I stumbled upon some pottery for my Sapphic love nest. This 15 inch vase is post 1820, and therefore from a period generally thought to have produced only mediocrity. This object looks at first as if a proto-impressionist has dabbed it with the tip of a brush dipped in gold. A change in my quest for non-obnoxious art.
But a closer look reveals each of the dabs to be a meticulously painted crest.
And then comes this vessel.
In the process of firing, the sang-de-boef ("bull's blood-colored") glaze - of exquisite color depth and chocolate-like texture uniformity - runs, imparting a wonderful bleeding effect on the neck. Thoughts of poems. Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson. But look closer: the bleeding reveals a magnificent network of hairline cracks in the underlying layers.
Anything less than mid six figures would be a damned outrage should this piece be offered at an auction.
If I were a man, I would want a limited number of things that are outright beautiful. I know many men, and they strike me as being shy to actually surround themselves with aesthetically pleasing objects. Instead, regardless of their marital status, their favorite den or a bachelor pad is a heaven of sports memorabilia punctuated with a token poster, which is a pinup photo or modern art.
I came across the Canofthoughts blog, and it struck me as a man's blog that struck a note in any mother's heart. A woman with a natural nurturing spirit inside, I wanted to have a bedroom just like this one, since the settee at the foot of it is so versatile. Though the versatility, defined by the romantic liaison with my Janet, is more pointedly an idea for novel Sapphic gymnastics.
Mother's Day Contest (run by the blogger) reminded me of a challange I got last week. "You're one hot MILF," told me a man at the Lex Bar. "Hot lesbian MILF," cam the reply. I had my kid when I was 18 and a ten-year career in Fonda-like aerobics has preserved me in an ideal MILF shape, just right to be picked by Catherine Deneuve lookalikes from then onwards. Till I got the job at the college magazine.
I don't like filling my place with fragile objects. Because we are just too aerobic.