La versión en español está después de la versión en inglés.
Today is mostly about paintings of people by Julio Romero de Torres. The first below is called La Chiquita Piconera (Girl with a Charcoal Brazier). I know a brazier is a stand or pan for holding burning coals (and now I know it rhymes with Frasier). A brasserie is a French-style café. A brassiere is what is worn to rein in or perk up one’s breasts. I learned the difference when I was a teenager but the words still make me snicker. As The Kid Brother would say, “What a jerk.”
I had a fairly miserable day yesterday. Exhaustion, depression, and a large dose of self-loathing. I spent much of the day in bed sleeping, but of course never did catch up on the sleep I missed Sunday night.
San Geraldo and I walked over to Goiko Burgers for dinner, just to get out of the house, and it ended up being a pleasure and turning the day around. Two of the waiters know us well and they’re both named Antonio. We were treated like family, even given a free plate of sweet potato fries while we waited. I ordered an enormous, healthy salad, and followed with an enormous piece of chocolate chip cookie cake with ice cream. Antonio added a bonus second scoop. So much for the healthy salad.
SG and I sat and talked, both doing brain dumps. We talked about family, about being gay (have I told you SG is also gay?), about our parents, about the damage that was done that can never be undone it seems (especially in my case). I spent much of my life believing my father hated me. By the time I understood he really didn’t, it was too late to undo the damage that had been done. I received mixed messages from my mother my entire life. In front of others, I was the handsome, brilliant, good son, who was a gifted artist. I could do no wrong (although I know she did share her criticisms with a few others). Behind the scenes, I was told I was conceited, selfish, not smart enough, not tough enough, not talented enough, not handsome enough, and simply not good enough.
I’ve overcome a lot, but on my bad days, those messages overwhelm my thoughts. That was Sunday night and most of Monday. When San Geraldo and I relax together and simply share without judgment, we are both so much better. Today is looking good. So let’s get back to Julio Romero de Torres and the brassiere, brasserie, brazier!
Hoy se trata principalmente de cuadros de Julio Romero de Torres. El primero que aparece a continuación se llama La Chiquita Piconera. Sé que un brasero es un soporte o sartén para sostener brasas. Una brasserie es un café de estilo francés. Un brassiere es lo que se usa para controlar o levantar las tetas. Aprendí la diferencia en la adolescencia, pero las palabras todavía me hacen reír disimuladamente. Como diría El Hermanito: “¡Qué imbécil!”
Ayer tuve un día bastante deprimente. Agotamiento, depresión y mucha autodesprecio. Pasé gran parte del día durmiendo en la cama, pero, por supuesto, no recuperé el sueño perdido el domingo por la noche.
San Geraldo y yo fuimos a cenar a Goiko Burgers, solo para salir de casa, y resultó ser un placer y nos cambió el día. Dos de los camareros nos conocen bien ahora; ambos se llaman Antonio. Nos trataron como familia, incluso nos regalaron un plato de patatas fritas de boniato mientras esperábamos. Pedí una ensalada enorme y saludable, seguida de un trozo enorme de pastel de galletas con pepitas de chocolate y helado. Antonio añadió una segunda bola de regalo. ¡Menuda ensalada saludable!
SG y yo nos sentamos a charlar, ambos volcando ideas. Hablamos de familia, de ser gay (¿les he dicho que SG también es gay?), de nuestros padres, del daño causado que, al parecer, ya no se puede reparar (sobre todo en mi caso). Pasé gran parte de mi vida creyendo que mi padre me odiaba. Para cuando comprendí que no era así, ya era demasiado tarde para repararlo. Recibí mensajes contradictorios de mi madre toda mi vida. Frente a los demás, yo era el hijo guapo, brillante y bueno, un artista talentoso. No podía hacer nada mal (aunque sé que ella compartía sus críticas con algunos otros). Entre bastidores, me decían que era engreído, egoísta, que no era lo suficientemente inteligente, ni lo suficientemente fuerte, ni lo suficientemente talentoso, ni lo suficientemente guapo, ni lo suficientemente bueno.
He superado muchas cosas, pero en mis días malos, esos mensajes me abruman. Eso fue el domingo por la noche y casi todo el lunes. Cuando San Geraldo y yo nos relajamos juntos y simplemente compartimos sin juzgarnos, nos sentimos mucho mejor. Hoy pinta bien. ¡Así que volvamos a Julio Romero de Torres y al brasier, brasería, brasero!
• La Chiquita Piconera. Una de sus modelos más famosas, María Teresa López. Negó toda su vida haber sido su amante. Empezó a posar para él a los 7 años. Otro retrato apareció en el billete de cien pesetas entre 1953 y 1978.
• Horas de angustia
• El pecado
• Nocturnal.
• Retrato de joven.
• Mal de Amores
• Conchita Triana (famosa bailaora de flamenco).
The artist certainly was adept at faces – so individual and expressive.
I wonder if your mother was raised with the same kind of mixed messages and that’s where she learned that destructive parenting style? Unfortunately it can be all too common.
In Quebec, a brasserie is a pub. I was in a few of those when I was young and went to Quebec to see friends!
I love those paintings. The artist’s male gaze was quite empathetic and understanding of women, it seems to me.
Debra:
She was seriously ill at the age of 4 and my grandmother pampered her the rest of her life. A tenement family of 7 children and my mother was spoiled. She was a mixed bag and didn’t have a lot of self confidence although she could be very haughty and superior. I wouldn’t be surprised if she felt her children couldn’t possibly exceptional if they came from her. Ah well. Apparently, my grandfather treated my father exactly the way my father treated me … except for the additional abuse of having a fairy for a son. ANYWAY, I agree about the artist’s gaze. He had a few paintings of males, but I didn’t see the same empathy in those, just good portraits.
I can relate to the snickering when any of these words are used for whatever purpose…….to this day just the memory brings a smile.
If parents only knew, and most do thank the gods, how their words cause so much trauma.
Happy you and SG can talk to each other and sort things out. Helps, eh?
Jim:
When either of us crashes, all it takes a soulful conversation to pull ourselves up (at least a bit).
Sadly, some people perhaps shouldn’t be parents because the damage they inflict can be lifelong and passed along; the good news, if it’s good, is that you know this and work around it and through it and with it even on the days it overwhelms.
Family is hard; you can love them but maybe you don’t like them very much, and however you got here I am grateful for having stumbled into your universe.
Realize you are loved because you can give love and take good care.
Soapbox down.
Bob:
And I’m not sorry to be here. Thanks for listening and for understanding. I’m fine again!
I never thought my father liked me either. I actually don’t think he did. I know he favored my brother because the two of them were a lot alike, and I was just “different”. I wasn’t the first born son that he wanted. He wanted someone who was a star athlete like him, someone who loved baseball, like him, someone who liked to hunt, like him. I was none of those things. I was even named after Mickey Mantle. I hated baseball. I hated being up to bat. I know my father loved me somehow, but I never felt it. But, in a positive way, my father’s distance caused me to want to be different than him with my own children and the thousands of students that I taught over my career. And aren’t you lucky to have SG to share all of those thoughts with. The two of you make a great couple.
I wonder about the damage parents do, even when they’re not actively criticizing. My father rarely spoke to me, and used to say my eldest brother should have got my brains, not me, etc. I tried not to pass on that kind of thing to my son.
One of my sisters said that tearing down kids, parents to kids, sibs to younger sibs, was learned from the Irish side of the family, supposedly to toughen them against the world. I have my own thoughts about that!
Boys sez
Boud, dangit, not boyz!!
Boud:
I cracked up when I saw that. I knew it was you!
SAN GERALDO IS GAY?!?!?!?!?! Here all along I thought he was your personal valet, you know, like Wooster and Jeeves.
Anyway, the hurts of the past never heal as quickly as you like. They may never heal at all. It’s why we dream about people long dead, and experience deja vu, and have phobias and hangups and the like. And when you’re LGBTQ, you’ve experienced a set of hurts that nonLGBTQ folks just are not going to get, no matter how much they may think of themselves as allies. We’re all gummed-up works in progress.
Meanwhile, enjoy that cake. It looks delicious.
Kirk:
San Geraldo would make a weak personal valet. He doesn’t even pick up after himself! That cake was to die for!
Now that sounds like my kind of day. I like the one picture… the first one against that red wall… how striking!
Mistress Borghese:
You would love the buildings and the art. So inspiring.
Oh, you know that family can do much damage without even trying. But we all have to remember they are all flawed human beings. It does take time though, to undo all that fuckery….
Sending hugs…
And the artwork is fab. They’re very… expressive? IDK how to put it. I’m partial to The Sin, for obvious reasons…
XOXO
Sixpence Notthewiser:
Much easier to process and understand as an adult. Too bad the damage is done to the child. Yeah, I like the sin, as well, always have.
Obviously, de Torres was obsessed with Maria Teresa Lopez’s eyes. And who wouldn’t be? Do you suppose it’s true that they were never lovers? I suppose it could be.
As to what parents can do to kids. I know you are familiar with this poem, right?
“This Be The Verse
By Philip Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.”
It is so true. People always say that kids are so resilient.
No. No they are not. They are just geniuses at hiding things and pretending that everything is fine while the adults around them are possibly clueless about the damage they are inflicting on them.
Possibly clueless. Or they don’t give a damn. Or else they are cruel sociopaths. Whatever. Whichever. The damage is never entirely undone.
I am glad that you and SG have each other.
Well, dang it, I did it again.
Mary Moon. Mary Moon wrote that comment.
Mary Moon:
I KNEW it was you!
Ms. Moon:
Yes, I do love this poem. If only the world were filled with loving parents like you two. And, no, nobody’s perfect.
“ I had a fairly miserable day yesterday. Exhaustion, depression, and a large dose of self-loathing.”
Sending you a big bear hug ( with one gammy paw)
finlaygray:
And I’m sending one back to you. Sometimes that’s all we need.
Very few kids get out of childhood unscathed and that disfunction gets passed on to the next generation whether or not it’s realized. While you can’t pick your family, you can pick your friends — and you have a bountiful harvest in that area, Scoot!
Tundra Bunny:
I’m hearing Joni Mitchell sing Circle Game. I think I’m doing well considering. Thanks to people like you!
Oh, my brother from another mother, we have walked similar paths. I’m glad you found some light in the dark tunnel. Keep looking for it. You will always find it, with enough patience. *mwah*
Sassybear:
Most days are better than that day was. I even drove out of the tunnel. I wish you all the light, too!
Beautiful paintings. Yep life and families are funny and cruel at times and it is hard to understand. Both my parents are gone now, things happen in life and true my Dad was a demanding person and could be cutting with his words, he was not a bad person that is the way he was, does not stop me from wondering about my childhood and unfortunately it all stays with you. I prefer to focus on my life now instead of the past.
Laurent:
I’ve lived with clinical depression for decades. I’m usually fine. But when I crash, it’s as if no time has passed.
Brasserie is French for brewery. As time went by, breweries morphed into food-serving breweries (like brew pubs) then many of them stopped brewing and became the bar/restaurants we’re familiar with today. At least, I think that’s what happened.
Walt the Fourth:
So when did they start selling brassieres?
More Hugs from afar. Maybe Freud was right, and it was all about our mothers.
David:
Nah, fathers, too!