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June 6th, 2004

Don't worry -

- this is not going to be another burst of morbid reminiscence or torrid account of my sex life - mainly because I don't actually have one right now - at least not one that involves other people. Besides stickette said that my account of boffing Toyboy at work contained too much detail about 'fluids'. But then what does she know? She just told me on the phone that I was like a vengeful ancient deity that has to be appeased and sacrificed to. Long live fluids I say.

It's been half term this week and for once I stayed in London. Off this weekend though to Cardiff for tiggertastic's birthday extravaganza. stickette is coming too. Otherwise she'd better chain some very pretty virgins to the rocks for me. Very pretty indeed.

I had a bit of a cinema frenzy this week. The Curzon Soho is my favourite cinema in London, mainly for its bar. One can feel smugly pretentious, perched on a leather sofa sipping strawberry Stoli and reading Le Monde. Lots of Sapphic eye candy too - sadly all the boys need haircuts. Barry NorwomanCollapse )

I also went to see the Tamara de Lempicka exhibition at the RA. This has been roundly panned by the critics, especially Brian Sewell, but I love her work - I love how her women are simultaneously voluptous, threatening and indolent One of my favourites. They are so luscious and luminous. But there was something odd about seeing so many of her pictures together. It was a bit like the girls in pvc catsuits at Torture Garden - one looks devastatingly sexy, but when sixteen walk past at once you just can't be arsed to stare. Something tells me that minusbat and davywavy won't agree with that statement... The paintings do lose something by being gathered together, perhaps because her techniques and perspectives change so little. See a lot of her women together and they all look rather similar. Perhaps that's why I was so drawn to the rarer portraits of men. This one His Imperial Highness Grand Duke Gabriel really captivated me. She makes this royal escapee from the revolution, in his preposterous uniform, appear arrogant, sadistic and yet strangely bewildered. I think he's very sexy, he reminds me of Michael Portillo on that tragic day when he lost his seat (but not his dignity, gravitas and thrilling sensuality), with a dash of Professor Yaffle from Bagpuss thrown in for good measure.

My favourite was, however, the portrait of her husband, Handsome Rogue. She painted it as they were separating and his left hand (he stopped wearing his wedding ring while she was painting it) remains unfinished. Rather bitterly she called it just 'Portrait of a Man'. Perhaps bitterness sharpened her skills. I want to live at Torture Garden, surrounded by men who look like these two. And women who look like Tamara herself Auto-Portrait.



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