13 July 2010. A Tuesday, gray skies.
From a portrait of Prince A.A. Dolgorukov...of the long hands (that's how I always understood it), the original too everywhere present--a celebratory oil with hints of something untoward--the eyes and mouth in contradiction. Leave them out, just one Larry River's hot spot, around which a face--or a cat or a stallion--can form at will. As in the fourth grade, Horne Street School, up on the hill, where Mrs. Malone, recently arrived (is that possible?) from Iowa would pronounce La Jolla with a hard "J", to am roomfull of sly smiles. "Fingers Malone," our sobriquet--from where? Film Noire still on a distant horizon, Orson Welles unknown...
Grasses finding root, Cossacks circling the field...
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