Notnames at the Detroit Institute of the Arts
At the Detroit Institute of the Arts the Caravaggio’s no
great shakes. Mary Magdalene’s face looks wrong—too
smooth, cartoonish compared to the draped silks and her
hand real, thoughtful on the mirror. But The Master
of the St. Lucy Legend, Master of the Embroidered Foliage—long
ago we lost their names, still praise what they were known
for with notnames. “Notnames”: a real word I learned
for writing this. I think my favorite is Il Cronaca—The Chronicler.
That guy went to Rome the one time. Back in Florence,
he would not shut up about Roman ruins. Roman ruins
this, Roman ruins that: they forgot his real name.
Probably out of spite. There’s more: Master of the Games,
of Saint Cecilia. And then the Rivera Courtyard. Rivera: Master of What?
Sturdy bodies, monuments, monumental workers. Real faces tucked
in every corner. Good enough we didn’t throw it out
when he painted Lenin in that other one, gathering a crowd.
Hell Fuckin’ Yeah: Smackdown vs. Raw
for Stacy Isenbarger and Alexandra Teague
Smackdown AND Raw. Mexicans coming out
on John Deere tractors. Strippers in boots
adorned with flames. Male strippers. Chip
and Dales. An oil tycoon—not an oil
tycoon—steps from a limousine
with his blonde be-moled young wife to fight
Darth Maul. Not Darth Maul. His face was
made up like Darth Maul. Okay. He
rips the mole off the tycoon’s wife
and eats it. She’s upset. Then this
bucket of earthworms is dumped on him
from the sky, or scaffolding. (Stacy
squints here, shows how he chews the ones
what land in his Darth Maul mouth.) At the
commercial break, the staff runs in,
folds up the paper the excess worms
fell on. It is amazing. One
guy has this huge fist, and you see
it, smoke coming out. It happened.
It truly did. So you should go.
