Dignified Tenseness

I forget where it started. I was defending J. S. Sargent as a great painter of portraits. Had to go to the museum library to see if I could find a picture of the painting I saw in Naples, Florida. No luck, but I did read some interesting text; his sitters were/are known for their dignified tenseness. Warm day, warmest of the year, pigeons mating in the parking lot. This time of year, you develop an aesthetic of insinuation. Preparing to stand-by. The wind in the stick trees, the wind generally on the ridge, is a kind of moan, a breath blown in your ear. I feel old, and held together with baling wire. Don't recover as quickly as I used to. To make up for the extra day I work, I think about spending an hour a day in the library, sitting, reading. An art history update, now that I know what I think. I take care of the library anyway, so I can justify my time there. There was a post-it note on the book I'd just gotten from the public library, the newly translated book by Carlos Fuentes, "Destiny And Desire" (can't wait to read it, I skip lunch to read a chapter), and the note refers to a question that had come up about naming. Frust is that small line of debris that refuses to be swept into the dust-pan, also that debris (I use a newspaper) that accumulates when you trim your toenails and pumice off whatever dead skin. I had said that there was a word for anything, or you coin one. Anthony Burgess has added a lot of words to the language. Maybe more than anyone recently. Robert Graves always looked for absolute clarity. I was rereading recently his account of the First World War, "Goodbye To All That", a terrific book, and a good opportunity to use that word correctly. My day hinges on events like this. To use 'terrific' correctly. Get a copy of McCord's "The Man Who Walked On The Moon", this has been reprinted, so there should be copies, look at the attention to detail. I steal from anything that might be germane. Push-pin recipes over the top of newspaper clippings. Layers of stuff. Meaning in a different mode. Irish dancing is down, a hard push with those fixed arms (we're not dancing, merely passing the time), and ballet is up. Every point Irish dancing makes is on the downbeat. See for yourself. The pub is so crowded I can'r not go there for a drink, but the crowd is such, I turn away at the door. I'd rather drink alone.