Encore les hommes - portraits and self-portraits

Portrait of a Young Man, by Cornelis de Zeeuw, 1565

Simon Pauquet, "inspecteur des ponts et chaussées", by Henri-Pierre Danloux, circa 1785.

Courtesy Stephen Rutledge.

Portrait of Monsieur Allard, by Léon Bonnat, circa 1880s.

Selbstporträt vor der Litfaßsäule, by Georg Scholz, 1926.

John Carpenter of Mount Tavy, by John Opie, 1807.

 Self-portrait, by Bertalan Székely, 1860.

Heinrich Wilhelm August Georg Pouff, royal Dutch captain, unknown artist, circa 1840s-50s.

Unknown, Belgian, circa mid-nineteenth century. Courtesy Ralf De Jonge.

Orfeusz, by Károly Ferenczy, 1894.

Francis Wright Fabyan Jr., by Philip de László, 1931.

Portrait of a Man (Condottiere Malatesta Baglioni?), by Parmigianino, circa 1535.

Unknown, circa early twentieth century.

Jacobo Fitz-James Stuart y Falcó, X duque de Berwick y XVII duque de Alba, by Fernando Álvarez de Sotomayor y Zaragoza, 1929.

Doppio Ritratto, by Giorgione, 1502.

Sergei Rachmaninov, by Konstantin Somov, 1925.

Self-portrait, by Marc-Aurèle de Foy Suzor-Coté, 1894.

Ulrik Scheffer, by Alexander Roslin, 1763.

Count Platon Zubov, by Johann Baptist von Lampi the Elder, 1793.

Portrait of a Man (said to be a painting of Sir Henry Guildford), unknown artist, circa 1530-35.

Self-portrait, by Orest Adamovich Kiprensky, 1828.

Manuel Tolsá, by Rafael Ximeno y Planes, circa 1794-1796.

George Bustard Greaves, by George Romney, 1786.

Tyrone Power, by Alfred Cheney Johnston, 1936.

Self-portrait, by Howard Norton Cook, circa 1920s-30s.

Mikhail Benois, by Konstantin Korovin, 1926.

Ritratto d’Uomo, by Antonio Mancini, circa late-nineteenth-early-twentieth century.

 Selbstbildnis im Atelier des Künstlers mit Blick auf München, Bernhard Peter von Rausch, 1834.

Unknown, possibly a self-portrait, Austrian School, circa early to mid-eighteenth century.

Unknown, circa late-nineteenth century. Courtesy Ralf De Jonge.

Portrait de jeune homme en redingote, French School, circa 1800.

Portrait of a Man in a Red Coat, by Alexander Roslin, 1764.

Ecce Homo, by José de Ribera, circa 1620.

The courier Nikolai Nesterov, atelier of  Wilhelm Lapré, circa 1882.

Sir Thomas Wharton, by Anthony van Dyck, 1639.

Charles I while Prince of Wales, by Abraham van Blijenberch, circa 1617-20.

Self-portrait, by Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson, circa 1790s.

Unknown, by John Smart, 1793.

King Willem I of The Netherlands, by Matthijs van Bree, 1827.

Portrait of a Man and Dog, by Ignaz Marcel Gaugengigl, circa late-nineteenth century.

Self-portrait, by Giovanni Giacometti, 1889.

Gunnar Elving, unknown photographer, 1921.

Unknown, unknown artist, circa second quarter of the nineteenth century.

She almost got away with it - Lizabeth Scott in "Too Late for Tears", 1949

It's all about that sixty-thousand-some dollars - not hers - that she's determined to hold onto. Money that's been - literally - tossed into her back seat, and which her husband wants to turn in to the police. So, after lovely - unfulfilled and greedy - Jane Palmer (Lizabeth Scott) shoots her husband-with-scruples, Alan (Arthur Kennedy), and then poisons deliciously slimy Danny Fuller (deliciously slimy Dan Duryea), who's very determined to claim the money himself, she escapes to Mexico City.

Installed in the penthouse of the swank Reforma Hotel, resplendent in furs and diamonds, with a suitcase brimming full of cash, she's finally happy; who wouldn't be? But it too quickly goes sour, as all that murdering and theft catches up with her.

With Don DeFore.

And trying to hold off the inevitable with a gun, backing away from justice in her heavy - and gorgeous - lace gown, she trips over that suitcase of cash and jackknifes over the balcony railing, falling to her death. Oh, sorry... SPOILER ALERT!

"Wait, he's lying; the money's mine!... no, I tell you he's lying!"

Diamonds and lace, a gun and a fistful of cash; the gigs up, Jane! The balcony awaits....

I suppose she had it coming; something about the "wages of sin", yada yada. Honestly, though, I feel sort of bad for her. She had it all - she worked for it - and didn't get to enjoy it. ; )

Noir Queen.

On this enforced day of love... our Valentine's Day cards!

My card to G.

G and I exchange silly cards several times a year: birthdays, anniversary, Valentine's Day, and we alternate each year in which of us produces our Christmas/Holiday card. They always consist of us Photoshopping our heads onto something appropriate - or appropriately inappropriate - and we usually try to find a place for Nicholas as well.

G's card to me. You may now refer to me as "spud"!

We, of course, scramble to share these on Facebook - we're so starved for attention! - but today I couldn't help thinking about how so many are distressed by this intrusive little holiday. A holiday that conspires to make single people feel like they've failed in some way. Being alone is not a failure! So I wrote this, there:

I know this weird, pushy, heavily marketed holiday can be unpleasant for a lot of people. Those who are unhappily uncoupled, particularly. It can make perfectly lovely people feel bad about themselves. Our society hammers away at the bullshit idea that it's bad to be alone. It's NOT.

My first real relationship happened when I was nineteen and ended about two years later. Then NOTHING until I was forty-six! Hardly even a date in twenty-five years. I was mostly very good with being alone, and at some point I figured that that was going to be how it went. I stopped HOPING. But at the same time, I guess I had some unconscious thought to keep myself "ready". I did a lot of work on myself, I kept my heart open but I didn't really expect anything at all. And I fell in love - unrequitedly - twice, once at the beginning of that twenty-five years, and once at the end. My heart was crushed, especially the second time, but somehow I stayed open. And when G stumbled into my life, I was ready for the next part of my life.

I'm not sure why I'm saying all this. I guess I remember the, what? disapproval? I felt from friends and family that I wasn't with someone for all those years. But I was fine! And as MUCH as I love G and our life together, sometimes I miss the absolute freedom of being a single person. Alone is cool! And I'd hate for all the lovey-face gushing of knuckleheads like G and me to make anyone feel bad about their singleness, to have that add to the stoopid societal message that this day wantonly spews. You are beautiful as you are, where you are. And if you still think that sucks, my advice - what, you should listen to me?! - would be to give up all hope - hope is a wall - and try to keep your beautiful, tender heart open. xoxo

Love is pretty sweet, though, too.