Marilyn Monroe: Life as a legend

 

By Scott Beveridge

It struck me years ago while painting the portrait, above, of Marilyn Monroe that she had a perfectly symmetrical face except for that famous mole on her lower left cheek.

That balance of genetics could have gone a long way to explain why the screen icon was so beautiful and photogenic, and also became the subject of works created by internationally-known artists.

This phenom has been wonderfully documented in a new exhibit, Marilyn Monroe: Life as a Legend, at Pittsburgh's The Warhol museum dedicated to the artist whose career was launched by his images of the blond actress. Andy Warhol's earliest Monroe portraits were included in his first solo show at Stable Gallery in New York in 1962.

Warhol's "rise to fame is inextricably linked to his art" of Monroe, the museum explained in a description of the Monroe exhibit. This has become the largest museum in the world dedicated to one artist, and the perfect place to celebrate the life of such a gifted and tragic Hollywood legend.

The elevator to the top floor opens to a large photo of her from the Ballerina Series captured by photographer Milton H. Greene, the shot with her pointed toes, body leaning forward and right index finger extended toward her face. It had to be among the most-recognized pictures of Monroe, having been included in millions of pinup calendars since her 1962 death.

The Warhol attempts to explain Monroe's allure and sex appeal in a nearby wallboard that states the portraits around these rooms captured her "determination, innocence and vulnerability," as well as her "vibrant personality, femininity and sensuality."

Around the corner the walls are lined with black-and-white photos, including many movie stills, that caught Warhol's eye, including the one of her wearing that white pleated dress blowing upward while she stands on a subway grate outside Wright's Food store to promote the 1955 film "The Seventh Year Itch." Nearby is the portrait that inspired Andy's Monroe silkscreens, 10 of which also line a wall there.

The following telling Monroe quote can be seen on a wall: "An actress is not a machine, but they treat you like a machine." Yet the many images survive as evidence she might have found much pleasure in toying before the lens. The same went for Warhol, who posed for a series of photos on display showing him dressed in drag and wearing a blond Monroe-style wig.

Monroe's final photo shoot months before her apparent suicide probably gave her fans her best performance for a photographer. Bert Stern forever caught her then-beautiful mature body, breasts fully exposed behind see-through material.

"I want to be an artist, an actress with integrity," she told a reporter for Vogue magazine, which published Stern's images. She also told that writer she "didn't want to look like a joke."

Visitors at the museum today lingered silently before the images as if they were worshiping her features. No one was laughing. I walked away reminded of my own brief obsession with her, and understood it better.

This exhibit on the seventh and fourth floors at 117 Sandusky St. runs through Jan. 2, 2011.

Scary art

"The Three Graces," by Jennifer Dinovitz exhibited in the jury show at Three Rivers Arts Festival in Pittsburgh last June might have been better shown in October. Happy Halloween.

Menaced by stink bugs

Stink Bug, originally uploaded by juliealicea1947.

“Laugh it off, laugh it off; it’s all part of life’s rich pageant.” – Arthur Marshall

“He is a man of courage who does not run away, but remains at his post and fights against the enemy.” – Socrates

By Amanda Gillooly

I don’t want to get all Tom Petty on anybody, but I don’t scare easy.

Unless it has to do with needles, open wounds or bugs.

While I can steer clear of most enterprises that involve the first two, I’ve been unable to avoid that last one. In fact – stink bugs have been an aggressive menace to my mornings.

I’ll admit: I’m a bit of a superstitious writer. To successfully compose copy on deadline, many things must go right – myriad stars must align. My handwritten notes must be neatly extracted from the legal pad from which it came, stapled at the left-hand corner and placed in a manila file folder before I can even begin. 

To continue, I also need a bandanna or other hair band to keep my unruly short hair from hanging precariously in my eyes while I type.

Finally, I need coffee. And if I don’t consume that first cup during a few quiet moments of reflection while perched on the swing on my front porch, the ledes just don’t seem to materialize with any ease.

So, despite the stink bug infestation Pittsburghers like me have been bemoaning (and openly cursing with profanity in some cases – mine included) I refused to let the enemy win and stay indoors with my morning cup of Joe.

But bravery comes at a cost, and for me I paid it about two weeks ago when one of those bastardly bugs dove into my cleavage, briefly becoming trapped between my bosom and its harness.

Not wanting to squish the thing (I’d never get that stain out of a white bra – do you have any idea how much a Body by Victoria demi will cost you?), I reacted calmly and rationally.

After emitting a hearty “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I stood up and brushed at the ugly little bug, causing it to fall further down into the depths of my 38-Cs. After that, it was pure panic.

For a moment of true terror, I almost ripped the blouse off – but just then the stink bug in question took his cue and flew away.

And I immediately felt like an ass, looking around to see if any of my long-suffering neighbors had witnessed my lapse into momentary stink bug insanity. They didn’t.

I’m usually a jolly enough Irish girl, but I was not pleased. It wasn’t funny. It was an assault to both my boobs and to my ability to do my job.

On the defensive, I started wearing a hoodie at all times while on the porch to prevent any wayward insects from making their way near any of my under things. It was by no means a decisive victory against the enemy as much as it was an attempt to live in peace until they all die with the change of the season.

Hey, I’m a humanitarian like that.

But then, as I was enjoying my coffee and trying to invoke the Muse earlier today, I felt a creeping up my leg – a movement that stopped midway up my right thigh. Under the yoga pants.

But I had learned my lesson. I didn’t mess around with any brushing, although I will admit I let out a hell of a yelp as I promptly dropped trou on my porch.

Problem = solved.

Just this time, I laughed and laughed. 

At myself. 

I was thankful for the whole exchange.

Sometimes just when you are taking yourself too seriously, a stink bug comes along and makes you jump around like a fool.

And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was thankful for cute panties, too.

Amanda Gillooly is a freelance writer in Pittsburgh, whose stories appear in Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and publications of the Innocence Institute of Point Park University. She has an over-sized cat named Lincoln that some people have mistaken for a raccoon.

A vigil hymn

Members of the California University of Pennsylvania Choir perform "The Lord Bless You and Keep You" before a candlelight vigil Thursday for Jeron X. Grayson, 18, a Pittsburgh man who was shot and killed Sunday at an off-campus homecoming party.

The are singing in front of a sculpture of Vulcan, a god of fire and also the school's mascot.

A rodeo queen's frumpy potato sack dress was trumped by Marilyn Monroe

 

By Scott Beveridge

BLACKFOOT, Idaho – The 1994 Idaho rodeo queen "appropriately" wore a calf-length dress made from burlap sacks when she appeared in the national contest.

Unfortunately for then-Queen Carol Young, her dowdy costume hangs in the Idaho Potato Museum near a 1950s publicity poster of a sexy Marilyn Monroe wearing a miniskirt made from an Idaho potato sack and standing in a potato field.

But, at least Young appeared to have had a date for the ball because her shabby and shapeless outfit bearing appliques of small potatoes decorated as Indians hangs next to a tackier burlap tuxedo once worn by an Idaho potato commissioner.

This museum has found a perfect home in a greystone former Oregon Short Line Railroad station in Blackfoot, for no other reason than most Americans likely recognize the Idaho as a potato.

The small town also boasts itself as the potato capitol of the world, situated in the Snake River Valley where weather and soil conditions make it the perfect spot on the continent to harvest spuds. The hot summer days and cool nights in an area with well-drained light, wind-blown and nutrient-rich soil have blessed Idaho with its number one industry.

Visitors to this tiny shrine to the potato pass a display explaining that Spanish explorer Francisco Pizzaro discovered the plant while conquering Peru in the 1540s. The tuber eventually made its way to Virginia in 1621, but it would take botanist Luther Burbank to develop the variety of russet that has taken root in Idaho.

There is so much more ahead, as any potato toy lover would be overwhelmed by the special display case dedicated to Mr. Potato Head.

Around the corner is a roomful of implements used through the ages to plant, nurture and harvest the Idaho potato.

Not to miss is the extensive display created by an Eagle Scout of hundreds of hand-held potato mashers collected by Byron Randell of Tomales, Calif. The implements with the ruby red wooden handles are especially sexy.

It gets better.

There is another case protecting the world's largest Pringle, created in 1991 by Proctor & Gamble engineers. The dehydrated processed potato chip, while unfortunately cracked, weighs 5.4 ounces and stretches 25 inches at its widest point.

The admission last summer was $3 to tour this unusual roadside attraction at 130 N.W. Main St.

Today's news conference on the arrest of a suspect in the Cal U. homecoming slaying

California University of Pennsylvania's student newscenter did a fine job today filming Washington County District Attorney Steve Toprani outlining the arrest of 19-year-old Keith Edward Jones of Monessen.

Jones is accused of firing five or six rounds into an off-campus Cal U. homecoming party, killing Jeron X. Grayson, 18, of Pittsburgh.