Friday, February 23, 2007



Sylvie Ruth texted me yesterday that there is a lot of talk all over the internet about my art collection. She says people just can't get enough information and are starved for further details about the latest acquistions. And Sylvie, being as persistent as she is, staunchly maintains that her weekend is going to be much smoother if I just put out the following information:




our latest acquistion here at the downtown gallery of the Collection at Bellemaison is ' Herself ' .




damn. Is she not fine?






JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

14 comments:

toadman said...

I dig it.. I think.

Carla said...

She most certainly is. Can you not tell us more about her?

Barnes said...

Good morning, my dear friend.

She is very fine. "Herself" indeed. I wonder, what manner of creature is it that she rides? Or is she herself the beast?

Julie said...

That is a fine piece, but a bit bolder than the pieces you find in my house. Art tells you a lot about it's creator/owner. You like your pieces bold. Mine lead toward the more softer/romantic side.

Mommy Dearest said...

Very cool.

jb3ll3 said...

good morning to you, my Darlings. I do not wish to name names, but someone here is in Paris. As you all know, that's hardly possible because I should be in Paris. I am the one Paris loves and Paris is the one I love. My favorite city in all of the world. there. That's out, too. Now you know two critical components I have no business broadcasting over the internet:

favortie flowers are white and Paris is my favorite city. sigh. Walk St. Honore and give me a full report on the windows at Hermes and all shall be forgotten. For this time.

Carla, Herself is riding an alligator buck naked. Like you'd do in Canada and Alaska! It's arguable but some think she's puckered up for a big kiss. Others think she's relishing the moment.

Just this time of year, I interned in a position at the start of my career. The managing partner used to respond, when you said how are you today, "I'm up to my ass in alligators." It's a bit of an inside joke around home as both of us know this man and have heard him say this hundreds of time.

It seems to be that I never have the luxury of being up to my ass in alligators because they always start to fight and try to eat me. So I have become adept at fighting alligators as a necessity of inching up the food chain of business. Busting alligators. That's who I have become.

This one rides the alligator with great finesse; I was fortunate enough to have the ceramic sculpturer retool the harness with Hermes ribbons. When people look closely enough and see the Hermes harness, they crack up wildly because the significance of this piece becomes clear in a nanosecond.

I'm losing power here. I'm sure this could be much more cogent and coherent but this is how it is at this moment as the power threatens to eat me, too.

MarmiteToasty said...

She is mighty fine, I think it looks like she is sitting upon a midget crocodile with a stumpy tail, maybe it got shut in the neighbours garage door and had to have it off like me cat did lol

x

The Fool said...

JBelle, thank you for your beautiful revelations. It is a most interesting piece...

Maia had a most interesting offspring...

AB's: "Alligator Busters"

;)

Carla said...

I had to go back and take a closer look at that harness. Absolutely brilliant as I'm sure you undoubtedly are.

Mommy Dearest said...

I'm not in Paris. Sigh. If I was, I would find some beatnik bar and re-enact my favorite scene from Funny Face.

Barnes said...

Mommy Dearest - That sounds like a tremendous idea.

Yes, 'tis I who am I Paris. And fear not, Jbelle, I shall give the report you request. :)

Southwark Lad said...

damn fine piece of art ya got there! also, i'm liking the new look. unlike ashlee simpson, your face lift looks really good!

Barnes said...

I meant "from Paris."

I despite typos. So much that I really should get this irrational hatred seen to.
Breathe... :)

JBelle said...

Barnes, it's Sunday. Do wander over to Rue Poncelet; Mass will still be on but the vendors will be busily preparing for brunch afterward with lentils and sausage, noisettes of lamb and gravy, cauldrons of thick soups. The crusty bread will stand by silently on call until the knife pierces its its only defense, transfiguring it instantly into sheer sublimity. It is Sunday, Barnes. Transfiguration is entirely fair game.