What a hero! Four days after mid-month's record-breaking snowfall, here's my botanical hero and birthday pal Linnaeus (same date, different year), toughing it out as he gamely wears a Canadian toque. (Pronounced "toook" – yes, three e's).
In once balmy Vancouver, it was like a science fiction novel —not just the overnight snowfall, but the three days afterwards when snow remained in our neighbourhood.
All I could think was THIS IS SURREAL ! -- and that led to thoughts of my favourite Surrealist artist, Georgio deChirico who I've previously introduced. Ah, such memories of his sunny plazas!
I wanted to make good use of those weatherbound days, but I just couldn't settle down. The usual suspects were outside playing in the snow, totally distracting me from my Commedia dell'Arte research.
In fact, "distraction" doesn't begin to describe it. Every new lead I found led me down a larger rabbit hole. "Rabbit hole" doesn't begin to describe it, either.
As befits the Alice analogy, another young Englishwoman rose to the surface – Marjorie Bowen. I'd found her as I looked for background on the Commedia character Mezzetin who, I promise, you will meet in time for Valentine's Day.
She was a late 19th-early 20th century author, writing dozens of books for the popular press – primarily novels of history, romance, and the supernatural. One of her "twilight tales" had referred to Mezzetin.
What was a nice girl like her doing in a place like this? What was I doing?? Okay. I reviewed my key personal objectives – to keep trying to create plausible (if not strictly speaking "realistic") faces and figures. With that, I altered the production schedule to settle, simply, for a portrait of Marjorie Bowen.
Well, that started off rather eerily, didn't it? Here's the final version, "Marjorie Unmasked" copyright 2024.
Then, as I closed my sketchbook, my preliminary notes about Venice suddenly caught my eye. Out of nowhere (as if hit by a snowball!) I remembered that Venice was home to the famous 20th century eccentric and art collector, Peggy Guggenheim. Hmmm…. I think I'll take a wander through her Peggy Guggenheim Collection, now a museum established in her long-time home along the Grand Canal.
It wasn't improbable to think that here in Italy, Ms. Guggenheim might have been drawn to the Commedia. At the Museum site's Collection tab, I plugged in "Harlequin" and there it was – "Harlequin and Pierrot," the famous painting by Andre Derain.
With that, some of my veil of confusion lifted. Before leaving the site, I started to "Browse the Collection" and before I'd viewed a dozen examples, up came an imposing deChirico palazza, with night turning to day, proving that I was on the right track!
Well. Their number is legion:-- the artists, writers, actors, eccentrics, enthusiasts who have fallen in with the Commedia gang. Every week, I discover another one. How about the once renowned, now unknown, Lodovico Ottavio Burnacini, a 17th-century Italian architect and theatrical designer?
Let's hop on his clown wagon and trust the process, knowing that some day we'll get through intermission and eventually on to the closing act?
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