The Portrait, 1935 by Rene Magritte (1898-1967)
Rainbows: March, 1975 by Peter Lister (b. 1933)
March, 1979 by Alex Colville (1920-2013)
El mundo mágico de los mayas (The Magical World of the Mayas), 1964 by Leonora Carrington (1917-2011)
Pissing in the Snow & Other Ozark Folktales, collected and transcribed by Vance Randolph with annotations by Frank A. Hoffmann. Avon Bard (1977). No cover artist credited. 239 pages. A tale from the collection:
“Have You Ever Been Diddled?”
Told by J. L. Russell, Harrison, Ark., April, 1950. He heard this one near Berryville, Ark., in the 1890’s.
One time there was a town girl and a country girl got to talking about the boys they had went with. The town girl told what kind of a car her boyfriends used to drive, and how much money their folks has got. But the country girl didn’t take no interest in things like that, and she says the fellows are always trying to get into her pants.
So finally the town girl says, “Have you ever been diddled?” The country girl giggled, and she says yes, a little bit.
“How much?” says the town girl. “Oh, about like that,” says the country girl, and she held up her finger to show an inch, or maybe an inch and a half.
The town girl just laughed, and pretty soon the country girl says, “Have you ever been diddled?” The town girl says of course she has, lots of times. “How much?” says the country girl. “Oh, about like that,” says the town girl, and she marked off about eight inches, or maybe nine.
The country girl just set there goggle-eyed, and she drawed a deep breath. “My God,” says the country girl, “that ain’t diddling! Why, you’ve been fucked!”
[J1805.5]
Simpatía (La rabia del gato) (Sympathy, the Cat’s Rage), 1955 by Remedios Varo (1908-1963)
“Legend”
by
Dorothea Tanning
From Surrealist Women: An International Anthology (ed. Penelope Rosemont). “Legend” first appeared in Max Ernst’s At Eye Level and Paramyths, the catalog of the “Max Ernst: 30 Years of His Work” exhibition in Beverly Hills in 1949.
A young sinner grew weary of Olympus. He went to the head of the stairs where the three graces sat knitting sweaters for their earthly sons. (Winter was at hand.) Each of them smiled secretly at the young sinner, each believing she was the only one whom he had provided with pleasant memories. But they wouldn’t let him pass.
“It’s a cruel place,” said one. “How will you nourish yourself?”
“On destinies,” he answered promptly. “Take the laughter of seven maidens, stir in several of the moonbeams that fall across their beds. Add the head of a procession, a few umbrella ribs and a tale of hilarious crime. Season it madly and serve on collection plates.”
“But,” said another, barring the way, “Where will you go?”
“To picnics,” said he, making a perfect triple pirouette.
The third grace laid her knitting in her lap where it formed a pretty, medium-sized figleaf. She turned her eyes up to him and said softly, “What will you do?”
She looked so charming that for a moment the young sinner hesitated. Perhaps he wouldn’t go after all. But he recovered himself and said:
“Please be advised that I will vaccinate the world with a desire for violent and perpetual astonishment. Disguised in my own presence, I will conduct a horde through the five aqueducts of knowledge, after which their guardians will ask the authorities for replacements. I will provoke prodigies. When I have built the torpid town, certain words will fall into disuse: eminent prominent peerless noble honorable lordly stately august princely majestic sacred and sublime. I will make rhapsodies from grains of sleep. I’ll wrap up a manmaking hat and drop it in the mailbox. I’ll hold a revolver up to nature. When professional critics lose themselves in the swamp I’ll arrange a delegation of chimeras with their own language and their own secrets. As for the night, I will discover all its phases. And I will fall in love.”
The three graces had been looking rather sleepy; but at the last words they opened their mouths in horror, then picked up their knitting and fled.
With his glittering blue eyes the young sinner sent lightning strokes after them—a parting gift. Then he ran down the steps, two at a time.
Saint Valentine, 1930 by Jean Hugo (1894-1984)
American Flamingo (detail), 1838 by John James Audubon (1785-1851)
Un Ballo in Maschera (A Masked Ball), 1983 by George Tooker (1920-2011)
Self Portrait, 1650 by Dirck Helmbreker (1633-1696)
Castigo francés (French punishment), Notebook G.48 (c. 1824-1828) by Francisco Goya (1746-1828)
February, from the Apiary Almanac, 1960 by Polly Mudge (1938-1976)
Groundhog Day, 1959 by Andrew Wyeth (1917-2009)
February, 1979 by Alex Colville (1920-2013)
February, c. 1680s by Cornelis Dusart, 1660-1704
February, 1938 by Evelyn Dunbar (1906-1960)
Biblioklept 