooks to interest the reader in the next volume of a series. There are likeable and credible characters, but others are less aptly portrayed.
Where did Ms Connor get the idea that an illegitimate child would threaten the royal succession In England – or any country?
By the way, when looking at the print of that lost painting, number two in Hogarth’s prints known as A Harlot’s Progress, it becomes clear that the harlot isn’t pregnant. Moll Hackabout (Hogarth’s protagonist in the prints) aka Polly Gunnell (Hogarth’s model in Legacy of Blood) isn’t pregnant until plate three, and the print shows evidence of her dalliance with a notorious highway robber. Before then, she has come down in the world – the bailiffs are arriving to take her to Bridewell. In plate six, her son is portrayed as a halfwit. That would imply that an illegitimate halfwit would have the power to endanger the succession in the Royal House. Is that likely? Other than that, there isn’t much to say for or against the book. Reading it, you get drawn into the plot, but if the premise for the story is hard to swallow, there isn’t much chance that it will convince a wider audience.
Seb Kirby, Take No More
A Shady Part of The Art World
The intrigue in this thriller orbits around the search for famous artworks, hidden in the layers of old paintings. Kirby presents vivid characters and plot-driven suspense.
James Blake finds himself holding his wife in his arms as she dies, a murder victim. No wonder, that he must face being the main suspect. His reaction to that is to work on unravelling the mystery himself. That takes him to Florence and into contact with the mafioso underworld. It is hit or miss if he’ll survive. He gets help from his brother, an investigating journalist, and his partner, an Italian photographer.
The plot abounds with twists and turns. The only downside to this engaging thriller is that Kirby wraps up the narrative in a cursory manner in the last chapter. Personally, I’d have loved it, had the ending been presented in greater detail. All the same, this novel is well worth reading.
Lucinda E Clarke, A Year in the Life of Leah Brand
Suspense with a Humorous Core
Leah Brand has a dreadful year. From her husband’s beloved dog dying, everything turns out wrong and frightening. Leah comes to doubt her sanity and with good reason. Not because she is insane or anywhere near to it. Ms Clarke shows what mental abuse can do to its victims. Throughout the story, Ms Clarke keeps a light touch and a humorous tone, which makes the suspense elements all the creepier. Recommended.
Jim Heter, The Lamia
Shapeshifting, Shamanism, a Female (Half) Goddess.
Dema Culver is a field agent for the DEA (the drug enforcement administration) – with a difference. On the surface a modern and efficient agent, underneath a vulnerable soul. The storyline puts her on the spot with wicked drug lords that don’t hold back from a kidnapping.
This is where the plot splits in two. The modern crime thriller meets an ancient race of goddesses. There are numerable half- and absolute goddesses in the myths going from the Minoan culture over Egypt and China to the Aztecs and Haiti. Sprinkle in the myth of Persephone in the guise of Dema’s sister Kore and you have a female orientated myth that spans defeat and victory in the fight between good and evil.
It was fascinating to follow how Mr Heter managed to fit together the two seemingly incongruous parts. In my opinion, the mythical parts worked better than the modern parts, as the protagonist’s scope for development appeared larger during her transformation from modern-day woman-agent to a reincarnation of an ancient goddess. All in all, a rewarding encounter with an unusual author.
Jennie Ensor, The Girl in His Eyes
A Challenging Theme, A Forceful Book
Laura, Suzanne, and Paul are stuck in a triangle of pain and lies. Their relationship and the consequences of their tangled lives are unfolded in this darkly suspenseful novel. Reading this, it becomes clear that this relationship isn’t just a three-way relationship, it is a family triangle of unhealthy proportions.
Laura is unable to hold down a job and has few friends. Her mother, Suzanne, is a grown-up child, who flees into new-age doctrines to overcome her loss of youth. Paul, the man in the house, resists facing his crimes and does his utmost to convince himself that what he does is normal. That his delusion results in damage, to a person outside the family, is the necessary consequence of his history.
Why Laura is withdrawn and insecure becomes painfully clear as the story unfolds. Why Suzanne became the wife of her husband, and why their marriage is falling apart, adds depth to the agonizing situation. Paul stays at the core of the family’s trouble. His aberration is the force behind his lies and delusions.
This is a strong and insightful unravelling of child abuse within families and without. In separate chapters, Jennie Ensor allows the three protagonists to speak for themselves, and the close third-person approach makes for compelling reading. Highly recommended.
JS Frankel, Master Fantastic
White and Black Magic
Paul is an orphan, but otherwise a normal boy. That is true, until he witnesses how a demon kills his best friend. The demons attack is so vicious that it deafens Paul.
Enter Master Fantastic. He is an elementalist and sticks to a sorcerer’s code of conduct. In his youth, he was a sorcerer’s apprentice and that caused unforeseen consequences. His former master dabbled in black magic, and that, among other problems, heaps dangers on his daughter, Myrna who is born deaf.
Master F needs a helper, preferably somebody who knows sign language. So, he takes Paul into his employ, but without revealing her history.
It turns out that Paul’s new job is unusual and his job-description inadequate. There are visits to parallel worlds, and there are unexpected dangers. Paul soon realizes that the demon he already met is his employer’s worst adversary.
This is a coming of age tale. Paul must use his practical sense and develop courage. Thus, he becomes a modern-day St George, facing a dragon – with a twist.
The characters are all well-developed and believable, from Paul’s uncle, who neglects Paul, to the demon, Hekla. As always, Frankel writes compelling and wittily, and with a nod to the mythical nature of his fantasies.
Barbara Monier, The Rocky Orchard
An In-Between Parable
We meet the protagonist, Mazie, in an old farmhouse that means everything to her. There we find the rocky orchard of the title, a kind of wasteland and perhaps a symbol of life.
Evocative and haunting, Mazie’s life unfolds. There are flashes forward and back in time, and they have a purpose. Monier reveals what it is, through Mazie’s conversations with an old lady, Lulu, who visits the farm. Mazie’s interactions with friends, with her family, including her brother, Woo, with her boyfriend, Sean, come to light in those conversations. As Lulu listens, she helps Mazie to understand and integrate her experiences. This enigmatic story about life and death will resonate with its reader for a long time.
Raymond St Elmo, The Stations of the Angels
A Literary Tempest
This is another whirlwind of an experience. You can’t call it a book or a novel. It’s an allegory. A parallel world – with all the customary members-only presented in Dadaist colours and surrealist guises. The world consists of several houses, the burning house, the ghost house, the clown house, the lion house, the mouse house, the moon house, the lighthouse the dolls’ house, the mourning house, the sewage house, the warlike house, the judging house, the dead(?) house. The central houses are the burning house, the ghost house, and the clown house. There are would-be vampires, desperate or indulgent parents, spiteful siblings, longsuffering teachers, a blind girl, a lunatic family. Most importantly, there are Clarence and Kim, as well as a handful of memorable secondary characters. In short, there’s every possible element that can make you wonder and think about the absurd theatre that we humans are so fond of staging. There’s scope for laughing too, but otherwise, this wouldn’t be one of St Elmo’s pop up worlds that let you look deep into the human soul.
The third instalment in my Espersen miniseries is a landscape. Steen was of an old Bornholm family and found a large part of his inspiration in the rocky landscapes. All thing nautical spoke to him and he spent a long time on the easternmost island group in Denmark, painting. Unfortunately, none of his oil paintings are available – not as far as I know – but I’m including a Sketch from Cristiansø.
Last night, I indulged in a film evening. Moonstruck. The script is unbelievable. The cast is stunning. The repartees, the romance, the music, everything works. Even Cage, hamming the proverbial lover, is perfect. The costumes are gorgeous, even the smallest role is perfectly filled. Love that film – and have loved it since it came out in 1987. It brought me to tears of laughter and longing. It always did. The scene in the opera is powerful, especially that scene when Cage kisses Cheer’s hand as she cries. Together with Puccini’s music, it destroys you. In a good way. Obviously. Is this just a bit of nostalgia? Yes – and no.
There’s no longing in my heart, not for the past. The longing that is there is for a dream that might be better for staying a dream. It’s a dream of love. A love that can be cherished no matter what might happen. It will always stay with me. That’s what makes me cry. The joy and the pain of that impossible dream. Impossible?
It is a dream but it’s also a reality. What more can one wish for?
A fulfilled dream is quickly gone. An unattainable dream – nobody can take it away from you. Isn’t that what we long for most of all? Something that will always stay young – because it is out of reach? The paradox is that it may not be out of reach. How does that work? Don’t know, but it is so. It is a gift that somebody gave and withheld – and keeps giving and withholding. Strange but wonderful. An enigma.
Is the reason that we’re attracted to the mystery more than to the fulfilment? It could be so. Why not? Having something – forever – can turn into boredom. Security breed ennui. Familiarity does the same. Receiving a gift that you may or may not be allowed to keep may be bittersweet, but the sweetness is stronger than the rest.
It’s a pity that one must be relatively old before it becomes clear that possession may not be the ultimate joy. That doesn’t change our longing to possess what we love. It’s a thought that came to me early. When living with my first husband, it became clear to me that our marriage couldn’t survive being too close. The moment you experience what happens when somebody obsesses about you, you know that this is the wrong path. It didn’t sink in then. It was the embryo of an idea that proves itself more convincingly the longer it stays with me.
Is it feasible to love and grow together? It may be, but it may not be possible for me. Is it a curse or a benediction? That’s a difficult question. Never mind. It’s a way of life, and it will take me somewhere. It may take me to my death, but that could be the ultimate adventure. We have no way of finding out until it comes to us.
Let’s face it. Life is not to explain. Love is too. Yet we live and love because we have no choice. Not if we want to live to the fullest. Whatever that means. It may mean something different to every man or woman or child. It’s an individual thing if ever there was an individuum. One thing is certain, we’re no worms or ants living as automatons. That is, we don’t have to be. We have every possibility and it’s our choice. Ours alone. We have the responsibility too. We must live with our choices.