The singer James Joyce, author of a short story about a man who heard distant music, shelved this concert review in Leopold Bloom’s library.
Observing a bewhiskered black body in morning sun, Mr. Bloom remembered nights before and thought, “They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips.” The hungry black body moved toward him, was captured by his field, and became a satellite. Two desiring bodies making a little island group, his cat and he were seen by a storyteller to be orbiting each other in harmony.
For coloring in your own emotions, you might try this tool. It was made in a factory under the auspices of Strength through Joy (Kraft durchFreude), the Third Reich’s recreational and community-building arm. Under what auspices, do you think, could one of these black-and-white faces be retooled into yours?
shy glance outward and daring intimate pressure on the instrument that opens her to memory. It serves her as a speculum.
George Eastman, whose Eastman Kodak atelier fashioned the speculum for the hands of mezzo-soprano Ina Bourskaya, was born in 1854. Sigmund Freud was born in 1856. Because portraiture is an art of revealing the body, a new way of portraying will equip the eye with new, bodily ways of experiencing. Wielded a century ago under Eastman’s influence, this cable release was a newly seductive unbuttoner.
Eastman’s original advertising slogan was this. Consider it sung by Don Giovanni.
In Honolulu’s Koko Head District Park, among silent cattle egrets, the members of a barbershop quartet rehearse under social-distancing conditions. Notice the yellow barrier tape around the playground equipment, but notice also the gregarious word “Barbershop” on the orange shirt. The mountain isn’t Koko Head but the nearby Koko Crater.