Collection: The Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, Massachusetts, United States
Description
The actress Jeanne Samary may have posed for this painting in her cheerfully decorated dressing room at the ComÊdie-Française, a theater in Paris. Yet the image, as indicated by its title, was not intended as a portrait. The informal subject freed Renoir to experiment with composition - the figure occupies a compressed space, a vibrant bouquet competing with her features. She holds an uchiwa fan, reflecting a fascination with all things Japanese in late nineteenth-century France.
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AFTERNOON DELIGHT by Bob McCann a.k.a. Artist No.42.
World War II through the 1950â˛s was the era of the Pin Up Girl and my Grandfather who served in the Navy in the Pacific Theater had a rather large collection and when I got old enough he showed them to me. They werenât pornography, that didnât come a long until later. Pin Up Girls werenât even photographs but works of art, usually paintings done by skilled artists using incredibly beautiful models making each Pin Up unique. The final Pin Up was then sold on a card about the size of a post card.
This beauty here hanging out in front of the Malt Shop is directly inspired by the âMemphis Belleâ Pin Up that was part of the famous B-17â˛s insignia and my love for 1950â˛s era cars and pay homage to two songs in the process. âAfternoon Delightâ by Starland Vocal Band and âBurgers and Fries and Cherry Piesâ by Charlie Pride.
Have a great week.
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Artist: Walter Richard Sickert (German, 1894-1895)
Date: 1894-1895
Medium: Oil paint on canvas
Collection: Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, United Kingdom
Description
Following the example of Ădouard Manet (1832 â 1883) and Edgar Degas (1834 â 1917) and their paintings of Parisian cafes and theatres, Sickert painted the more raucous nightlife of Londonâs music halls throughout his career. He was a regular visitor at the Bedford Music Hall in Camden Town, the subject of this painting. Sickert may have intended it as a sequel to his earlier picture of the child performer Little Dot Hetherington on the stage of the Bedford, in which she is shown pointing to this spot while singing the popular song, âThe Boy I Love is up in the Galleryâ. As well as recording vividly the atmosphere and setting of a late 19th century performance, this is a brilliant exercise in lighting and composition. Sickert exploits the contrast between the shadowy auditorium and the reflected glare of the stage, and creates tricks of space and perspective by means of the giant mirror on the left.
(In the stillness, in the darkness, a single flame shines. It shimmers, then multiplies. The source of the light is a candle on a stick. Holding the stick is a man shuffling from one streetlight to the next among the moonstruck castle garden. He is wearing sunglasses at night.)
The Lamplighter:
Oh, hello there. Iâm the royal lamplighter.
(he shuffles to the next glass lamp, filling it with fire)
That got a bit dark, didnât it?
Allow me, if you will, to shed some light on the situation. Is that alright with you, Pete?
Narrator:
(Taken off guard in his chair, nearly spilling his tea)
Theyâre all yours, Ed.
The Lamplighter:
You see, the Emperor wasnât always like this.
There was a time when life was simpler. When things moved quickly, and slowly, because the passing of time didnât matter. The days were endless. The landscape unknown. Every hour a new adventure.
Once, a long time ago, the Emperor was a child.
The Lamplighter:
On the edge of the wood where humans dare not tread, there was a quaint countryside filled with rolling satin grass, clear crystal brooks, and sunlight sifting trees.
The Lamplighter:
The royals vacationed there in the summer, seeking a rural experience and an opportunity for humility, where they could connect and empathize with their people.
(Twenty-six carriages arrive at a 10,000 square foot estate. While hundreds of butlers and maids scurry about, unloading bags and shuttling pounds of food, furniture, and luxuries. A few peasants look on from their nearby humble lodges. It is always a spectacle when the Emperor and Empress vacation in the little village. The quiet farming town lights up with activity.)
(A blonde-haired little boy in an immaculate baby blue jumper steps down from a golden carriage. While the adults oversee the unpacking, he stands about until an acorn is thrown at his head.)
The Prince:
Hey!
(He whirls around to see a small dirty child peering back at him from the brush in the forestâs edge)
The Small Dirty Child:
Donovan!
The Prince:
Richard!
Richard:
(Smiles as the prince approaches the brush)
Youâre taller.
The Prince:
Yeah, Iâm eight years old.
(He holds up eight fingers excitedly.)
So Iâll probably be Emperor any day now.
Richard:
(Stands up from his hidden position, towering over the other boy by at least three inches. He shakes his sandy hair of twigs and leaves.)
The Prince:
(Rises up on his toes)
Richard:
Come on. I have something cool to show you.
The Prince:
Mom told me if she catches me going into the woods again, she is going to take away breakfast ice cream privileges for a week.
Richard:
(Rolls his eyes)
You eat ice cream for breakfast all the time. How often do you get to poke a dead unicorn with a stick?
(wiggles a stick at him temptingly)
The Prince:
(Grabs the stick and excitedly shoves Richard into the brush)
Lead the way!
(The scene fades to black.)
(Spare for a single, flickering flame.)
The Lamplighter:
Get it yet? Well, give it some time.
Soon everything will come to light.
(He snuffs out the flame)
(From the darkness emerges a large golden birdcage. Inside the cage is the nightingale, sulking with a gold band soldered onto her arm. She is having a very bad day.)
The Emperor:
(Approaches the cage as the rest of the throne room is illuminated)
Are you hungry?
The Nightingale:
(Slams her body against the gold cage, her fingertips swiping at his face, which is just out of her reach)
The Emperor:
(Oblivious)
I wasnât sure what nightingales eat. At first, I thought of birdseed, but that seems too boorish for a god. So I just brought a bunch of candy.
The Nightingale:
Candy?
The Emperor:
(Holds one up)
Everybody loves candy.
The Nightingale:
(holds out her hand)
The Emperor:
(Grins and gives her some candy pieces)
The Nightingale:
(Examines the treat, then slaps him so hard he spits out the one he was chewing)
Release me immediately!
(A group of guards suddenly move to flank the cage, their spears forcing the nightingale back.)
Guard #1:
(In a robotic voice)
Immediate threat detected!
Guard #2:
(In a robotic voice)
Prepare to be executed!
Guard #3:
(In a robotic voice)
Error! Threatening exclamation not found!
The Nightingale:
(Eyes the spear, then throws a taffy at the Emperorâs face)
Guard #1:
(In a robotic voice)
Engage unnecessary force!
The Empress:
(Entering the room with Ophelia and Alphonse)
Enough! What is all this racket so early in the morning?
Ophelia:
Itâs eleven oâclock, your highness.
The Empress:
 (Notices the scene)
Whatâs going on dear, not enjoying your new plaything?
The Emperor:
(pulls off the taffy stuck to his forehead)
On the contrary. Sheâs very entertaining.
The Empress:
Well, she wasnât brought here for her uncanny talent for sulking. Listen here, bird. Youâll get to singing if you know whatâs good for you.
(The guards ready their spears.)
(The Nightingale considers the scene.)
She takes a breath.
(All parties gasp in anticipation.)
The Nightingale:
(Blows a raspberry)
The Empress:
You disrespectful little beast!
Alphonse:
(Holds her back)
Do not fret, your Highness. The nightingale is still adjusting to life in captivity. Sheâll sing a different tune in time. Come, might we have a word?
(He leads the Empress out of the room)
(Once safely in the corridors, Alphonse, Ophelia, and the Empress resume their conversation.)
The Empress:
Great plan, Al. That god bird of yours is useless. At this rate, heâll be back to his mopey self in no time.
Alphonse:
Perhaps, your majesty. Perhaps. But look.
(He pushes the door to the throne room open a crack to reveal the Emperor smiling contentedly at the Nightingale while she berates him from her cage)
The Nightingale:
Release me this instant, filthy mortal! Every second Iâm kept in this place is another minute Iâll add to your inevitable painful death!
The Emperor:
(Sighs happily)
Alphonse:
(Closes the door)
The Empress:
Heâs even more hopeless than I thought.
Ophelia:
Normally, the Emperorâs short attention span would have him spiraling back into depression by now. This is the longest heâs ever been entertained.
Alphonse:
The nightingale has provided him the ultimate happiness and peace, the likes of which heâs never experienced.
Ophelia:
He is completely captivated.
Alphonse:
Completely dependent.
The Empress:
Okay, I get it!
Ophelia:
Your highness, he is completely distracted.
The Empress:
Oh?
Alphonse:
You know, you really should be the ruler of our land.
Ophelia:
No one is as smart as you.
Alphonse:
Or beautiful.
Ophelia:
Or more capable of ushering in our kingdom to a new era. Think of it. Global conquest. Colonization of new lands. The sort of ambition a country needs and expects of their leader.
The Empress:
(Tosses her long hair over her shoulders)
You think?
Alphonse:
We know.
Ophelia:
Let him play with his bird.
Alphonse:
Leave the kingdom to you.
The Empress:
I like the sound of this. Yes, I quite like the sound of this a lot. What did you have in mind?
Alphonse:
(As their voices disappear down the hallway)
Allow me to show you what Iâve been working on in my secret laboratory.
(Meanwhile, back in the throne roomâŚ)
The Nightingale:
WELL?!
The Emperor:
(Still staring dreamily)
Well what?
The Nightingale:
Are you going to release me?
The Emperor:
Are you going to sing?
The Nightingale:
NO!
The Emperor:
Then no.
The Nightingale:
(Huffs and collapses to the cage floor, hugging her knees)
The Emperor:
Please donât be like that. I want you to have a happy life here. Youâll never want for anything. My architects are hard at work building a bigger cageâ fit for the dazzling queen of the night.
The Nightingale:
(Spitefully)
A cage is still a cage.
The Emperor:
Would you feel better after some fresh air?
(The Emperor gets up and opens the door to the cage, something that takes her a moment to process. The Nightingale darts past him, sprinting toward the exit when a guard deftly clamps a golden chain around her neck. A second group of guards blocks the door, golden arrows trained and at the ready.)
The Emperor:
(Taking the chain from the guard)
Fancy a tour of the palace?
The Nightingale:
(Glaring)
Fine.
(The Emperor leads her around his massive palace. At all times they are followed by six guards with golden arrows trained on the Nightingale)
Narrator:
The Emperor spent all afternoon showing the Nightingale his domain in hopes of swaying her into staying.
The Emperor:
This is the fourth largest royal swimming pool. On Tuesdays we fill it with funfetti pudding.
The Nightingale:
I hate it.
The Emperor:
(shouting over the roar of a car engine as they ride.)
THIS IS THE ROYAL RACEWAY. WE HAVE THE FASTEST CARS IN THE KINGDOM!
The Nightingale:
(glares at the guards crammed in the back of the car who are still somehow aiming arrows at her)
I hate it.
The Emperor:
This is the royal trampoline room.
(panting)
Itâs quite the work out.
The Nightingale:
(bouncing with her arms crossed)
I hate it.
(The guards clumsily bounce, trying to keep their aim steady)
The Narrator:
He showed her every corner of his kingdom, but the Nightingale showed only distain for his impressive possessions. That is, until they had lunch.
(The Emperor and the Nightingale are sitting at a charming cafĂŠ with enormous, elaborate parfaits sitting in front of them.)
The Emperor:
How are you liking your dessert? Let me guessâ
The Nightingale & The Emperor in tandem:
I hate it.
The Nightingale:
Tsh.
(Crosses her arms and tosses her head away)
The Emperor:
Well I love ice cream. Itâs my favorite breakfast food.
The Nightingale:
You make no sense.
(Across the restaurant, a small band is playing for atmosphere. There is a stout man with an accordion and a thin man with a bass drum and symbol. While the Emperor eats, he notices the Nightingale eyeing them with keen interest. Her leg starts to bounce. She twirls her foot in rhythm with the music. Suddenly, the Emperor is struck with inspiration.)
The Emperor:
(leaps to his feet)
I HAVE AN IDEA!
Guard #1:
(Startles, accidentally firing a golden arrow that skewers a scoop of the Nightingaleâs ice cream into the wall)
The Nightingale:
(Does not flinch, glaring at the Emperor with flecks of strawberry ice cream on her face)
The Emperor:
(takes her hands, pulling her up)
Come on! This way!
Narrator:
The Emperor took the Nightingale to the only room in the palace they had yet to explore. It was unlike the other places they had visited. A large space, infinitely vast with hundreds of red velvet seats, wooden walls, and a golden stage.
The Emperor:
This is the concert hall. Itâs where the symphony plays.
The Nightingale:
Whatâs a symphony?
The Emperor:
Theyâre an orchestra. It has pianos and cellos and tubas and⌠you know⌠that weird one that looks like a clarinet got twisted up like a paper clip.
Dusty Old Man in a Tuxedo:
(Emerges from behind the curtain)
A contrabassoon, your majesty.
The Emperor:
Precisely! The elegant contra-baboon!
Wonderful to see you again Maestro. Where have you been?
Maestro:
Right here, my liege. You instructed us to remain on standby should you experience another urge to hear The Ride of the Valkyries in the middle of the night.
The Emperor:
Oh, thatâs right. Well, good man!
(The Emperor claps the Maestro on the shoulder, resulting in a large plume of dust. Everyone pauses awkwardly.)
The Nightingale:
This room seems pointless.
I haâ
The Emperor:
Wait, wait.
(grabs a violin off a chair)
You donât have these in the forest. Humansâ we canât sing like you do. So we use instruments to make music. Listen.
(He begins to play the violin, makes it a few notes in before it squeaks loudly)
Forgive me, itâs been a while.
The Nightingale:
Keep going.
(The Emperor continues to play the violin. It has been a while, and he certainly is rusty, but after several bars, the notes come smoothly. As he plays, more dusty old people emerge from backstage and shuffle sleepily into their chairs. They pick up their instruments and join him, eventually building into a beautiful dynamic symphony complete with pianos, cellos, and contrabassoons. The Maestro takes his place on the podium, conducting the orchestra.)
(When they are finished, the four robotic guards clap metallically.)
(The Emperor looks at the Nightingale, who is not moving. After several tense moments, she rises to her feet and claps enthusiastically. The Emperor and the Maestro smile. The orchestra takes a bow.)
