‘But…we are ARTISTS!’

The Artists

‘I’ve carefully gone through your text of Wagner, madam. Quite passionate, a tour de force. This is precisely why I don’t call myself a Wagnerian, you will permit me (I hope) to provide some of my critical input.’

Mary Lynne allowed herself a minute smile and crossed her legs at the table.

The man tried his hardest not to look at her lovely, thin legs.

‘You start the text off strong, with a title that cuts to the chase, that doesn’t wander. The readers think that you will…that you’ll…’ His frowning face softened. ‘As early as the first, then the second paragraph to expand upon, to provide arguments to the qualification you laid…laid out, oh dear, I’m losing myself…in the title, yeah, that’s the word, IN THE TITLE! He gathered his wits for a second and started banging his head on the table – and yet nothing.’


Vincent D’Onofrio (Cholo) with Mathilda May (Stephanie) in the movie Naked Tango the end of the film.


‘You say that he bullied his colleagues, and also that you cannot cite a single example, because there is nothing written, or disclosed. Funny, one would wonder: where did the daring claim come from that the man was a witnessed sadist when there are neither examples nor evidence of this? ’

The man extended his hands towards her. ‘Oh, Maryyyy…I will strangle youuuuu! With a wire string, dude!’

The man panicked. He grabbed her throat. He screamed. ‘I’m panicking! I’m panicking! I have to jump!’

And he jumped at her mumbling how truly unhappy he is.

‘Look at her, how easily she gives herself to me! You are no longer so prideful! Get yourself up, you low-browed dunce! Oh if only a wind could blow right now to lift your skirt up, and here I am having to put up the effort, they’ll even call this rape!’

‘And it would’ve been romantic’ Mary Lynne said coquettishly.

‘Right, like in Tannhäuser. Sing to me, sing to me, be my…Wilhelmina Schroeder!’

‘Is that like Venus?’

He lifted her leg in lieu of responding as if he were plowing a field. He flung it over his left shoulder.

Venus sang.

‘Do forgive me never more will IIIIIIIII

Come to me if fortune’s what you seeeeeeeek’


Sophie Koch as Venus in Tannhäuser

‘My fortune…’ He uttered between heavy panting and then flung her left leg over his right shoulder (where the other one went, he wasn’t sure). ‘My fortune lies in Mary!’

And he added:

‘I also think that the text would have had more impact if Hitler hadn’t been mentioned. What, there’s no bloody way that Stalin, who was none the lesser a monster and a murderer than Hitler, didn’t love Glinka or Borodin, or more likely Mussorgsky. That does not mean that these composers were vile men. There is a sizable possibility that Idi Amin loved Tartini or Paganini, why not. There are counterexamples as well. Beethoven loved Napoleon for years, he even devoted ‘Eroica’  to him, after which he got disappointed, gave up on Bonaparte.’

‘There.’ Mary said, after an explosive finish a la Eroica. ‘Now, will we do some Wilhelm Friedman for me, sweet lover?’

‘Start!’ With Mary’s dress at an arm’s reach, he quickly put on a dress and made-up and groomed in a manga style he lifted his hairy legs up high, swearing that the Cliven depilatory cream was not handy.

‘You know how much I care for hygiene!’ He wept.

‘Cold waxing is the best with the Tiger tire glue.’ She smiled. ‘Now have a listen…’


Between Expressions by Hamish Blakely

‘Wilhelm Friedman was spat upon to the point of pain. A boozehound died poor…(SIGHING) They then admit that he was the greatest instrumentalist of his age. The dude hit the clavier, not a single person could challenge him. A biography that on the surface looks like the buckish bios of notable rock musicians. Oy vey, there was a movie as well, I think the title of it is, in fact, Wilhelm Friedman, where he, apparently, suffers and struggles (SHE SIGHS LOUDER AND MORE PASSIONATELY) as a gifted son of a well-known father. The catch is that his father was nowhere near as noteworthy when Friedman was playing, and his problem was neither living in his father’s nor in his brother’s shadow (Mozart said about Carl Philip Emanuel: ‘He is the father, we are all his children’ (OH GOD!!!!), which reckless historians transposed as Mozart talking about Bach, and he didn’t.) (BOTH SIGH AND MOAN), but with all those flies, fleas and planktons that make up life and make up us humans, like a living organism, dead center in that life itself. Leopold Mozart, Wolfgang’s pops, picturesquely and colloquially described the habitus of Friedman Bach. ‘A remarkable musician, an unrivaled composer, but a heavy, heavy drinker.’’

He was panting. ‘I love Händel a lot. I have some undocumented version of his Water Music, therefore I do not know either who performed it or when, and the version is, just, it’s the balls, it tears ass… I listened to various different versions, but most of them are shit, can’t even come close to what I have. Händel and Telemann, by the way, I view as bigger composers than Bach. ’

Lars von Trier’s Antichrist was playing in the background during all of this. An erect phallus added to the magic and romance of the two. Candles were too much with all of these other stimuli. At the peak of arousal, they were slapping each other, arguing which composer is better.


‘Boozehound, spendthrift, died poor, boozehound, spe…e…eh, dear husband, I think that will do for the evening.’

And while he was putting on man’s clothing, Mary Lynne sang Messiaen: Turangalîla-Symphony (Joie du sang des étoiles) in front of the mirror, the director of the Artist’s Trilogy Ron Gabe Bonester went upsy-daisy and with a ‘Camera, cut!’ he marked the end of the shoot.

‘I gave you too much freedom! None of that was in the script!’ He paused for thought. ‘Now you, kid, get Mary a gun to blow your brains out!’

The actress went upstart. ‘That wasn’t the deal!’

Bonester shouted in response to this. ‘Nobody questions my authority! For two hours behind that there…glass compartment…the Australian minister of culture is sitting and waiting for the script which will present his arduous devotions at the Art Conference focusing on non-profit management. Our country cannot develop economically without innovation in that particular field. And education! Who do you think you are? Who bought me this Canon EOS 6D to shoot you guys? Get serious, woman, and continue the oral, along with Chopin and your husband.’

‘But…we are ARTISTS!’


‘An overrated term. I do not exchange my ideas with the personnel. We directors laud a vibrant and growing creative economy!’

Then both He and She approached him and pounded him into the ground, while Bonester slid on the floor in his oversized suit.

‘Shall we continue where we left off?’

‘You mean…while the Minister Behind the Compartment observes?’

‘And then a gun to the head, like Romeo and Juliet. Or was it poison? But let’s not split hairs.’

‘That would probably be a mistake, but…as I said… we are artists, dear colleague, and a happy couple in Art. We cannot live on without the drama.’

‘And voyeurs,’ someone whispered, sat in a chair where the now unconscious director lay and followed this up with a thunderous applause.

Then the trio continued the show agreeing that the Husband should be given any old name.

Mary’s gaze flew up and she said: ‘He will be named Frederic. Like our unborn son.’

Nobody objected, therefore Frederic could begin.

The Minister, who physically reminded one of the head electricians, would record something with an expensive video camera. But under the condition that he played Chopin.

‘Bah bah, the Best Boy.’ Both send passionate kisses to him. Then, with an erotic play, they embraced.

‘Artists, such artists,’ mumbled the Mysterious Traveler, the Spectator, the Third Without Whom You Can’t Go On, from the artistic Kingdom of Heaven.

But Mary Lynne and Frederic were in their own world, wreathed in music and gifted with a gift worthy of the Gods.

The camera buzzed. Reflectors flashed.



‘I’ve carefully gone through your text of Bach, madam. Quite passionate, a tour de force. This is precisely why I don’t call myself a Bachian, you will permit me (I hope) to provide some of my critical input.’


‘…as far as the Bach family is concerned, I love Wilhelm Friedman and Carl Philip Emanuel, they rule, each in their own way, but I dug up some other guys as well – for instance, Johann Bernhardt Bach is also excellent. In the classical era, Johann Christian Bach stood out. Imagine that wondrous family tree, this beast of a family, which branched out during a good hundred-and-so-year period, and bore nothing but interesting musical fruit. Crazy.’ (SCREAM)


You love me in this dress

You love me in this dress

and you don’t see my full lips nor a shirt wherein my breasts seem safer
neither eyes but a moment before succumbing
you love me in this dress
and you don’t see my bleary-eyed and yellow gaunt face
neither pieces of broken statue or pieces of paper scattered around…
you are not wonder – struck with my scream nor with my attempt to get you to escape

I am taking it off tieing it around my waist
my movements are alternately feminine and rough
I love being a woman because my body moves to the beat of music more easily
but my boyish view that you don’t see slaps the spirits of the past
frozen on the other side…
still immersed in the coloring of the unfinished image

You would do anything for me when I’m in this dress, don’t you?
don’t you see I’m naked, pursued and burned?
don’t you see my old clothes
in the blemished closet loaded with garments as barrel shotguns
a talking picture has turned into a point..
in the background was a poorly dressed wake-up call.

You love me in this dress
perhaps I could remember and arrange any piece for you.
Maybe cabaret.
Maybe to play it in a new dress?

They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? is a 1969 American drama film directed by Sydney Pollack. (Susannah York) and her partner Joel (Robert Fields), both aspiring actors.

Umetnici, The Artists

UMETNICI, Leila Samarrai Green

This is the story of two artists, male and female, they are the actors in an unusual film scene, including even crazier scenario, a motive for the shooting is totally avant-garde, and satirical, in the best manner of Lars Von Trier. I was inspired by Eva Green, a bit and her “story” with famous Danish director, but the story is genuine. Unfortunately, I do not have an interpreter, so who doesn’t know Serbian, he/she will have to wait.. 😦


“Pažljivo sam pročitao tekst o Vagneru, gospođice. Vrlo strastveno, silovito. Baš zato što nisam vagnerijanac, dozvolićete mi (nadam se) da iznesem neka kritička zapažanja.”

Mary Lynne je sebi dopustila sitan smešak i prekrstila noge za stolom.
Muškarac se svesno naprezao da ne gleda u njene krasne, vitke noge.

“Tekst počinjete udarno, naslovom koji gađa usred srede, bez okolišanja. Čitaocu se učini da ćete… ćeš… – njegov namrgođeni izraz je smekšao – već u prvom, pa već u drugom pasusu razraditi, argumentovati kvalifikaciju koju si iznela… snela.. avaj.. oh bože, izgubiću se… u naslovu, da tako se to kaže, U NASLOVU!, načas se pribrao i počeo da udara glavom o sto– a ono ništa.”
Kažeš da se iživljavao na bližnjima i na kolegama, ali da ne možeš da navedeš nijedan konkretan primer, jer nijedan zapis ne postoji, ili nije obelodanjen. Čudno, upita se čovek: a otkud onda smelo tvrđenje da je čovek bio osvedočeni sadista, kad ni dokaza ni primera nema?

Muškarac pruži ruke ka njoj. “Oh, Maryyyy… Zadaviću teeee! Petljom od žice, bre!”

Muškarca je zgrabila panika. Uhvatio se za gušu. Vrištao je: “Zgrabila me je panika, zgrabila me je! Moram da skočim!”

I skoči na nju mrmljajući kako je uistinu nesretan.
“Gle ti nje, kako mi se daje lako! Nisi više gorda tako! Diži noge bre klado neotesana! Kad bi dunuo neki vetar pa da ti zadigne suknju, a ne sam da se mučim, još da ispadne silovanje!”

“A i bilo bi romantično”, mazno će Mary Lynne.

“Jeste, kao u Tanhojzeru. Zapevaj zapevaj mi, budi ti moja… Vilhelmina Šroder!

“Jel kao Venera?”
Umesto odgovora on joj digne desnu nogu kao da gura plug. Prebaci je preko levog ramena.

Venera zapeva:

“Oprostiti ti nikad neću jaaa
vrati mi se ako želiš srećuuu”

“Moja sreća”, zadihano će on i tad prebaci njenu levu nogu preko desnog ramena (a gde se dela druga, nije bio siguran) – Moja sreća leži u Mary!”

I dodade:
“Mislim, takođe, da bi tekst bio upečatljiviji da nije pominjan Hitler. Šta, pa nema šanse da Staljin, koji ni po čemu i nipošto nije bio manji monstrum i ubica od Hitlera, nije voleo Glinku, ili Borodina, ili, najpre će biti, Musorgskog. To ne znači da su ovi kompozitori bili zlikovci. Postoji nemala mogućnost da je Idi Amin voleo Tartinija ili Paganinija, što da ne. I kontraprimera ima: Betoven je obožavao Napoleona godinama, njemu je i Eroiku posvetio, pa se posle razočarao, digao ruke od Bonaparte.”

“Eto”, reče Mary nakon eksplozivnog završetka a la Eroika. “A sad.. hoćemo li malo Vilhelma Fridmena za moju dušu, ljubavniče?”

“Počni!” – s Marynom haljinom nadohvat ruke, on se nabrzaka obuče u žensku haljinu i našminkan i doteran u manga stilu podiže uvis dlakave noge, psujući što mu depilacijska krema Cliven nije bila pri ruci.

“Znaš koliko mi je stalo do higijenskog standarda!”, zaplakao je On.

“Ma najbolja je hladna depilacija tigar lepkom za gumu”, smešila se ona. “A sad počuj…”


“Vilhelma Fridemana su napljuvali do bola. Alkos, raspikuća, umro u bedi… (UZDISANJE) Priznaju, pritom, da je bio najveći instrumentalista svoga doba. Taj je razapinjao klavijaturu, niko nije smeo da mu izađe na crtu. Biografija naoko slična nalickanim biografijama znamenitih rokera. Snimljen je, avaj, i film, mislim da je baš takav naslov Vilhelm Frideman, gde on, kao, ispašta i muku muči (UZDIŠE SVE JAČE I STRASTVENIJE) kao daroviti sin znamenitoga oca. Fora je u tome što njegov otac uopšte nije bio tako znamenit kad je Vilhelm Frideman svirao, i njegov problem nije bio ni sa očevom ni sa bratovljevom senkom (za Karla Filipa Emanuela Mocart je svojevremeno rekao: „On je otac, mi smo svi njegova deca“ (OH BOŽE!!!), što su posle nesmotreni istoričari transponovali, kao da je Mocart mislio na J. S. Baha, a nije) (OBOJE UZDIŠU I JAUČU), već sa svim onim raznim muvama, buvama i planktonima koje čine život i nas, kao živ organizam, usred tog života. Leopold Mocart, ćale Volfgangov, slikovito je i narodski opisao habitus Vilhelma Fridemana Baha: „Izvanredan muzičar, vrstan kompozitor, ali mnogo, mnogo pije.“

On je dahtao: “Hendla mnogo volim. Imam Muziku na vodi u nekoj nedokumentovanoj verziji, tako da ne znam ni ko je izvođač ni kada je snimljeno, a verzija je, jednostavno, boli glava, otkida… Slušao sam razne druge verzije, ali sve je to uglavnom šit, ni do ramena ovoj mojoj. Hendla i Telemana, inače, smatram većim kompozitorima od Johana Sebastijana Baha…”

Za to vreme, u pozadini se emitovao Lars Fon Trier – ov “Antihrist”. Prizor uda u erekciji doprinosio je čaroliji i romantici ovo dvoje. Sveće su bile suvišne pored tolikih stimulansa. Na vrhuncu uzbuđenja, jedno drugom su naizmenično lupali šamare, svađajući se koji je kompozitor bolji.

“Alkos, raspikuća, umro u bedi, alkos, ra…a….. ah, mužu, mislim da bi to za večeras bilo to”

I dok se on presvlačio u muško odelo, Mary Lynne je ispred ogledala pevušila Messiaen: Turangalîla-Symphonie (Joie du sang des étoiles), režiser Umetničke trilogije Ron Gabe Jebster skoči na noge lagane i uz jedno Kamera, stop, oglasi kraj snimanja.

“Mnogo sam ja vama umetničke slobode dao! Svega toga u scenariju nije bilo!” – zamisli se – “A sad ti, mali, donesi Mary pištolj da ti prosvira glavu!”
Tad se glumica uzjoguni: “Nismo se tako dogovorili!
Jebster je na to uzviknuo: “Niko ne preispituje moj autoritet! Već dva sata iza one tamo.. staklene pregrade.. australijski ministar kulture sedi i čeka na scenario koji će prezentovati njegova mučna zalaganja na Art Konferenciji sa fokusom na neprofitni menadžment. Naša zemlja ne može ekonomski da se razvija bez inovacija na ovom polju. I edukovanja! Šta mislite vi? Ko mi je kupio ovaj Canon EOS 6D da vas snimam. Ženo, uozbilji se i nastavi oralni, sa sve Šopenom i mužem.”

“Ali.. Mi smo UMETNICI!”
“Precenjena reč. Ja ne razmenjujem ideje s personalom. Mi režiseri slavimo živu i rastuću kreativnu privredu!”

Tada mu i On i Ona priđoše i izdevetaše ga, dok je Jebster klizio na pod u svom prevelikom odelu.

“Hoćemo li sad da nastavimo gde smo stali?”
“Misliš.. dok Ministar iza Pregrade gleda?”
“Pa posle pištolj u glavu, kao Romeo i Julija. Ili beše otrov.. ali ne cepidlačimo”
“To bi verovatno bila greška, no… kao što rekoh… umetnici smo, kolega, i u Umetnosti sretan par. Bez drame ne možemo”
” I voajeri”, rekao je neko šapatom, zaseo na stolicu gde se nalazio sad već onesvešćeni režiser i uputio im gromoglasan aplauz.
Tada svo troje nastaviše predstavu složivši se da i Suprugu treba dati kakvo takvo ime.
Mary je naglo podigla pogled i rekla: “Zvaće se Frederik. Kao naš nerođeni sin”
Niko nije imao zamerke, tako da je Frederik mogao da počne.
Ministar, koji je izgledom podsećao na glavnog majstora za struju, snimao bi nešto skupljom kamerom. Ali, pod uslovom da glumi Šopena.

“Bah Bah, The Best Boy”, oboje mu uputiše strastveni poljubac. Potom se, uz erotsku igru, zagrliše.

“Umetnici.. kakvi umetnici!”, mrmljao je Tajanstveni Putnik, Gledalac, Onaj Treći Bez Koga Se Ne Može, na umetničkom carstvu nebeskom.

Ali, Mary Lynne i Frederic su bili u zasebnom svetu, ovenčani muzikom i obdareni darom dostojnim bogova.

Kamera zazuja. Reflektori bljesnuše.


Pažljivo sam pročitao tekst o Bah- u gospođice. Vrlo strastveno, silovito. Baš zato što nisam bahovac, dozvolićete mi (nadam se) da iznesem neka kritička zapažanja.”


“…… što se porodice Bah tiče, volim Vilhelma Fridemana i Karla Filipa Emanuela, oni su zakon, svako na svoj način, ali provalio sam i neke druge likove – odličan je, recimo, Johan Bernhard Bah. U klasicističko doba istakao se Johan Kristijan Bah. Zamisli to čudesno stablo, tu familijetinu, koja se razgranavala u periodu od bogami dobrih sto i kusur godina, i davala sve zanimljive muzičke plodove. Ludilo.” (VRISAK)