"At the Moulin Rouge" by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

NOTE: CLICK ON THE PICTURE TO SEE THE FULL VIEW. I'm having some formatting issues. So, to see the whole painting, you have to click on it I think.

I have to start with this painting just because it's one I'm partial to. I like Toulouse-Lautrec in general, but especially this painting. He painted it a few years after the Moulin Rouge opened in Paris. (Painted between 1892-1895, and Moulin opened in 1889).

Just some interesting facts:

-The Moulin Rouge was called that because of the red windmill on its rooftop.

-Toulouse was crippled. He portrayed himself in this painting. If you start with the blue-faced woman and count to the third man behind her in that sort of diagonal line (a technique often used to create a feeling of chaos) that is him. He was probably not sitting down. That's how short he was. He spent a lot of time in brothels with prostitutes because he didn't have much luck with the ladies. His paintings of these brothels are some of very favorites. It's so cool to see portrayals of prostitutes that were done with a loving hand by a person who saw himself as being on their same level, for once.

-The artistic style of this painting is Post-Impressionist and Expressionist.

-The redhead fixing her hair in the background is La Goulue (the glutton), the star of the Moulin Rouge. She is such an interesting person to me because she was this incredibly talented, enigmatic dancer in her prime who ended up becoming an alcoholic selling cigarettes outside the Moulin Rouge until her death--unrecognizable by the general public.

That's all I'll say about this, being that I don't want these little summaries to go too long. I hope anyone who reads this finds it interesting and is hopefully inspired in some way. That is the whole point. :)

rain. damn.

i knew i shouldn't be texting him, but i said i couldn't believe i was spending my first rainy night in my new place without him. (i am learning that i say too much) (right now even, as i type).

that first night we spent together, it was raining and we sat on a blanket by the open sliding glass door, the screen was shut, and we listened to it rain and watched. it was so simple. i asked him before i joined him on the floor. there is a reason cliches are cliches.

and we laid down together. and i rubbed his back until he fell asleep. like a little boy. me, a mother. the one he didn't have.

he was so sad.

and then i went to my bed and slept alone like i always had.

and a few nights later, i would begin to forget what that was like altogether.

and on june 25, 2010, very late at night. i'm eating crackers to soak up the wine in my stomach and i want to cry. wait i just did. i cried. again. i'm so very very sick of crying. the prozac, what does it even do already? it doesn't even work anymore... already. i'm sick of crying in my car, in the bathroom at work, on my couch when king of the hill comes on, at the gym listening to that music. our music. "let me in, can i get a? i know you gonna let me shine and get mine, i'm the king, how you gonna act like that? etc etc etc" but what really gets to me, we all know the words, "i don't believe that anybody feels the way i do about you now. and all the roads we have to walk are winding. and all the lights that lead us there are blinding. there are many things that i would like to say to you, but i don't know how. because maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me. and after all, you're my wonderwall."

our song. a million songs are ours, but this is really our song. two pisces. i'll never do it again.

and i'll cry and go to sleep.

and he will never call.

and one day i'm supposed to be happy that i told him not to last night.

idea

i was thinking of turning this blog into a sort of art appreciation blog. since i'm taking modern art this summer for the rest of this month, maybe i could post interesting things i learn. would anyone like to read about that kind of thing? instead of my vague relationship drama or clothing trends?