Thursday, May 1, 2008


John Singer Sargent, the 19th century portraitist, is an artist I've always liked. In Wikipedia's bio of him (Wikipedia is my source of all information - true, untrue, gossip, blather: who cares as long as it's stated with conviction?) I just discovered this fabulous quote about him:

Jacques-Émile Blanche, who was one of his early sitters, said after his death that Sargent's sex life "was notorious in Paris, and in Venice, positively scandalous. He was a frenzied bugger." A frenzied bugger. Please note that I request here officially that that be inscribed on my tombstone.

This is his portrait of one Thomas E. McKeller. Tasty. If he was frenzied, I can see why.


  1. Now I'm feeling frenzied. I need to do some research, and not just because the extent of my exposure to John Singer Sargent before this was from the lyrics of that Rufus Wainwright song. My favorite non-Sargent part being:

    Here I am in this uniformish, pant-suit sort of thing,
    Thinking of the art teacher
    I was just a girl then;
    Never have I loved since then.

    Great for shower singing.


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