can’t you see
in the beast in the jungle, henry james (who by the way died a virgin) portrays john marcher, a man w/ too much time on his hands who’s convinced that something wonderful will happen in his life, something transcendent enough to give his life a meaning, a new, sublime meaning.
while waiting for the prodigious moment, john meets mary, befriends her, confesses his secret–beyond doubt a tremendously fantastic event will occur to him. so they wait together, but nothing happens. they wait, for years. they get more and more ready for the thing to happen, but the only thing that happens is the death of mary. at the cemetery, john, now facing a liz taylor-like emotional breakdown, understands that mary, mary, whom he had in front of him, was the sublime thing. didn’t see.
{ Imp Kerr & Associates, NYC | Re-edited | Thanks Jami }
photo { Norman Parkinson | Enlarge }
April 22nd, 2010 at 12:59 pm
There’s that joke painting by Richard Prince, about the man that was sentenced to an execution, but wasn’t told which day of the week it was going to be on. It would have tied well with this post.
It’s so difficult to find copies of artwork online. I can pirate an entire discography of some well-known artist, but I can’t find a crappy jpg of a painting.
April 22nd, 2010 at 1:16 pm
Haha, my mistake. The joke I was thinking of was a new sheldon wet/dry post!
I’m thoroughly scrambled in the head with my art lurkings.
I think the one I was thinking of was the psychologist and the inmate of an insane asylum.
April 23rd, 2010 at 12:44 am
That’s “The Beast in the Jungle.” Mostly. Kind of a portmanteau. Doubt very much that James would mind.
April 23rd, 2010 at 12:50 am
Thanks Jami! The two stories are published in the same book in France, hence the mess-up. embarrassing!
April 23rd, 2010 at 10:07 am
I don’t believe in this story. I want, but I just can’t. If he actually _looked_ mary in the eyes he would know. Eyes are the window to your soul and if you can’t recognize the missing part of your soul, then it is just not it, move along.
If you recognize it however, nothing else matters. I think something clicks in the universe and the place is not the same anymore. You go away for a year trying to forget it, but you just can’t.
On a side note, sometimes I wish that the world changes overnight and it is not about WHO wrote something anymore, but WHAT was written. Same for painters, photographers etc. The content is what should really matters, not the author. If I was a painter I would not sign my works, leave the corner empty.
April 27th, 2010 at 12:58 pm
But what about Graffiti artists?