The first nude I ever painted was based on a photo spread in Playboy Magazine. Normally, I only read that periodical for the articles of course, but that centerfold by Herb Ritts was hard to miss. Brigitte Nielson-- her six-foot freak Dane body laid out against white mediterranean sands, tangled in fishnet, was a surreal fisherman's fantasy of a siren's capture and surrender. Talk about your catch of the day-- I'm sure the Ouzo was on the house for the boys off that trawler for days afterwards.
Back then I was just starting out, and getting my inspiration from glossies like Vanity Fair and W. I was in my "Graphic" and "Pop Art" Phase, if you'll allow me the pretense of having any phases at all. I liked fashion models, and painted a lot of them. It seems silly now, but both the culture of the times and my youth had a lot to do with that. I am long over it.
"Brigitte" I did up in blues, purples and violets on a large rectangular canvas. The background was a solid fuchsia with a swirling yellow "aura". It was funky. I gave the painting to a friend of mine, who displayed it proudly in the bathroom of his bachelor pad.
Then it went missing.
All speculative evidence pointed to his girlfriend, who had somehow gotten the idea that the painting was of a former flame. I am reminded of Ralphie's beleaguered, passive-aggressive mother in "A Christmas Story"-- "accidentally" knocking over the fishnet leg lamp and then playing dumb. I reserve some small hope that the Brigitte painting is still out there and safe, but I doubt it. The object of a woman's scorn and loathing rarely fares well.
About the same time I did a portrait of a friend. It was in the same style, of course
--still in that phase-- but this time the background was solid turquoise and the aura pink. She was wonderfully sarcastic, and I believe I successfully captured this and her wry, bright-eyed smirk.
This painting went missing, too.
When I asked about the painting years later, she told me that during a move to Brooklyn, it was left outside on the sidewalk with the dining room set and other belongings while she was inside wrestling with other things. In a brazen heist in broad daylight, apparently, everything got stolen. It leaves me wondering. Did the thieves later find some value in the painting, was it preserved? Or did it end up at the bottom of the Fountain Avenue Landfill? All vanity aside, I am sure the latter scenario is more likely.
I only recently learned that the Mona Lisa once got stolen. Not only that, but her theft out of The Louvre in 1911 is precisely the reason why she is the most recognized painting in the world today. Newspapers were really just coming into their own at the time, and suddenly the image and wry smile of "La Gioconda" --as she is also known-- was splashed on front pages the world over.
So before then, what? Apparently the Mona Lisa was, to coin a phrase, no big whoop. "There was nothing to really distinguish it per se," said Noah Charney, art historian and author of "The Theft of the Mona Lisa", "...other than it was a very good work by a very famous artist. That's until it was stolen-- the theft is really what skyrocketed its appeal and made it a household name."
This gives me ideas. But not the first time. They say crime doesn't pay, but art thefts certainly seem to benefit the reputation of the artist. In this vein, I remember another friend once jokingly suggesting that I discreetly "remove" a painting of mine that's been hanging in a popular pub for years. It's not the Louvre, of course-- and I am hardly famous, but the heist might have been enough to generate some local press. I actually remember checking it out. What was needed was a small electric screwdriver. And then play dumb.
Photos:
1. Brigitte Nielsen, Playboy Magazine.
2. Still from the Motion Picture "A Christmas Story", Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
3. Paul Jacks, Detail of "Anita", acrylic on canvas.
4. Mona Lisa, Leonardo Da Vinci.
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