Deborah Lipp

Thirty years ago, my friend Russell and I ventured across the Bay to San Francisco, where we rode a bus for miles–miles!–deep into the heart of the Terra they call Incognita, all so we could wait hours in line for a movie that in that innocent era was simply called “Star Wars”.

The theater was the Coronet, and it was the only theater in the Bay Area showing the 70mm version. That made it Ground Zero for the fanatics. If you were watching the news back then and saw stories about the Star Wars phenomenon where they talked to fans waiting in line, odds are pretty good you saw the Coronet.

Over the years, I saw a dozen or so other movies there–some memorable (Fellowship of the Ring), some not so much (um…I forget). It wasn’t spectacular like the Paramount or ornate like the Alhambra, but it had a nice deco interior and it was a big single-screen theater where you felt like you were Watching A Movie.

Now I live in the neighborhood that seemed so foreign to me. Lucas has driven the Star Wars franchise into the ground with a prequel trilogy so bad it tarnishes the originals. And as of last Sunday morning, this is what was left of the Coronet.

It closed two years ago, as had most of the other single-screen theaters in San Francisco. I was sad at the time, got over it, moved on. The building stood empty, in limbo. Then a couple of weeks ago I rode by on the bus and saw that the sign was down and they had knocked down one of the walls, and it hit me all over again.

You live any place too long and this is what happens: the geography of your memory is dismantled piece by piece. You know it’ll happen but that doesn’t make it any easier. For me, the Coronet was a big piece.

More pictures below the fold… » Read more..

Hey, we’ll keep this going as long as people are interested.

The current question (and it’s a good one) is from Amy: Name the order in which the contestants of Slayerfest were taken out of commission.

While I was searching for artwork the other day, I came across some amazing paintings by Botero. (Botero is also known for his shocking and powerful Abu Ghraib paintings, but that’s not what I’m blogging about today.)

It was one of those odd things, where I searched for Godward and it said “You might also like…” and showed me Botero. I can’t imagine how that connection was made, I can’t see anything in common between the two.

I am delighted by these fat, lush images. It is interesting to experience my own reaction, and to see how others have reacted. My first reaction, to “The Bath” (below the fold) was that it was funny; the fat woman, the toilet, the primping. And then I thought it was joyful.

On Wikipedia, I read this:

The “fat people” are often thought by critics to satirize the subjects and situations that Botero chooses to paint. Botero explains his use of obese figures and forms as such: “An artist is attracted to certain kinds of form without knowing why. You adopt a position intuitively; only later do you attempt to rationalize or even justify it.”

How interesting! They’re fat so it must be satire. But counter to that, they’re fat because I like to paint them that way and that’s that. I love that he said that!

Botero has been written about by fat-acceptance folks, from whom I read:

Ironically, however, exclusively portraying fat people in a positive light is not Botero’s intent. He is not, as we would intuitively believe, a fat admirer. Rather Botero sees life in terms of abundance, fullness, richness, and contrasts; this is why his work focuses on a larger form.

I get that NAAFA has a specific agenda, but this doesn’t read right. First, just about everyone in a Botero is fat, not just the positively-imaged people. Second, not having the intention of being about fat positivity is not the same as “he is not…a fat admirer.” These are wonderful, sensual images that challenge our notions of beauty and force us to confront our rhetoric about fat positivity in light of our visceral reactions. I think they’re wonderful.

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It’s Tuesday…you have to get your trivia fix. I understand. So while I don’t have one of Deborah’s carefully crafted quizzes on hand, I do know that there must be trivia on Tuesday.

So this week we’ll do something a little different: a Whedonverse trivia open thread.

Here’s how it works: I post a trivia question (related to Buffy, Angel, or Firefly); whoever answers correctly gets to post another one; and so on, for as long as people want to keep it going. If you’re certain of your answer, go ahead and post the question; if not, let someone confirm first. If you don’t have a good question to hand, you can waive, and then it’s open to the first person to post a question.

So here’s a not-too-difficult starting question: What distinction do Angel and Harmony (and only Angel and Harmony) share?

You’ve doubtless heard by now that Tammy Faye Messner has died. Melissa McEwen reposts a sweet, moving tribute (from a couple of years ago) that I think is the best eulogy I’ve seen. Here’s a taste (then go read the rest):

Even though her husband, and many of their PTL associates, seemed like insincere rabble, just out for the last dimes in the handbags of little old ladies, Tammy always struck me as the genuine article—a woman who was filled with boundless faith and love. She also seemed like someone with whom I’d really enjoy sitting and having a long conversation, diametrically different as we are, because she was interesting and thoughtful, and most of all, very funny….

Tammy Faye proved herself to be the genuine article after all, ignoring the increasingly vitriolic anti-gay noise from much of the evangelical community, and becoming an out-spoken gay rights advocate, even penning a gay youth advice column, raising awareness about the disproportionate incidences of teen suicide among gay teens, criticizing the church for not welcoming gays, and celebrating pride festivities with her new legions of gay fans. Tammy Faye had been a drag icon for years (it’s all about the make-up!), but her activism wasn’t motivated by a realization there was a community she could cynically exploit for a comeback; instead she was moved by a desire to make sure that desperate gay teens knew they were loved, too. Even if their churches, their friends, or even their parents didn’t…she did.

Tammy Faye Messner proved Fitzgerald wrong with a second act that redeemed the grotesque farce of her first. She will be missed.

A long time ago, my friend Cindy sent me a beautiful card. I loved it so much I displayed it in the kitchen, where it has proceeded to get splashed and misshapen from being too close to the sink. At one point I did some ‘net searching, hoping to find a nice print of the image, but came up empty.

Since I recently repainted, I have taken down—and must rehang—all my posters, and while talking about my artwork, this particular print came up in conversation. It reminded me, I said, of Flaming June by Frederic Leighton.

So this morning I decided to try again. And what I found was that I had searched for the wrong name before. (I searched for the name of the card company. d’Oh!) What I was looking for was Dolce Far Niente, by John William Godward.

So I found it! And having found Godward, I found I was quite taken with a lot of his work. I looked at a lot, and some of it reminded me of something.

Maybe fifteen years ago (maybe more), the back cover of Gnosis Magazine had this painting that I loved so much I pulled it off and had it framed. It was the Oracle of Delphi, but in a style that struck me as incongruous, and yet compelling. The Godward paintings reminded me of that, so I did more searching, and you guessed it, it’s a Godward.

This just blows my mind. Here is a painter that I never heard of, and that no one I know has ever mentioned, although he is at least as ripe with Pagan overtones as Waterhouse or Rosetti (another favorite of mine), and yet, I had managed to come across, and save, two different Godward paintings, without even realizing they were by the same artist!

And hey? Here’s the first line of the “Works” section in Wikipedia:

Godward was a Victorian Neo-classicist, and therefore a follower in theory of Frederic Leighton.

You remember Leighton, right? He started this whole train of thought by painting Flaming June.

So all of this teaches me something about the nature of taste, about being drawn to certain things without knowing why, but perhaps that’s a subject for another post.

Dolce Far Niente below the fold. » Read more..