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Oct 2009 – new pages up on PaginasparaClarinha blog


Pick the Not Picasso

That’s right, it’s #3, by one Erik Parker, who was accorded a slide-show spread in the NYT, doubtless hoisting his price in the fiscal arts game, at least for a little while.   Seems like rather worn out pseudo-psychedelia to my jaded eyes, like the obsessive doodling of some speed-freak of my past acquaintance, though perhaps a bit more restrained and anal-retentive.   Whatever happened to that other flavor-of-the-season, the neo-classisist whose name already dissolves, just like his paintings, in my mind.  Maybe I will recall it. [ Days later, I just did: John Currin.]

I refrain from posting one of his more explicit current items, once again proving porn sells, but to think this guy was for one second taken seriously in the arts world tells you to what corrupted decadence we’ve fallen.   Perhaps, along with the bankers, his day has already come and gone.

Meantime, for anyone in need of a direct and sober assessment of the present fiscal follies of Wall Street waltzing with the White House, see Paul Krugman’s column today: The Market Mystique.  He manages to wrestle down all the mumbo-jumbo into simple language anyone should be able to cope with, except perhaps those in utter thrall to the alleged magic of Mill’s mighty finger of fate.   He doesn’t seem to hold out much hope for the present policy of shoving still more money into the hands of our Masters of the Universe banking and brokering classes.   Though it would seem the brokers have definitely lived up to their titles.

Well, it used to be railroad barons, and Rockefeller (oil) and such who called the shots, but at least while they were busy robbing they built something more tangible than a Ponzi pyramid.  Can’t say that much for the fantastical financial innovations cooked up since Reagan, and Bush’s one and two, and Clinton, cut loose the rules and let the Wall Street folks police themselves.  They’ve had a wild and lucrative party since, though now we are all going to share a Mother of All Hang-Overs.

Geoffrey Rush in Exit the King

Lastly, today, March 27, 2009 is my daughter’s — Clara Villaverde Cabral Jost — 12th birthday.   I have been unable, since late August 2001 to see, to hear from, to telephone or otherwise know anything of her, courtesy of her mother, Portuguese film director Teresa Villaverde, who has blocked mail, and in collusion with the “authorities” of the Portuguese juvenile justice system, simply prevented me from knowing even their present address.  As Clara should be old enough to be wondering just who her father is, and is likely to be using the internet, I have started what in effect will be a long letter to her, to let her know of her whole family, and what happened to her, all on a new blog, published today.  Paginas Para Clara.

Parabens Clarinha !CLARA29x.jpg



One Comment

  1. Keep it up, Jon. Eventually, as anyone with the internet will, she’ll google her own name and find links to these pages.

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