Berowne's 130

(Also submitted to Three-Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday: "E" is for "Extraordinary")
Fortuitous, I believe, is what they call it.
Something happening by chance.
The above is a picture of and by Francesca Woodman, holding a shell as a talisman.
Thanks to my old friend Net Flix (an old high-school chum), I received a prize-winning documentary just a week or so ago titled “The Woodmans,” which told the strange, true, bizarre and ultimately sad story of the daughter of a family of artists, Francesca.

Both of her parents were artists; Francesca chose photography as her art form.
Back in the seventies, while still a teenager, her diary shows she felt elation at the work she was turning out, depression at the failure of a romantic relationship, the pressure because of the lack of appreciation of her extraordinary art and what might be termed her message.

I am poorly equipped as an art critic. I must leave that to others. What fascinated me about Francesca’s work, as a former cinematographer, were her methods, her experiments with exposure and composition, her constantly-recurring themes, even her props.
And perhaps above all, her exploration of the human body in space and of the genre of self-portraiture. In her work there are hundreds of pictures of the female nude, and the nude was almost always Francesca herself.
As one critic put it, she “demonstrated a desire to beat the code of appearances." Surely she did that – in such pictures as:
"…She flings her arms back at the camera, so that her upturned breasts and open mouth, screaming in fright or celebration, -- present an image of the liberated psyche in flight."
Or this one. “She physically encased herself in a museum glass case... We see Woodman's left breast and thigh pressed against the glass as she squats. ... Her head, moreover, appears cut from her torso... While her right hand exerts pressure against the glass, her left seems to caress the form."
On January 19, 1981, she committed suicide – at the age of 22! - by jumping out of a loft window in New York. An acquaintance wrote, "Things had been bad, there had been therapy, things had gotten better, but then…”
Today, so many years after her death, Francesca Woodman has become, in the art world, not just an artist of substance but one with an almost monumental reputation.
Her work is in the permanent collections of museums, here and around the world, among them the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Whitney Museum of American Art — and her style has so influenced other professional and amateur photographers that effects she pioneered now appear in commercial and fashion photography.
In one of her photographs of a Victorian tombstone, you can read the inscription: “To Die is Gain.”
(Also submitted to Sunday Scribblings)

Magpie #17

RICHARD SCHMIDLAPP'S MISADVENTURE
“I have to admit, Mill, that I’m a bit surprised. When you said you wanted to talk, I never dreamed you’d show up with a lawyer.”
“Well, let me introduce myself. I’m Bob Confrey, of Mannix, DeVito and Confrey, of New York. I’m here just to take part in a friendly conversation and make sure that you are aware of your sister-in-law’s position. Now, as I understand it, Mr. Schmidlapp, you have developed a new product?”
“You can say that again. I have created something new, really new, in the world of soft drinks. My product leaves the past behind; it’s totally 21st century. It’s called ‘Guacamuley,’ the first carbonated beverage ever marketed that is made from and tastes just like guacamole. They've had quacamole in liquid form before, but mine is the first carbonated, fizzy, beverage, sold in bottles just like Coke, Pepsi and Dr. Pepper! My logo so far has been a kicking mule, hence the name ‘Guacamuley,’ but some time back I stumbled upon something that will be a marvelous addition to our advertising, something that is going to send this wonderful product shooting off to national success.”
“And that something, I take it, was a work of sculpture by your sister-in-law?”

“Exactly. I stumbled upon this in their garage. It was amazing. Mildred, without realizing it, has created an entire advertising campaign for my product. That girl’s head that she had sculpted caught the exact moment so many have experienced when they’ve taken their first sip of Guacamuley – a look of surprise, delight and anticipation.”
“But you see, Mr. Schmidlapp, you don’t have the right to use her sculpture in your advertising.”
“But good heavens, Mill, I’m not doing anything bad for you; what I am doing is good. This ad campaign of mine is going to make your work famous”
“Your sister-in-law wants to be taken seriously as an artist.”
“Oh, come on. I mean, I love Mill – she’s the best thing that ever happened to my brother; she’s family. But she isn’t Michelangelo, right? She makes these little things as a hobby out back in her garage, part of an art class or something. And you talk about getting taken seriously as an artist? How do you do that? Well, you get what you do seen by a great many people. You’re never going to be known by anybody if you make something and it just sits in your dam’ garage.”
“Richard, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop saying ‘garage.’ That place is my atelier.”
“Atelier, garage, boudoir, whatever. I want to be sure you understand, Mill: these ads of mine are not only going to get you known all over the country, they’re going to turn into a solid source of income for you for the next few years. Once Guacamuley gets marketed nationally and the money starts rolling in, you can be sure you’ll get your share.”
“You don’t understand, Mr. Schmidlapp. The better galleries will never take her work if she is identified with a beverage called, er, Guacamuley.”
“What? You’re afraid to reach the common people? You think Jeff Koons worried about such a thing, that Warhol appealed only to the upper clahsses? They reflected the modern world. Reflected what’s happenin’. My ad campaign is a chance for my sis-in-law Mill to do the same.”
“Well, I’m afraid that we must insist that you not use that sculpture, or any picture of it, in your advertising.”
“Have you ever tried Guacamuley, Mr. Confrey?”
“I, er, had a sip of it.”
“Then you’re aware of its potential. I’m going to send you a prospectus; I think you’ll agree that the development and marketing of Guacamuley is a great investment opportunity.”
“Yeah, sure. By all means. Send it right over.”