Yesterday, after several tedious hours at the UW doctor’s office (this time an asthma/immunology guy, who, after several hours of interviews and studying my charts, decided all my medications were appropriate and that I was doing everything right as far as diet, avoiding the sun and known allergens, etc. Peachy!) we decided to take advantage of our location and visit the Henry Art Gallery at the University of Washington, which was exhibiting several room sof prints and pieces of Roy Lichtenstein. I was just engrossed in the beauty and texture of his pieces, some of which were created as late as 1996 – and he died in 1997. One was painted on stainless steel with enamel – another was a metal cutout of a blonde woman’s profile, one side, representing sunlight, with his typical comic-book-skinned, red dotted-appearance, the other side, representing moonlight, was blue-dotted. They also had a piece called “Reflections on Minerva” that was a blown-up scene of Wonder Woman from fifties comics saying her catch-phrase, “Merciful Minerva!” interrupted by what appeared to be slashes of reflective light or mirror. Someone should buy that piece and give it to me right now. Coveting coveting coveting. Several large scenes of blonde women – their hair severed by the frame, their eyes watering – confronted me in one room. I wrote a poem a few years ago about his work called “In the Faces of Lichtenstein’s Women” after viewing just a few pieces in his iconic style. I was enamored even then. The museum mentioned that Life magazine wrote a piece on him in the sixties, titled something like “Is he the worst artist in the world?” Like my admiration of Jeffrey Koons, my love for Lichtenstein probably has to do with the elevation of, and making-of-art-from- the combination of anxiety and kitsch.

In the Faces of Lichtenstein’s Women

We see our own faces, drawn near,
smiling tightly.

We do not quite mouth
the black letters hanging in balloons.

Our eyes water
with the brightness of your gaze.

Crayon-yellow hair with the curves of a fifties ‘Vette
severed by the edge of the frame.

(This is a real scene.)
Towers rise sharp like Superman’s Metropolis;

a moon hangs like a yellow eye,
malevolent and certain of its permanence.

In this world,
the noise from a gun floats forever.

In book news, because the proofs of Becoming the Villainess had some problems, and I wanted to proof the printed copy of the book myself, the real copies of the book will now probably not be ready/available til April. Although Tom, the publisher, may be displaying the one proof copy of the book at AWP…But hopefully those copies in April will have be problem-free – better right than fast, I guess…Remember to sign up for book announcements to be the first to know when the book of out, though I suppose it’ll show up on my blog, as well 🙂 Damn self-promotion.
And PS, thanks for the continued sympathy, everyone. Glenn and I are slowly recovering from the loss of our little prehistorically-fanged black cat. The other cat, often called Bastett, because of her resemblance to Egyptian statues of that name, has been soaking up our extra attention and affection like a cat-sponge. Also, I have finally dragged myself back to work and turned my attention on the upcoming AWP conference. I don’t really have anything to stress out about at this conference – no job interviews or anything like that to worry about – so I’m just going to enjoy myself at the readings and the bookfair, and maybe take Glenn out for some authentic Texas barbeque somewhere – Seattle is sadly lacking in Barbeque of any kind. And of course, attend some parties – last year I was so wiped out from my February surgery I barely did anything after 8 PM – so I’m also looking forward to that.