Nine Stories: De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period, de JD Salinger
I'm tempted to say that Thursday evening was peculiar, or perhaps macabre, but the fact is, I have no bill-filling adjectives for Thursday evening. I left Les Amis after dinner and went I don't know where--perhaps to a movie, perhaps for just a long walk; I can't remember, and, for once, my diary for 1939 lets me down, too, for the page I need is a total blank.
I know, though, why the page is a blank. As I was returning from wherever I'd spent the evening--and I do remember that it was after dark--I stopped on the sidewalk outside the school and looked into the lighted display window of the orthopedic appliances shop. Then something altogether hideous happened. The thought was forced on me that no matter how coolly or sensibly or gracefully I might one day learn to live my life, I would always at best be a visitor in a garden of enamel urinals and bedpans, with a sightless, wooden dummy-deity standing by in a marked-down rupture truss. The thought, certainly, couldn't have been endurable for more than a few seconds. I remember fleeing upstairs to my room and getting undressed and into bed without so much as opening my diary, much less making an entry.
TO: Les Amis Des Vieux Maitres [Jean de Daumier-Smith]
... por más que aprendiera algún día a vivir con frialdad, sensibilidad o gracia, siempre sería, en el mejor de los casos, un visitante en un jardín de cuñas y orinales esmaltados, donde habría un maniquí ciego, de madera, con un braguero para hernia a precio rebajado.
Sigue Teddy. Elija su camino:
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Jean de Daumier-Smith dijo
Dear Bob,
I have to say it: I am quite impressed with your progress! Finally, you have reached that level where the artist breaks with the artisan and transcends. I cleary remember the first envelope you sent us, full of poor attempts of depicting your childhood memories in a farm. How many years have passed? Three? Four? Do you remember its contents, Bob? I do. I remember your excesive dependence to soft watercolors and your tendency to cover everything, at the very end, with that subtle red. How obvious you were! How trivial! Oh, my! I thought you were worth nothing. I must confess you: I was this close from resigning your tutorship. Can you believe it? And now, look at me, announcing you that those lousy days are officially over. You, my dear friend, have found your own style. Now you are ready to approach those pretentious gallery owners you told me about and proudly show them your work. I assure you there will be no rejections this time. Moreover, you will shut their mouths up. If they know what art is, as I certainly do, they will love these suggestive compositions.
Let me know how that goes.
With respect and admiration,
Truly yours,
Jean de Daumier-Smith
Staff instructor
Les Amis des Vieux Maitres
15 Febrero 2007 | 11:44 PM