Showing posts with label painting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label painting. Show all posts

Wednesday, 6 March 2013

Art criticism the Flashman way



‘In my youth, if a lady of quality had expressed her opinion* — as she has a perfect right to do — d’you think she’d have been dragged before a magistrate? Certainly not! She’d have been sent down to the country for a rest, her father would have bought the damned painting, her brother would have horse whipped the artist and that’d be that!’


* i.e. Attacking a painting with a meat cleaver (Speedicut)


Mr American, p.391, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Monday, 4 March 2013

The old hulks



‘That’s the way we all go — the old hulks!’ The General tugged angrily at his moustache. ‘You can ruin yourself being battered and chased and shot at half your life, and fighting like hell on behalf of a lot of damned lickspittles who infest cesspits like the Athenaeum Club where they put too much damned salt in the damned consommĂ© and try to poison people with curried turtle soup that would make a Bengali privy cleaner sick — not that I ever fought except when I couldn’t avoid it, but any man’s a bloody fool who does otherwise — and what d’you get for it at the end of the day? His voice was rising steadily, and his eyes glaring horribly. ‘I’ll tell you what you get — a set of tinware and a few meaningless titles and a pension that won’t keep your blasted dog in bones, and your niece, a lady of quality, expressing her proper contempt for a worthless travesty of a picture by some mountebank whom you wouldn’t pay to distemper a kitchen ceiling, may be hauled into a police court, subjected to the degradation of a public trial — ’


Mr American, p.391, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.



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Friday, 1 March 2013

Glorified wallpaper



     ‘I knew it!’ said the General. ‘A piece of glorified wallpaper! None of these modern bastards can paint. Not like Wollen — ever seen his “Last Stand of the Forty-fourth at Gandamack”? That’s painting, if you like. Not that it looked a dam’ bit like the real thing — I saw the real thing, back in ’42, so I should know. But it was a decentish picture.


Mr American, p.390, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.



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