The best conversation I had all night was with the dude from the National Portrait Gallery(we'd met at an earlier opening at the gallery):
Me: "Hey! Howsit going?"
National Portrait Guy: "Oh, not bad. I'm working at the National Portrait Gallery."
Me: "Dammit... I mean, these are all totally portraits, hey?"
NPG: "Yeah like that 'She's Imaginative' one...."
Me: "Yeah I'll totally show you a picture of that girl...Well I guess I'm not a very GOOD portrait painter."
NPG: "Well, Steven Harper and all his cuts means I don't know what's happening"
Me: "Shitty. So does that mean you're like a teenage girls who has been given a week to live and wants to do all kinds of BAAAAAD stuff. Cuz I'll give you a deal on buying the whole fucking show right now! That'll show him."
NPG: "hahahahaha. Actually they froze my budget"
Me: "Your name is Craig, right?"
NPG: "No, Chris...."
Me: "Shit I gotta get a drink"
1 comment:
Lori also was wearing the heavily painted mask of the clown. The same one that youngsters chose in passing through adolescence so as not to remain naked during the rest of the struggle. No, not that it was wrong to leave one's own face exposed to the world. But that face, if left exposed, could when attaced suddenly become a terrible, involuntary mask. It was less dangerous then, to choose to be a persona for oneself. Choosing one's own mask was the first voluntary act of a human being. And a lonely one. But when he finally attached the mask of what he had chosen to represent himself to the world, his body took on a new firmness, his head could sometimres be helod hight like that of one who has overcome an obstacle: the person existed.
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