Okay, apologies for entering the new year in such a dormant state. Blame the mulled wine (who knew? add cinnamon and oranges, it's really tasty). Unfortunately, the projects at hand cannot be blogged about. Mysterious, I know; they also taught me a secret handshake. Let me rassle up some poetry hijinks and get back to you after the weekend. Tonight: jazz at HR-57.
If nothing else, I'll try to assemble my thoughts on the Edward Hopper show at the National Gallery. If you can go this weekend, then go. The painting above is called "11 A.M.," which if you think about it is a kind of embedded narrative. What circumstances bring a girl to still be in
that pose at mid-morning?
5 comments:
Happy New Year, Sandra! Hopper is my favorite, but I had not seen this piece.
Why do you think she's a girl?
Not quite sure what you mean...a "girl" versus a woman, Rebecca? I wasn't drawing a distinction between the two.
I suppose I'm a woman, but I refer to myself as a girl all the time, so I don't take it as an offensive term. I also quite frequently walk around naked in the mornings. Yet I'm always clothed by 10:55 AM at the very latest.
Yes. I don't take it as an offensive term, but I am aware, especially in art, of the difference between girl and woman. I mean, I do make the distinction. In this painting, the figure is obviously a woman to me, not a girl, as shown by the nakedness paired with the shoes, the posture, the hair, everything.
I've noticed it most prominently in poetry lately, that is women becoming girls in poems, even poems that are obviously about women (adult). I'm curious about it. It seems like a backward step in feminism to me and I always wonder where it comes from. Maybe it's just the time I grew up in.
Rebecca
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