Locatelli, Mozart, Tunings, and Temperament

Locatelli

  • Op. 1 (1721) – 12 concerti grossi (in F, C minor, B flat, E minor, D, C minor, F, F minor, D, C, C minor, G minor)
  • Op. 2 (1732) – 12 flute sonatas (in G, D, B flat, G, D, G minor, A, F, E, G, D, G)
  • Op. 3 (1733) – L’ arte del violino 12 violin concertos (in D, C minor, F, E, C, G minor, B flat, E minor, G, F minor, A, D “Il laberinto armonico”)
  • Op. 4 (1735) – 6 Introduttione teatrale (in D, F, B flat, G, D, C) and 6 concerti grossi (in D, F, G, E, C minor, F)
  • Op. 5 (1736) – 6 trio sonatas (in G, E minor, E, C, D minor, G “Bizarria”)
  • Op. 6 (1737) – 12 violin sonatas (in F minor, F, E, A, G minor, D, C minor, C, B minor, A minor, E flat, D minor)
  • Op. 7 (1741) – 6 concerti a quatro (in D, B flat, G, F, G minor, E flat)
  • Op. 8 (1744) – 10 trio sonatas (in F, D, G minor, C, G, E flat, A, D, F minor, A)

Mozart:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ludwig_Ritter_von_K%C3%B6chel

Ludwig Alois Ferdinand Ritter von Köchel (IPA: [ˈkœçəl]) (January 14, 1800 – June 3, 1877) was a musicologist, writer, composer, botanist and publisher. He is best known for cataloguing the works of Mozart and originating the ‘K-numbers’ by which they are known (K for Köchel).

Born in the town of Stein, Lower Austria, he studied law in Vienna, and for fifteen years was tutor to the four sons of Archduke Charles of Austria. Köchel was rewarded with a knighthood and a generous financial settlement, permitting him to spend the rest of his life as a private scholar. Contemporary scientists were greatly impressed by his botanical researches in North Africa, the Iberian Peninsula, the United Kingdom, the North Cape, and Russia. Additional to botany, he was interested in geology and mineralogy, but also loved music, and was a member of the Mozarteum Salzburg.

In 1862 he published the Köchel catalogue, a chronological and thematic register of the works of Mozart. This catalogue was the first on such a scale and with such a level of scholarship behind it; it has since undergone revisions. Mozart’s works are often referred to by their K-numbers (c.f. opus number); for example, the “Jupiter” symphony, Symphony No. 41 K. 551.

Moreover, Köchel arranged Mozart’s works into twenty-four categories, which were used by Breitkopf & Härtel when they published the first complete edition of Mozart’s works from 1877 to 1910, a venture partly funded by Köchel.

He also catalogued the works of Johann Fux.[1][2]

Ludwig Ritter von Köchel died at age 77 in Vienna.

http://docs.google.com/a/silentflame.com/Doc?id=dcrm3bt7_6f3tf8kjx

…In the decades after Mozart’s death there were several attempts to catalogue his compositions, but it was not until 1862 that Ludwig von Köchel succeeded. Köchel’s 551-page catalogue was titled Chronologisch – thematisches Verzeichnis sämtlicher Tonwerke Wolfgang Amadé Mozarts (Chronological – Thematic Catalogue of the Complete Musical Works of Wolfgang Amadé Mozart). The catalogue included the opening bars of each piece, a so-called incipit….

…Köchel attempted arranging the works in chronological order, but the compositions written before 1784 could only be estimated. Since Köchel’s work, many more pieces have been found, re-attributed, and re-dated, requiring three catalogue revisions. These revisions, especially the third edition by Alfred Einstein (1937), and the sixth edition by Franz Giegling, Gerd Sievers, and Alexander Weinmann (1964), incorporated many corrections…

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K%C3%B6chel_Verzeichnis

The Köchel-Verzeichnis is a complete, chronological catalogue of compositions by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (born 1756) which was originally created by Ludwig von Köchel. It is abbreviated K or KV. For example, Mozart’s Requiem in D minor was, according to Köchel’s counting, the 626th piece Mozart composed. Thus, the piece is designated K. 626. Köchel catalog numbers not only attempt to establish chronology, but also give a helpful shorthand to refer to Mozart’s works.

Wo is Basel? …a friend arrives and helps the Moazarts find the wife’s hair ribbon before going for a drive. “…The first line, ‘Dearest Almond, where is my husband?’ indicates the level of nonsense present here…”

http://books.google.com/books?id=CChN90GGcQQC&pg=PA96&lpg=PA96&dq=Liebes+Mandel,+wo+is+Bandel%3F&source=web&ots=4f62VznQNm&sig=ttHP3RhxlRnZ_VcBblrT8KqNfUo&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=2&ct=result

The link to Fuchs was suggestive. Italics mine. I’m thinking something about how Emma dragged them between branes.

http://docs.google.com/a/silentflame.com/Doc?id=dcrm3bt7_6f3tf8kjx

Info here:

The Gradus Ad Parnassum (Step or Ascent to Mount Parnassus) is a theoretical and pedagogical work written in Latin language, which Fux dedicated to Emperor Charles VI in 1725.

It is divided in two major parts. In the first part, Fux presents a summary of the theory on Musica Speculativa, or the analysis of intervals as proportions between numbers. This section is in a simple lecture style, and looks at music from a purely mathematical angle, in a theoretical tradition that goes back, through the works of Renaissance theoreticians, to the Ancient Greeks. The words of Mersenne, Cicero and Aristotle are among the references quoted by Fux in this section.

Easley Blackwood and Microtonality

Microtonal music may refer to all music which contains intervals smaller than the conventional contemporary Western semitone. The term implies music containing very small intervals. By this definition, the following systems are not microtonal: a diatonic scale in any meantone tuning; much Indonesian gamelan music; and Thai, Burmese, and African music which use 7 approximately equally spaced tones in each (approximate) octave.[citation needed] However, the term “microtonal” is also used to describe music using intervals not found in 12-tone equal temperament, so these musics, as well as musics using just intonation, meantone temperament, or other alternative tunings may be considered microtonal.

….

[edit]

Meantone tunings date from the early 1490s, as scholars such as Richard Taruskin and Patrizio Barbieri have pointed out.[citation needed] Since the time of Pietro Aron‘s treatise (Aron 1523), meantone tuning became extremely common and was considered to represent “correct” tuning throughout Europe until 1750 and in England and Spain until 1850.[citation needed]Such meantone tunings sound similar to, but more harmonious than, conventional Western tunings of 12 equal pitches per octave, when performed on an instrument limited to 12 pitches per octave, as long as the composer restricts him/herself to a narrow compass of musical keys close to the root note of the tuning (i.e., if the meantone tuning is tuned starting with C, the keys close to C major will sound like a more harmonious take on conventional Western music; distant keys, however, like Eb minor, will contain highly audibly exotic and sometimes discordant musical intervals.)[citation needed] Some early composers, however, deliberately wandered far afield from the root note of meantone tunings, producing highly microtonal effects in typical renditions of their music. One prominent example is “Ut, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La” by the British virginal composer John Bull (composed sometime between the 1580s and 1610, and included in the Fitzwilliam Virginal Book).[citation needed] Such extensive modulation in meantone tuning on a 12-note-per octave instrument sounds “wolf” fifths and other exotic musical intervals not found in contemporary Western music using 12 equal pitches per octave.[vague]

It was quite common in the heyday of meantone tuning to find keyboards with “split” keys or special organ stops, often allowing 13-16 pitches per octave of meantone tuning.[citation needed] In this way music by Handel and many other composers could be played in meantone tuning, maintaining smooth harmony and conventional-sounding melody even as the music modulated to distant keys. Teachers of string instruments, including Leopold Mozart, and of wind instruments, including Quantz, expected their students to distinguish all enharmonic pairs of pitches (like F# and Gb) in their playing, with the sharpened version of one diatonic tone being played lower than the flattened version of the next diatonic tone up.[citation needed] So composers in the meantone era who restricted their harmonic compass were doing so largely because they were writing for keyboard or an ensemble that included a keyboard.[citation needed]

In the decades after Mozart’s death there were several attempts to catalogue his compositions, but it was not until 1862 that Ludwig von Köchel succeeded. Köchel’s 551-page catalogue was titled Chronologisch – thematisches Verzeichnis sämtlicher Tonwerke Wolfgang Amadé Mozarts (Chronological – Thematic Catalogue of the Complete Musical Works of Wolfgang Amadé Mozart). The catalogue included the opening bars of each piece, a so-called incipit.


More on meantone tuning (from Kyle Gann’s website, “An Introduction to Historical Tunings”):

The generating principle behind meantone was that it was more important to preserve the consonance of the major thirds (C to E, F to A, G to B) than it was to preserve the purity of the perfect fifths (C to G, F to C, G to D). There are acoustical reasons for this, namely – though I wouldn’t want to go into the math involved – that the notes in a slightly out-of-tune third, being closer together than those in a fifth, create faster and more disturbing beats than those in a slightly out-of-tune fifth. (I can confirm this from experience with my own Steinway grand, which I keep tuned to an 18th-century tuning.) The aesthetic motivation for meantone was that composers had fallen in love with the sweetness of the major third, and were trying to get away from the medieval austerity of open perfect fifths.

There was no one invariable meantone tuning; before the 20th century, tuning was an art, not a science, and each tuner had his own method of tuning according to his own taste. The following is a chart of a meantone tuning defined in 1523 by Pietro Aaron.

Pitch: C C# D Eb E F F# G G# A A# B C
Cents: 0 76.0 193.2 310.3 386.3 503.4 579.5 696.8 772.6 889.7 1006.8 1082.9 1200

Because it determines what sounds good, tuning has a pervasive influence on compositional tendencies. Every piece of pitched music is the expression of a tuning. Meantone encouraged composers to use major and minor triads, to avoid open perfect fifths without thirds, and to not stray more than three or four steps in the circle of fifths away from a central key. Renaissance and early Baroque music played in meantone sounds seductively sweet and attractive. By playing it in modern equal temperament, we do violence to its essential nature. Perhaps that’s why this repertoire is no longer often heard. It’s been painted over with the ugly gray of equal temperament.

Bees and bee pests

Some wiki research on bees of various kinds, and bee pests.
In case you were wondering…

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_honey_bee

The European honey bee or Western honey bee (Apis mellifera) is a species of honey bee. The genus Apis is Latin for “bee”, and mellifera comes from the Latin meli- “honey” and ferre “to bear” — hence the scientific name means “honey-bearing bee”. The name was coined in 1758 by Carolus Linnaeus who, realizing that the bees do not bear honey, but nectar, tried later to correct it to Apis mellifica (“honey-making bee”) in a subsequent publication. However, according to the rules of synonymy in zoological nomenclature, the older name has precedence. Some people who are unaware of this still use the incorrect subsequent spelling. As of October 28, 2006, the Honey Bee Genome Sequencing Consortium fully sequenced and analyzed the genome of Apis mellifera.

African bees… there’s several species, and thi is one of the better ones, but alas, not what we ended up with.

Apis mellifera sahariensis, classified by Baldensperger, 1932 – from the Moroccan desert oases of Northwest Africa. This sub-species faces few predators other than humans and is therefore very gentle. Moreover, because of the low density of nectar-producing vegetation around the oases it colonizes, it forages up to five miles, much farther than sub-species from less arid regions. Other authorities say that while colonies of this species are not much inclined to sting when their hives are opened for inspection, they are, nevertheless, highly nervous….

Genome

The European honey bee is the third insect, after the fruit fly and the mosquito, to have its genome mapped. According to the scientists who analysed its genetic code, the honey bee originated in Africa and spread to Europe in two ancient migrations.[3] They have also discovered that the number of genes in the honey bees related to smell outnumber those for taste, and they have fewer genes for immunity than the fruit fly and the mosquito. [4] The genome sequence revealed several groups of genes, particularly the genes related to circadian rhythms, were closer to vertebrates than other insects. Genes related to enzymes that control other genes were also vertabratelike.[5]

European honey bee populations have recently faced threats to their survival. North American and European populations were severely depleted by varroa mite infestations in the early 1990s, and US beekeepers were further affected by Colony Collapse Disorder in 2006 and 2007.[7] Chemical treatments against Varroa mites saved most commercial operations and improved cultural practices. New bee breeds are starting to reduce the dependency on miticides (acaracides) by beekeepers. Feral bee populations were greatly reduced during this period but now are slowly recovering, mostly in areas of mild climate, owing to natural selection for Varroa resistance and repopulation by resistant breeds. Further, Insecticides, particularly when used in violation of label directions, have also depleted bee populations[citation needed], while various bee pests and diseases are becoming resistant to medications (e.g. American Foul Brood, Tracheal Mites and Varroa Mites).

[edit] Environmental hazards

In North America, Africanized bees have spread across the southern United States where they pose a small danger to humans, although they may make beekeeping (particularly hobby beekeeping) difficult and potentially dangerous.

Colony Collapse disorder

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colony_Collapse_Disorder

Colony Collapse Disorder

(or

CCD

) is a phenomenon in which worker bees from a

beehive

or

Western honey bee

colony abruptly disappear. While such disappearances have occurred throughout the history of

apiculture

, the term

Colony Collapse Disorder

was first applied to a drastic rise in the number of disappearances of Western honey bee colonies in

North America

in late 2006.

[1]

Honey bees entering a beehive.

Honey bees entering a beehive.

European beekeepers observed similar phenomena in Belgium, France, the Netherlands, Greece, Italy, Portugal, and Spain,[2] and initial reports have also come in from Switzerland and Germany, albeit to a lesser degree.[3] Possible cases of CCD have also been reported in Taiwan since April 2007.[4]

The cause or causes of the syndrome are not yet fully understood, although many authorities attribute the problem to biotic factors such as: Varroa mites and insect diseases (i.e., pathogens[5] including Nosema apis and Israel acute paralysis virus[6][7]). Other proposed causes include environmental change-related stresses,[8] malnutrition and pesticides (e.g. neonicotinoids such as imidacloprid), and migratory beekeeping. More highly speculative possibilities have included both cell phone radiation and genetically modified (GM) crops with pest control characteristics,[9][10], though experts point out no evidence exists for either assertion.

Background

From 1971 to 2006, there was a dramatic reduction in the number of feral (gone wild) honeybees in the US (now almost absent);[11] and a significant, though somewhat gradual decline in the number of colonies maintained by beekeepers. This decline includes the cumulative losses from all factors such as urbanization, pesticide use, tracheal and Varroa mites, and commercial beekeepers retiring and going out of business. However, late in the year 2006 and in early 2007 the rate of attrition was alleged to have reached new proportions, and the term “Colony Collapse Disorder” was proposed to describe this sudden rash of disappearances.[1]

Limited occurrences resembling CCD have been documented as early as 1896,[5][12] and this set of symptoms has in the past several decades been given many different names (disappearing disease, spring dwindle, May disease, autumn collapse, and fall dwindle disease).[13] Most recently, a similar phenomenon in the winter of 2004/2005 occurred, and was attributed to Varroa mites (the “Vampire Mite” scare), though this was never ultimately confirmed. Nobody has been able to determine the cause of any past appearances of this syndrome. Upon recognition that the syndrome does not seem to be seasonally-restricted, and that it may not be a “disease” in the standard sense — that there may not be a specific causative agent — the syndrome was renamed.[14]

[edit] Symptoms

A colony which has collapsed from CCD is generally characterized by all of these conditions occurring simultaneously[15]:

  • Complete absence of adult bees in colonies, with little or no build-up of dead bees in or around the colonies.
  • Presence of capped brood in colonies. Bees normally will not abandon a hive until the capped brood have all hatched.
  • Presence of food stores, both honey and bee pollen:
Precursor symptoms that may arise before the final colony collapse are:

  • Insufficient workforce to maintain the brood that is present
  • Workforce seems to be made up of young adult bees
  • The Queen is present
  • The colony members are reluctant to consume provided feed, such as sugar syrup and protein supplement.

In the U.S., at least 24 different states

[8][16]

as well as portions of

Canada[17]

have reported at least one case of CCD. However, in many cases, beekeepers reporting significant losses of bees did not experience CCD, and a major part of the subsequent analysis of the phenomenon hinges upon distinguishing between true CCD losses and non-CCD losses.

[18]

In a survey of 384 responding beekeepers from 13 states, reporting the number of hives containing few or no bees in spring, only 23.8% met the specified criteria for CCD (that 50% or more of their dead colonies were found without bees and/or with very few dead bees in the hive or apiary).

[18]

In the US, despite highly variable anecdotal claims appearing in the media, the best documentation indicates that CCD-suffering operations had a total loss of 45% compared to the total loss of 25% of all colonies experienced by non-CCD suffering beekeepers in 2006-2007; it is further noted that non-CCD winter losses as high as 50% have occurred in some years and regions (e.g., 2000-2001 in

Pennsylvania

), though “normal” winter losses are typically considered to be in the range of 15-25%.

[18] Possible causes and research

The exact mechanisms of CCD are still unknown. One report indicates a strong but possibly non-causal association between the syndrome and the presence of the Israel acute paralysis virus.[7] Other factors may also be involved, however, and several have been proposed as causative agents; malnutrition, pesticides, pathogens, immunodeficiencies, mites, fungus, genetically modified (GM) crops, beekeeping practices (such as the use of antibiotics, or long-distance transportation of beehives) and electromagnetic radiation. Whether any single factor is responsible, or a combination of factors (acting independently in different areas affected by CCD, or acting in tandem), is still unknown. It is likewise still uncertain whether CCD is a genuinely new phenomenon, as opposed to a known phenomenon that previously only had a minor impact.

At present, the primary source of information, and presumed “lead” group investigating the phenomenon, is the Colony Collapse Disorder Working Group, based primarily at Penn State University. Their preliminary report pointed out some patterns, but drew no strong conclusions.[14] A survey of beekeepers early in 2007 indicates that most hobbyist beekeepers believed that starvation was the leading cause of death in their colonies, while commercial beekeepers overwhelmingly believed that invertebrate pests (Varroa mites, honey bee tracheal mites, and/or small hive beetles) were the leading cause of colony mortality.[18] A scholarly review in June 2007, similarly addressed numerous theories and possible contributing factors, but left the issue unresolved.[13]

In July 2007, the USDA released its “CCD Action Plan”, which outlines a strategy for addressing CCD consisting of four main components:[23]

  1. survey and data collection;
  2. analysis of samples;
  3. hypothesis-driven research; and,
  4. mitigation and preventative action.

As of late 2007, there is still no consensus of opinion, and no definitive causes have emerged; the schedule of presentations for a planned national symposium on CCD, titled “Colony Collapse Disorder in Honey Bees: Insight Into Status, Potential Causes, and Preventive Measures,” which is scheduled for December 11, 2007, at the meeting of the Entomological Society of America in San Diego, California, gives no indication of any major breakthroughs.[3]

[edit] Poor nutrition or malnutrition

One of the patterns reported by the group at Penn State was that all producers in a preliminary survey noted a period of “extraordinary stress” affecting the colonies in question prior to their die-off, most commonly involving poor nutrition and/or drought.[14] This is the only factor that all of the cases of CCD had in common in this report; accordingly, there is at least some significant possibility that the phenomenon is correlated to nutritional stress, and may not manifest in healthy, well-nourished colonies. This is similar to the findings of a later independent survey, in which small-scale beekeeping operations (up to 500 colonies) in several states reported their belief that malnutrition and/or weak colonies was the factor responsible for their bees dying, in over 50% of the cases, whether the losses were believed to be due to CCD or not.[18]

Some researchers have attributed the syndrome to the practice of feeding high fructose corn syrup (HFCS) to supplement winter stores. The variability of HFCS may be relevant to the apparent inconsistencies of results. European commentators have suggested a possible connection with HFCS produced from genetically modified corn.[3] If this were the sole factor involved, however, this should also lead to the exclusive appearance of CCD in wintering colonies being fed HFCS, but many reports of CCD occur in other contexts, with beekeepers who do not use HFCS.

General

Some researchers have commented that the pathway of propagation functions in the manner of a contagious disease; however, there is some sentiment that the disorder may involve an immunosuppressive mechanism,[24] potentially linked to the aforementioned “stress” leading to a weakened immune system. Specifically, according to researchers at Penn State: “The magnitude of detected infectious agents in the adult bees suggests some type of immunosuppression.” These researchers initially suggested a connection between Varroa destructor mite infestation and CCD, suggesting that a combination of these bee mites, deformed wing virus (which the mites transmit) and bacteria work together to suppress immunity and may be one cause of CCD.[25] This research group is reported to be focusing on a search for possible viral, bacterial, or fungal pathogens which may be involved.[14]

When a colony is dying, for whatever cause, and there are other healthy colonies nearby (as is typical in a bee yard), those healthy colonies often enter the dying colony and rob its provisions for their own use. If the dying colony’s provisions were contaminated (by natural or man-made toxins), the resulting pattern (of healthy colonies becoming sick when in proximity to a dying colony) might suggest to an observer that a contagious disease is involved. However, it is typical in CCD cases that provisions of dying colonies are not being robbed, suggesting that at least this particular mechanism (toxins being spread via robbing, thereby mimicking a disease) is not involved in CCD.

Additional evidence that CCD might be an infectious disease came from the following observation: the hives of colonies that had died from CCD could be reused with a healthy colony only if they were first treated with DNA-destroying radiation.[7]

Varroa and Israel Acute Paralysis Virus

According to a 2007 article, the mites Varroa destructor remain the world’s most destructive honey bee killer due in part to the viruses they carry, including Deformed Wing Virus and Acute bee paralysis virus, which have both been implicated in CCD.[25] Affliction with Varroa mites also tends to weaken the immune system of the bees. As such, Varroa have been considered as a possible cause of CCD, though not all dying colonies contain these mites.[26]

In September 2007, results of a large-scale statistical RNA sequencing study of afflicted and non-afflicted colonies were reported. RNA from all organisms in a colony was sequenced and compared with sequence databases to detect the presence of pathogens. The study used technology from 454 Life Sciences developed for human genome sequencing. All colonies were found to be infected with numerous pathogens, but only the Israel acute paralysis virus (IAPV) showed a significant association with CCD: the virus was found in 25 of the 30 tested CCD colonies, and only in one of the 21 tested non-CCD colonies.[7] Scientists pointed out that this association was no proof of causation, and other factors may also be involved in the disease or the presence of IAPV may only be a marker signifying afflicted colonies and not the actual causative agent. To prove causation, experiments are planned to deliberately infect colonies with the virus.[6]

The IAPV was discovered in 2004 and belongs to the Dicistroviridae. It causes paralysis in bees which then die outside of the hive. It can be transmitted by the mite Varroa destructor. These mites, however, were found in only half of the CCD colonies.[7]

The virus was also found in samples of Australian honey bees. Australian honey bees have been imported into the U.S. since 2004[6] and until recently it was thought possible that this is how the virus originally reached North America. Recent findings, however, reveal the virus has been present in American bees since 2002.[27][28]

One recently published view is that bees are falling victim to new varieties of nicotine-based pesticides;[40][41] beekeepers in Canada are also losing their bees and are blaming neonicotinoid pesticides. To date, most of the evaluation of possible roles of pesticides in CCD have relied on the use of surveys submitted by beekeepers, but it seems likely that direct testing of samples from affected colonies will be needed, especially given the possible role of systemic insecticides such as the neonicotinoid imidacloprid (which are applied to the soil and taken up into the plant’s tissues, including pollen and nectar), which may be applied to a crop when the beekeeper is not present. The known effects of imidacloprid on insects, including honey bees, are consistent with the symptoms of CCD;[42] for example, the effects of imidacloprid on termites include apparent failure of the immune system, and disorientation.[43] In Europe the interaction of the phenomenon of “dying bees” with imidacloprid, has been discussed for quite some time now.[44][45][46] It was a study from the “Comité Scientifique et Technique (CST)” which was in the center of discussion recently, which led to a partial ban of imidacloprid in France (known as Gaucho), primarily due to concern over potential effects on honey bees.[47][48][49] Consequently when fipronil, a phenylpyrazole insecticide and in Europe mainly labeled “Regent”, was used as a replacement, it was also found to be toxic to bees, and banned partially in France in 2004.[50] In February 2007, about forty French deputies, led by UMP member Jacques Remiller, requested the creation of a Parliamentary Investigation Commission on Overmortality of Bees, underlining that the honey production was decreasing by 1,000 tons a year for a decade. As of August 2007, no investigations were yet opened.[31] The imidacloprid pesticide Gaucho was banned, however, in 1999 by the French Minister of Agriculture Jean Glavany. Five other insecticides based on fipronil were also accused of killing bees. However, the scientific committees of the European Union are still of the opinion “that the available monitoring studies were mainly performed in France and EU-member-states should consider the relevance of these studies for the circumstances in their country.”[51]

In 2005, a team of scientists led by the National Institute of Beekeeping in Bologna, Italy, found that pollen obtained from seeds dressed with imidacloprid contains significant levels of the insecticide, and suggested that the polluted pollen might cause honey bee colony death.[52] Analysis of maize and sunflower crops originating from seeds dressed with imidacloprid suggest that large amounts of the insecticide will be carried back to honey bee colonies.[53] Sub-lethal doses of imidacloprid in sucrose solution have also been documented to affect homing and foraging activity of honeybees.[54] Imidacloprid in sucrose solution fed to bees in the laboratory impaired their communication for a few hours.[55] Sub-lethal doses of imidacloprid in laboratory and field experiment decreased flight activity and olfactory discrimination, and olfactory learning performance was impaired.[56] However, no detailed studies of toxicity or pesticide residue in remaining honey or pollen in CCD-affected colonies have been published so far, so, despite the similarity in symptoms, no connection of neonicotinoids to CCD has yet been confirmed.

The Atchalafaya Basin and the Chitimacha

The Atchalafaya Basin is the largest freshwater swamp in America. I’m inclined to think that this area is where Fozzie and Pen live. It’s size makes it easy to get lost in, easy to hide in. Plus, it’s beautiful in a very special way. There are a couple lovely links I’ve found, one general info and one a multimedia project on the people who live there.

Discover the Atchafalaya

Atchafalaya Voices

There are a few First Nations tribes that call the area home, most notably the Houma and the Chitimacha. I chose the Chitimacha for Hal’s heritage because they have a few scarily relevant characteristics.

Their social structure is is distinctly divided into two classes, nobles and commoners — different modes of address were used for and between the two groups. I wanted to learn what their name for “king” or “chief” would be so that Dia might use it as a term of respect for Hal. That term may be ma’ta, but I’m not really sure. There isn’t much info on their language, Sitimaxa (a variation in spelling for Chitimacha, maybe?), because the last native speaker died sometime in the 1930’s. Sadly, most of their language was lost. Just recently, the Chitimaxa Nation teamed up with the makers of the Rosetta Stone program to develop language software based on some research notes by the linguist Morris Swadesh, who studied the language used by the last two living speakers. They’re using it to teach themselves to speak their own language again!

The Chitimacha clans were, and may still be, organized by totem animal, which were wolf, bear, dog, and lion. There may have been more, at one time, but if there were, they have not been remembered. The clans were matrilinear, with each person belonging to the same clan as his or her mother. The title of King — not totally out of place when applied to these people — passed from father to son, regardless of clan. So it seems to me that the clans were all held in equal regard. I wish I could find more information. They seem fascinating!

Chitimacha History and Culture

History of the Chitimacha and Biloxi

Our friend Wikipedia

Mostly Fogarty, aka Drin’s Gutbucket Favorites

Copy of the original lj post text of Timees Before/A Rather Baroque Trio/”Bring on Them Twangy Guitars”, which includes the embedded YouTube music for interested listeners.

Challenge: Cornered
Title: Bring on Them Twangy Gittars
Rating (G through NC-17): FRM, implied violence
Dolls: Dance, Emma, Drin (DollTiD, hybrid Sylvia head on Elfdoll body, Minimee head on Flexi-perennial body)

Writer’s Notes: A followup on events in my first “cornered” piece of fic, “You Get to Explain Later, Right?” and the second one, “Later is Right Now, Start Explaining.”

If you think this looks like a Fogarty tribute via YouTube, you’d be right, but for an odd reason. At work, listening with headphones to his cd <b>Blue Moon Swamp</b> tracks, lyrics kept leaping out at me and sinking in their fangs.

Makes it bloody hard to concentrate on work, I’ll tell you.

“Start Talking”

===

If any of them has a soundtrack to his life, Drin thinks, it’s got to be me. Not classy and elegant and spare, like the music that Dance plays in the orchestra, or the fiendishly complicated things he swears at when he’s practicing.
Drin’s sound tracks are brutally simple and plain-spoken.

Drin leans on the wall by the bathroom door, looking into the dusk of the hotel room.
She hasn’t moved.
Emma is still sitting in the same chair where he left her, the glass of water untouched, the remote at the same angle. Only her knees are propped up in a slightly different angle.
Waiting, with that sad, stubborn twist to her mouth.

John Fogerty – Joy Of My Life

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He rests his head on his knuckles a moment, eye shut. Sometimes he will look in and see Dance asleep with her, curled up against her like a really large and totally pushy tom, leaning into the warm spots, and he feels the same softness for a man who just does things for both of them, and doesn’t talk about it much. It always catches him by surprise, makes his throat hurt a bit.

In that level, soft voice that Drin has begun to dread in the last ten hours, Emma says, “What was Dance upset about?”

Behind him he can hear Dance washing out his snake-patterned trunks in the sink. Why Dance would have picked out that pattern in the first place, Drin has no clue. Well, it does break up his outline admirably–makes it far harder to tell when Dance’s happy boy is having thoughts that the rest of him would rather not advertise right then. And when Dance’s little man is happy, it’s not exactly easy to hide. Dance gets quite a different kind of sound track. Possibly something like this one.

(side-note: Check the lyrics about 2:34 into this song. This kind of thing is why today the Fogarty has been spooky, okaaay?)

John Fogerty – A Tribute to Roy Orbison

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A87FY1I1TTU

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Dance still has his sense of humor about it all, but over the last few weeks, he’s been more complex, a lot more intense.

John Fogerty – Keep on Chooglin’ (2005)

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Since they left the car behind, the warning flags are up, and Drni is afraid it may turn into something quite different–one of Fogarty’s better-known tunes.

John Fogerty – Walking In A Hurricane

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Behind him, he can hear Dance reading his mind again.
Oh, yeah, he knows the song Dance is singing.
He knows that song too well.
And he knows Dance is not singing it about the woman here in the hotel with them.

It may look easy
When you look at me
But it took years of effort
To become the mess that you see

Now what kind of woman
Take you for a ride
Down the rattlesnake highway
An’ leave you busted up inside
All busted up inside

Smiles like a cobra
With her rattlesnake eyes
‘n leave you for dead on the highway
Just mumblin’ at the sky

She did me wrong
She did me wrong
She did me wrong
Tell me…she did me

Smiles like a cobra
With her rattlesnake eyes
‘n leave you for dead on the highway
Just mumblin’ at the sky

Now she did me wrong
She did me so wrong
She did me wrong
You know she did me so wrong
Get me outta here

“He’s doing better,” Emma says gruffly, frowning. She knows he will hear them talking. He always does. “What was it?”

Drin feels himself flinch. She isn’t going to like this. Then he tightens his shoulders under the load, and he tells Emma, “He wanted to go back home and get the animals.”

He can hear her make a little noise. Then she puts both hands over her face, leaning forward over her knees, and wrapping her arms about her thighs, head bent.

Drin tells her quietly, “He knows we can’t call friends to go take our pets, that’s a tell that they’ve had contact from us. I’m not sure if we can do anything about the safety of our co-workers except walk away and never look back–and that may not be good enough.”

She rakes her hands through her hair, presses down on her skull as if she can squeeze answers out of it. Then she wipes her eyes with sweeps of her fingertips, and sniffles into her closed fist, and rocks back and forth a moment, eyes squinted tightly shut.

He’s only seen her do this tight squinting face a few times, when she was bringing all the resources she has to bear on the problem. If she thought there was a chance she could get away with marching back in that house herself, she’d do it without a second thought.

It amazes him, somehow, that both of them are willing to put themselves at risk for a fuzzy, charming, bounding little lump of energy like the puppy. Or for the kitten, who mostly moves from lap to lap, purring and begging attention shamelessly.

Then Emma blinks between her hands and says, sharply, “We could use a public phone, call through an anonymizer service of some sort, if you know of one, and leave a message for one of the animal welfare groups to check on them. If it’d be safe for <i>anybody</i> to go into the house. I daresay the neighbors will have heard Puppy whining and crying to be let out by now.”

Drin nods. “That’s good.”

“Will it be safe for the welfare people to go in?”

“Can’t guarantee, not when you dealing with stupid in any era. But anybody with sense would expect them to be called in, and know they aren’t going to have any more information on us. If there’s some disaster, that draws more attention without accomplishing anything.”

“Money?” she says.

“Preparation is everything,” Drin says somberly. “That’s why I gave you two those new cell phones and why I wasn’t spending much.”

“Aside from your bloody car! Are they going to pick that up?” Emma says.

Drin smiles for the first time.

“Okay, Batman,” Dance mutters behind him, “you’re having entirely too much fun.”

Drin sobers then and tells them both, “I don’t want you two dependent on me being right there. I’ll give you and Dance access to accounts and pawnables and cash. I knew he couldn’t pass the metal detectors in banks and post offices and airports, so I set up drops that ought to work for both of you.”

Emma looks up at him with her eyes wide and hurt and too surprised yet to be angry. When it sinks in, she’s going to be <i>bloody</i> angry.

Hoarsely, she says, “Talk.”

“It used to be a war,” Drin says. He can’t hear Dance moving, but he is there behind Drin suddenly, the warmth radiating off his body in a wave of moist air. One of the first things Drin got out of their shopping bags was the kid’s ear thermometer, to check on Dance’s temperature. Dance is irritated by it, but puts up with it, and claims he always has run hot.

No kidding, Drin thinks, weary of it all.

Emma is looking at him with her Impatient Librarian stare, though she doesn’t have her glasses falling down her nose just now.

He struggles on, and hears how rough his own voice is. “You hear stories from the old guys, from vets, sometimes. Plenty of trained dogs in service during…various wars… end up going home with their handlers and living long, happy lives doing other kinds of work. Some of them had to be put down right away, too aggressive and easily frightened for civilian life around families and neighbors. Some of them were <i>supposed</i> to be put down but their handlers… found ways to get past the rules and fiddle the paperwork or just smuggled them away in time, or all of those.”

His throat tightens up. A warm hand flattens on his back, slides up his shoulder blade, and then the arm slips under his elbow and cables around his body, giving him a one-sided hug. Dance leans into him silently.

“That,” Drin says, and has to clear his throat, “you can’t remember any of that now, but that’s what happened with you, Emma. You probably will never be able to remember it. You had an honorable record that allowed you to get a great new job and you were really happy there and you figured out new ways to retrieve data for the folks there, which was very helpful to them. You were doing great, until you ripped apart some flimsy cover story and stumbled across things nobody was supposed to know about. You followed an impulse that you weren’t supposed to be able to pick up on. Dance called you back here to this … time frame … whether he knew it or not, because he needed your help. We’re not sure how you did it, but you came back here and found him. Then he called me to him. I can’t… I can’t deny a call like that. Same as you’re a retired …scenthound, I guess that would be the best analogy, I’m a retired farmer. I used to do things you’d call farming, some parts of it are the same as it ever was. People still need to grow big fields of pulse and grain and kelp, you know? But some of the crops are much more… exotic. The technology can produce things that look like…”

“Like the bug boys,” Dance whispers.

Drin sighs. “It’s not supposed to permit abuses like that. It’s a violation of every code of ethics that the growers have ever agreed on. It’s grounds for reprisals if proof ever surfaces about the sponsors, so their mangled little projects happen tucked away in backwater places, something like this, and the proof of who paid for it melts away into little puddles. Nobody ever sees what they get up to, mostly because badly-built monsters like those can’t pass any decent urban checkpoints, any more than Dance can.”

He feels Dance turn his head and lean that hard skull into his back. Emma can see Dance leaning into him, standing there with his feet wide on either side of Drin’s, that amazing body flattened against him. Dance’s silly tricks with cell phone reception during the last few weeks have showed him that this means something more than being hugged by a naked man with a raging hard-on. He gives a small little sigh, and feels his shoulders relax a little bit. It feels good. It feels really good. It feels as warm as if he’s wearing a bullet-proof vest.

“If I’m a retired military dog, to follow your analogy, then what is Dance?” Emma demands.

“I’m not sure,” Drin says, feeling the warmth of Dance’s arm gripping gently around his ribs. Dance’s arms are not quite as lethally strong as his legs are.

“Why not?” Emma asks.

Drin looks at her. She hasn’t asked one question about her own history, her own convincing memories, her own outrage. Not one. Even for Emma, the research Fury, this is odd. He looks at her, and she makes an impatient gesture, eyes blazing. <i>Get on with it!</i>

Drin takes in a deep breath, lets it out. “I don’t know if any of the people who would know that are still alive,” Drin says.

“The best revenge,” Emma says, narrowing her eyes as she gazes at Dance.

Dance lifts his other arm and wraps it around Drin and nods his skull into Drin’s back. “Outlive the bastards.”

“And Dance has been proving all of them wrong anyway,” Drin says, lifting his hand and resting it over Dance’s wrist, brushing at his skin lightly.

Dance murmurs into his back and presses his cheek into Drin’s shoulderblade. “So you know what <i>they</i> think I am?”

“Well, I know you’re not a Mowgli,” Drin says, amused. “Or one of the Shere Khans or any of the more basic Kiplings I’ve heard about. All of those series were classified afterward as illegal usage, even for further military designs. Believe me, something like RNA traces of a Baloo coming out of somebody’s work will light up alarms across every hot little certification board– anyway. Not that the authorities ever put much effort into tracking down the associations responsible for creating them.”

“Too many embarrassing details?” Emma says bitterly. Then, reluctantly, she added, “Am I — ”

“No,” Drin says quickly. “Scenthounds are still dogs whether they’re working for airport cops or SWAT teams or–”

“Or farmers?” Dance says softly, and spreads out his hands along Drin’s stomach.

Drin blinks hard, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he says.

Emma looks at them a moment, hugging herself with her arms pulled tight round her knees. She blinks away another sudden glitter of tears. They both know this is a good sign, that Dance wants to touch them.

Drin tugs lightly at one of Dance’s wrists, and Dane allows it to be lifted, and the fingers intertwine with his. Knowing it’s a sloppy, sentimental gesture, and not caring, Drin leans his face into Dance’s arm, and kisses the inside of the brown forearm, and sighs, and releases it. The arm settles back around his waist. Dance will wait as long as he wants.

Emma turns her head away, and covered her eyes with one hand, and then wipes away a shine of tears with a harsh push of her hand.

Drin beckons her with his other hand, and she rises. She pulls the robe tighter around her and marches over to them. She stops in front of Drin, she stands up very straight, and looks up seriously at him, exhaustion sharp in her expression. He looks at her damp tangled hair and the black tired shadows under her eyes. Her skin looks soft and bruised as a ripe peach. He reaches up and rests a finger on her cheek, just touching her, and he glances downward at the brown arms wrapped around his middle.

“Okay?” Emma says.

“You smell good,” Dance says, and the nearest hand comes up from Drin’s body. He holds it out, waiting with the palm up, fingers open.

Emma puts out her hand and strokes his arm, rests her wrist across that palm. Dance’s string-calloused fingers stroke the back of her hand, along the inside of her forearm.

“You always smell good to me,” Dance says, sounding sad and bewildered.

Emma turns her body into Drin, slides into the curve of his arm, and her hand draws Dance’s arm around her as well. She rests her head against Drin’s chest. “I guess big tough military dogs aren’t supposed to need any other people to–”

“Depends what kind they are,” Drin said. He drew in another deep breath. “After the war was declared done, while things were being decided, the authorities were alarmed enough at what they found out that they … kept some other people who are … similar to Dance … locked up in a sort of sedated stasis state for a long time. So long that it gave most of them permanent brain damage, and some of them died as a result. It was ruled inhumane later, after the damage was done. Those two scar lines on Dance’s face are probably from being locked up like that with extra restraints for too long. They probably didn’t think he’d be alive when they opened him up again.”
He’s been here too many times.

Haven’t we all, in our various ways?

John Fogerty – Deja vu – Original Video Clip (2005)

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“So if they … had to admit to it … to things like… me … there’d be a lot of … repercussions?” Dance says.

“Yeah,” Drin says.

“Then why didn’t they just kill me and get rid of the evidence?” Dance asks, as if this bewilders him the most among all the unanswerable questions.

Drin shakes his head, eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

“But somebody went to a lot of trouble to archive perfect information for Dance. Somebody put him here, made sure the records looked wonderful, and expected him to be here a long time. They put effort into it,” Emma says then. “Not like you or me. Drin, you know your records are a bloody palimpsest, so you might as well shout spook from the rooftops, right? But mine seem more normal. A little scuffed and imperfect–”

Drin chuckles. “Because you know– knew– how to do it, and you probably did your own records, before you left your old job.”

Emma stands rigid. Drin strokes his hands up and down her back. He can feel the muscles are knotted.

“So somebody let us go. Somebody planned for us to stay … parked here awhile,” Dance says.

Drin blinks.

“And somebody else messed up the plan,” Dance says then, working it out.

“Okay, so if everybody’s retired, we’re old, nothing to see here, move along–” Emma says, puzzled.

“Does old buried ordnance ever stop being dangerous in Flanders?” Drin says mildly.

Dance grunts.

Drin stands there, wrapped up in the two of them, and wonders what in hell he ever did to deserve love like this. He sure as hell hasn’t been giving them enough of what they need, lately.

“I have an idea,” Emma announces. “You know your old Fogie tunes?”

Drin blinks at her. “Fogarty <i>rocks!”</i> he says indignantly.

“He’s a wicked old boy,” Emma says, with a gleam in her eye. “But he’s given me an idea–go out where the bug boys fall off their cybermaps, and the locals will crop-dust them.”

Dance makes an inquiring noise.

“I can call some some folks I remember seeing when I was researching classical gigs. I mean, folks we don’t know, kinds of places that have been around for years, but we haven’t contacted before. I’ll see if we can find a couple of weekend gigs for Dance where they’ll just see some Asian guy with a guitar and nobody’s going to look twice at him. Cajun-style, maybe.”

“Vietnamese,” Dance says. “Not Cajun, that’s too white. Sort of…fusion zydeco, and some stuff from the immigrants who work fishing boats in Louisiana. It’s not like trying to be a full-on session musician in LA. I don’t need to be really good at it because I can be some kid out of work, coming from nowhere, as far as the bar scene is concerned. Folks who’ve been running clubs for years are used to sudden amazing hicks showing up who they’ve never heard of from the smaller places. But the really old club guys will call around and track down who you belong to, if they like it and they want to keep you awhile.”

Drin tipped his head back, brows lifted.

It was Emma who said, “How do you know that?”

Dance chuckled. “Session musicians who do union scale <i>anything</i> in between recording gigs. Couple of the Vietnamese session guys were damn fine on any instrument I handed them. We had dinner one night at that nice pho noodle place you liked, they talked about playing in the South. They were more comfortable speaking Vietnamese, but they laughed at my accent and said I sounded like such a hick from the mountains that I might as well admit to being one of those Burmese headhunting tribes. Nagas, they’re called. They said those guys are great musicians, when they’re not playing with snakes, or something. I guess the stories get pretty wild.”

Drin felt a precarious sort of black humor bubbling in his middle. “How did a Korean-American kid learn to speak that kind of Vietnamese?”

“What a fun question,” Dance said mildly. “You tell me.”

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John Fogerty – Bring It Down To Jelly Roll

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Drin tips back his head. What Dance says about the bad dreams he’s had, some nights, sounds like a really special sort of hell.

John Fogerty – A Hundred And Ten In The Shade

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Emma says, “So you think you can convince people that your parents worked the shrimp boats on the coast, for a weekend at least?”

“Well, white folks who don’t speak the language, sure,” Dance says.

“Why am I hearing the word ‘dumb’ in front of ‘white folks’?” Emma asks.

“If the shoe fits,” Dance says, solemnly.

“We’ve got the weekend free to get out of Dodge,” Emma snaps, glaring up at Drin. “I’m not giving up on this whole thing blowing over and being able to go home and answer all those phone messages building up and–”

“Emm,” Drin says, smiling down at her. “Did I ever mention I love you when you’re being stubborn?”

She buries her face into his shirt buttons. Her breath tickles at him. Then she lifts her head again and muttered, “It’s probably just as well.”

Dance’s fingers nudge him, and Dance chuckles. “Watch out, she’s getting her Aussie on again.”

<i>”You</i> just like watching his eyes roll back in his head,” Emma says crisply.

“‘s not fair,” Drin mumbles. “I can’t help it.”

Dance’s hand slides lightly up and down Drin’s hip, rustling his jeans. “Yeah, I know.”

It makes him wonder how far and how hard the bug boys will chase them. Or whoever is using the bugs as a feint.

John Fogerty – Premonition

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“I like that idea,” Drin says. “I think we should pick up a new pawnshop axe for Dance and a big beatup rock ‘n’ roll wagon to roll in, and hit the road tomorrow.”

“Amps,” Dance says, leaning into him. “Maybe backup speakers. The places that Emma’s gonna call, they might need some help with the speakers dying on them. Happens every time I’ve ever been in a dive like that.”

Drin smiles. He tightens his arm toward Emma, and walks toward the bed. “Come here, you good-smelling girl.”

Dance starts humming BobbyMcGee into Drin’s back. ,”…free is just another word for nothing left to lose…”

This is not John Fogarty. This is a gentleman named Jim Fogarty, playing a Gretsch guitar that makes me vewwwy vewy happy. Road music, duudes.

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Fogarty road trip music

This is the lj entry that had the music that Fogarty built.

If any of them has a soundtrack to his life, Drin thinks, it’s got to be me. Not classy and elegant and spare, like the music that Dance plays in the orchestra, or the fiendishly complicated things he swears at when he’s practicing.
Drin’s sound tracks are brutally simple and plain-spoken.

Drin leans on the wall by the bathroom door, looking into the dusk of the hotel room.
She hasn’t moved.
Emma is still sitting in the same chair where he left her, the glass of water untouched, the remote at the same angle. Only her knees are propped up in a slightly different angle.
Waiting, with that sad, stubborn twist to her mouth.

John Fogerty – Joy Of My Life

He rests his head on his knuckles a moment, eye shut. Sometimes he will look in and see Dance asleep with her, curled up against her like a really large and totally pushy tom, leaning into the warm spots, and he feels the same softness for a man who just does things for both of them, and doesn’t talk about it much. It always catches him by surprise, makes his throat hurt a bit.

In that level, soft voice that Drin has begun to dread in the last ten hours, Emma says, “What was Dance upset about?”

Behind him he can hear Dance washing out his snake-patterned trunks in the sink. Why Dance would have picked out that pattern in the first place, Drin has no clue. Well, it does break up his outline admirably–makes it far harder to tell when Dance’s happy boy is having thoughts that the rest of him would rather not advertise right then. And when Dance’s little man is happy, it’s not exactly easy to hide. Dance gets quite a different kind of sound track. Possibly something like this one.

(side-note: Check the lyrics about 2:34 into this song. This kind of thing is why today the Fogarty has been spooky, okaaay?)

John Fogerty – A Tribute to Roy Orbison

Dance still has his sense of humor about it all, but over the last few weeks, he’s been more complex, a lot more intense.

John Fogerty – Keep on Chooglin’ (2005)

Since they left the car behind, the warning flags are up, and Drni is afraid it may turn into something quite different–one of Fogarty’s better-known tunes.

John Fogerty – Walking In A Hurricane

Behind him, he can hear Dance reading his mind again.
Oh, yeah, he knows the song Dance is singing.
He knows that song too well.
And he knows Dance is not singing it about the woman here in the hotel with them.

It may look easy
When you look at me
But it took years of effort
To become the mess that you see

Now what kind of woman
Take you for a ride
Down the rattlesnake highway
An’ leave you busted up inside
All busted up inside

Smiles like a cobra
With her rattlesnake eyes
‘n leave you for dead on the highway
Just mumblin’ at the sky

She did me wrong
She did me wrong
She did me wrong
Tell me…she did me

Smiles like a cobra
With her rattlesnake eyes
‘n leave you for dead on the highway
Just mumblin’ at the sky

Now she did me wrong
She did me so wrong
She did me wrong
You know she did me so wrong
Get me outta here

“He’s doing better,” Emma says gruffly, frowning. She knows he will hear them talking. He always does. “What was it?”

Drin feels himself flinch. She isn’t going to like this. Then he tightens his shoulders under the load, and he tells Emma, “He wanted to go back home and get the animals.”

He can hear her make a little noise. Then she puts both hands over her face, leaning forward over her knees, and wrapping her arms about her thighs, head bent.

Drin tells her quietly, “He knows we can’t call friends to go take our pets, that’s a tell that they’ve had contact from us. I’m not sure if we can do anything about the safety of our co-workers except walk away and never look back–and that may not be good enough.”

She rakes her hands through her hair, presses down on her skull as if she can squeeze answers out of it. Then she wipes her eyes with sweeps of her fingertips, and sniffles into her closed fist, and rocks back and forth a moment, eyes squinted tightly shut.

He’s only seen her do this tight squinting face a few times, when she was bringing all the resources she has to bear on the problem. If she thought there was a chance she could get away with marching back in that house herself, she’d do it without a second thought.

It amazes him, somehow, that both of them are willing to put themselves at risk for a fuzzy, charming, bounding little lump of energy like the puppy. Or for the kitten, who mostly moves from lap to lap, purring and begging attention shamelessly.

Then Emma blinks between her hands and says, sharply, “We could use a public phone, call through an anonymizer service of some sort, if you know of one, and leave a message for one of the animal welfare groups to check on them. If it’d be safe for anybody to go into the house. I daresay the neighbors will have heard Puppy whining and crying to be let out by now.”

Drin nods. “That’s good.”

“Will it be safe for the welfare people to go in?”

“Can’t guarantee, not when you dealing with stupid in any era. But anybody with sense would expect them to be called in, and know they aren’t going to have any more information on us. If there’s some disaster, that draws more attention without accomplishing anything.”

“Money?” she says.

“Preparation is everything,” Drin says somberly. “That’s why I gave you two those new cell phones and why I wasn’t spending much.”

“Aside from your bloody car! Are they going to pick that up?” Emma says.

Drin smiles for the first time.

“Okay, Batman,” Dance mutters behind him, “you’re having entirely too much fun.”

Drin sobers then and tells them both, “I don’t want you two dependent on me being right there. I’ll give you and Dance access to accounts and pawnables and cash. I knew he couldn’t pass the metal detectors in banks and post offices and airports, so I set up drops that ought to work for both of you.”

Emma looks up at him with her eyes wide and hurt and too surprised yet to be angry. When it sinks in, she’s going to be bloody angry.

Hoarsely, she says, “Talk.”

“It used to be a war,” Drin says. He can’t hear Dance moving, but he is there behind Drin suddenly, the warmth radiating off his body in a wave of moist air. One of the first things Drin got out of their shopping bags was the kid’s ear thermometer, to check on Dance’s temperature. Dance is irritated by it, but puts up with it, and claims he always has run hot.

No kidding, Drin thinks, weary of it all.

Emma is looking at him with her Impatient Librarian stare, though she doesn’t have her glasses falling down her nose just now.

He struggles on, and hears how rough his own voice is. “You hear stories from the old guys, from vets, sometimes. Plenty of trained dogs in service during…various wars… end up going home with their handlers and living long, happy lives doing other kinds of work. Some of them had to be put down right away, too aggressive and easily frightened for civilian life around families and neighbors. Some of them were supposed to be put down but their handlers… found ways to get past the rules and fiddle the paperwork or just smuggled them away in time, or all of those.”

His throat tightens up. A warm hand flattens on his back, slides up his shoulder blade, and then the arm slips under his elbow and cables around his body, giving him a one-sided hug. Dance leans into him silently.

“That,” Drin says, and has to clear his throat, “you can’t remember any of that now, but that’s what happened with you, Emma. You probably will never be able to remember it. You had an honorable record that allowed you to get a great new job and you were really happy there and you figured out new ways to retrieve data for the folks there, which was very helpful to them. You were doing great, until you ripped apart some flimsy cover story and stumbled across things nobody was supposed to know about. You followed an impulse that you weren’t supposed to be able to pick up on. Dance called you back here to this … time frame … whether he knew it or not, because he needed your help. We’re not sure how you did it, but you came back here and found him. Then he called me to him. I can’t… I can’t deny a call like that. Same as you’re a retired …scenthound, I guess that would be the best analogy, I’m a retired farmer. I used to do things you’d call farming, some parts of it are the same as it ever was. People still need to grow big fields of pulse and grain and kelp, you know? But some of the crops are much more… exotic. The technology can produce things that look like…”

“Like the bug boys,” Dance whispers.

Drin sighs. “It’s not supposed to permit abuses like that. It’s a violation of every code of ethics that the growers have ever agreed on. It’s grounds for reprisals if proof ever surfaces about the sponsors, so their mangled little projects happen tucked away in backwater places, something like this, and the proof of who paid for it melts away into little puddles. Nobody ever sees what they get up to, mostly because badly-built monsters like those can’t pass any decent urban checkpoints, any more than Dance can.”

He feels Dance turn his head and lean that hard skull into his back. Emma can see Dance leaning into him, standing there with his feet wide on either side of Drin’s, that amazing body flattened against him. Dance’s silly tricks with cell phone reception during the last few weeks have showed him that this means something more than being hugged by a naked man with a raging hard-on. He gives a small little sigh, and feels his shoulders relax a little bit. It feels good. It feels really good. It feels as warm as if he’s wearing a bullet-proof vest.

“If I’m a retired military dog, to follow your analogy, then what is Dance?” Emma demands.

“I’m not sure,” Drin says, feeling the warmth of Dance’s arm gripping gently around his ribs. Dance’s arms are not quite as lethally strong as his legs are.

“Why not?” Emma asks.

Drin looks at her. She hasn’t asked one question about her own history, her own convincing memories, her own outrage. Not one. Even for Emma, the research Fury, this is odd. He looks at her, and she makes an impatient gesture, eyes blazing. Get on with it!

Drin takes in a deep breath, lets it out. “I don’t know if any of the people who would know that are still alive,” Drin says.

“The best revenge,” Emma says, narrowing her eyes as she gazes at Dance.

Dance lifts his other arm and wraps it around Drin and nods his skull into Drin’s back. “Outlive the bastards.”

“And Dance has been proving all of them wrong anyway,” Drin says, lifting his hand and resting it over Dance’s wrist, brushing at his skin lightly.

Dance murmurs into his back and presses his cheek into Drin’s shoulderblade. “So you know what they think I am?”

“Well, I know you’re not a Mowgli,” Drin says, amused. “Or one of the Shere Khans or any of the more basic Kiplings I’ve heard about. All of those series were classified afterward as illegal usage, even for further military designs. Believe me, something like RNA traces of a Baloo coming out of somebody’s work will light up alarms across every hot little certification board– anyway. Not that the authorities ever put much effort into tracking down the associations responsible for creating them.”

“Too many embarrassing details?” Emma says bitterly. Then, reluctantly, she added, “Am I — ”

“No,” Drin says quickly. “Scenthounds are still dogs whether they’re working for airport cops or SWAT teams or–”

“Or farmers?” Dance says softly, and spreads out his hands along Drin’s stomach.

Drin blinks hard, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he says.

Emma looks at them a moment, hugging herself with her arms pulled tight round her knees. She blinks away another sudden glitter of tears. They both know this is a good sign, that Dance wants to touch them.

Drin tugs lightly at one of Dance’s wrists, and Dane allows it to be lifted, and the fingers intertwine with his. Knowing it’s a sloppy, sentimental gesture, and not caring, Drin leans his face into Dance’s arm, and kisses the inside of the brown forearm, and sighs, and releases it. The arm settles back around his waist. Dance will wait as long as he wants.

Emma turns her head away, and covered her eyes with one hand, and then wipes away a shine of tears with a harsh push of her hand.

Drin beckons her with his other hand, and she rises. She pulls the robe tighter around her and marches over to them. She stops in front of Drin, she stands up very straight, and looks up seriously at him, exhaustion sharp in her expression. He looks at her damp tangled hair and the black tired shadows under her eyes. Her skin looks soft and bruised as a ripe peach. He reaches up and rests a finger on her cheek, just touching her, and he glances downward at the brown arms wrapped around his middle.

“Okay?” Emma says.

“You smell good,” Dance says, and the nearest hand comes up from Drin’s body. He holds it out, waiting with the palm up, fingers open.

Emma puts out her hand and strokes his arm, rests her wrist across that palm. Dance’s string-calloused fingers stroke the back of her hand, along the inside of her forearm.

“You always smell good to me,” Dance says, sounding sad and bewildered.

Emma turns her body into Drin, slides into the curve of his arm, and her hand draws Dance’s arm around her as well. She rests her head against Drin’s chest. “I guess big tough military dogs aren’t supposed to need any other people to–”

“Depends what kind they are,” Drin said. He drew in another deep breath. “After the war was declared done, while things were being decided, the authorities were alarmed enough at what they found out that they … kept some other people who are … similar to Dance … locked up in a sort of sedated stasis state for a long time. So long that it gave most of them permanent brain damage, and some of them died as a result. It was ruled inhumane later, after the damage was done. Those two scar lines on Dance’s face are probably from being locked up like that with extra restraints for too long. They probably didn’t think he’d be alive when they opened him up again.”

He’s been here too many times.

Haven’t we all, in our various ways?

John Fogerty – Deja vu – Original Video Clip (2005)

“So if they … had to admit to it … to things like… me … there’d be a lot of … repercussions?” Dance says.

“Yeah,” Drin says.

“Then why didn’t they just kill me and get rid of the evidence?” Dance asks, as if this bewilders him the most among all the unanswerable questions.

Drin shakes his head, eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

“But somebody went to a lot of trouble to archive perfect information for Dance. Somebody put him here, made sure the records looked wonderful, and expected him to be here a long time. They put effort into it,” Emma says then. “Not like you or me. Drin, you know your records are a bloody palimpsest, so you might as well shout spook from the rooftops, right? But mine seem more normal. A little scuffed and imperfect–”

Drin chuckles. “Because you know– knew– how to do it, and you probably did your own records, before you left your old job.”

Emma stands rigid. Drin strokes his hands up and down her back. He can feel the muscles are knotted.

“So somebody let us go. Somebody planned for us to stay … parked here awhile,” Dance says.

Drin blinks.

“And somebody else messed up the plan,” Dance says then, working it out.

“Okay, so if everybody’s retired, we’re old, nothing to see here, move along–” Emma says, puzzled.

“Does old buried ordnance ever stop being dangerous in Flanders?” Drin says mildly.

Dance grunts.

Drin stands there, wrapped up in the two of them, and wonders what in hell he ever did to deserve love like this. He sure as hell hasn’t been giving them enough of what they need, lately.

“I have an idea,” Emma announces. “You know your old Fogie tunes?”

Drin blinks at her. “Fogarty rocks!” he says indignantly.

“He’s a wicked old boy,” Emma says, with a gleam in her eye. “But he’s given me an idea–go out where the bug boys fall off their cybermaps, and the locals will crop-dust them.”

Dance makes an inquiring noise.

“I can call some some folks I remember seeing when I was researching classical gigs. I mean, folks we don’t know, kinds of places that have been around for years, but we haven’t contacted before. I’ll see if we can find a couple of weekend gigs for Dance where they’ll just see some Asian guy with a guitar and nobody’s going to look twice at him. Cajun-style, maybe.”

“Vietnamese,” Dance says. “Not Cajun, that’s too white. Sort of…fusion zydeco, and some stuff from the immigrants who work fishing boats in Louisiana. It’s not like trying to be a full-on session musician in LA. I don’t need to be really good at it because I can be some kid out of work, coming from nowhere, as far as the bar scene is concerned. Folks who’ve been running clubs for years are used to sudden amazing hicks showing up who they’ve never heard of from the smaller places. But the really old club guys will call around and track down who you belong to, if they like it and they want to keep you awhile.”

Drin tipped his head back, brows lifted.

It was Emma who said, “How do you know that?”

Dance chuckled. “Session musicians who do union scale anything in between recording gigs. Couple of the Vietnamese session guys were damn fine on any instrument I handed them. We had dinner one night at that nice pho noodle place you liked, they talked about playing in the South. They were more comfortable speaking Vietnamese, but they laughed at my accent and said I sounded like such a hick from the mountains that I might as well admit to being one of those Burmese headhunting tribes. Nagas, they’re called. They said those guys are great musicians, when they’re not playing with snakes, or something. I guess the stories get pretty wild.”

Drin felt a precarious sort of black humor bubbling in his middle. “How did a Korean-American kid learn to speak that kind of Vietnamese?”

“What a fun question,” Dance said mildly. “You tell me.”

John Fogerty – Bring It Down To Jelly Roll

Drin tips back his head. What Dance says about the bad dreams he’s had, some nights, sounds like a really special sort of hell.

John Fogerty – A Hundred And Ten In The Shade

Emma says, “So you think you can convince people that your parents worked the shrimp boats on the coast, for a weekend at least?”

“Well, white folks who don’t speak the language, sure,” Dance says.

“Why am I hearing the word ‘dumb’ in front of ‘white folks’?” Emma asks.

“If the shoe fits,” Dance says, solemnly.

“We’ve got the weekend free to get out of Dodge,” Emma snaps, glaring up at Drin. “I’m not giving up on this whole thing blowing over and being able to go home and answer all those phone messages building up and–”

“Emm,” Drin says, smiling down at her. “Did I ever mention I love you when you’re being stubborn?”

She buries her face into his shirt buttons. Her breath tickles at him. Then she lifts her head again and muttered, “It’s probably just as well.”

Dance’s fingers nudge him, and Dance chuckles. “Watch out, she’s getting her Aussie on again.”

“You just like watching his eyes roll back in his head,” Emma says crisply.

“‘s not fair,” Drin mumbles. “I can’t help it.”

Dance’s hand slides lightly up and down Drin’s hip, rustling his jeans. “Yeah, I know.”

It makes him wonder how far and how hard the bug boys will chase them. Or whoever is using the bugs as a feint.

John Fogerty – Premonition

“I like that idea,” Drin says. “I think we should pick up a new pawnshop axe for Dance and a big beatup rock ‘n’ roll wagon to roll in, and hit the road tomorrow.”

“Amps,” Dance says, leaning into him. “Maybe backup speakers. The places that Emma’s gonna call, they might need some help with the speakers dying on them. Happens every time I’ve ever been in a dive like that.”

Drin smiles. He tightens his arm toward Emma, and walks toward the bed. “Come here, you good-smelling girl.”

Dance starts humming BobbyMcGee into Drin’s back. ,”…free is just another word for nothing left to lose…”

This is not John Fogarty. This is a gentleman named Jim Fogarty, playing a Gretsch guitar that makes me vewwwy vewy happy. Road music, duudes.

Venus in Postcard Art for a Friend

Goya is one of the classic names you think of for classic Spanish paintings. And it would be hard for Emma to resist sending along a different Goya with this one to choose from. It’s simple. Dress herself in a flowered silk shirt, on pillows like these.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_maja_vestida

La maja vestida is a painting by Spanish painter Francisco de Goya between 1798 and 1805. It is a clothed version of La maja desnuda and is exhibited next to it in the same room at the Prado Museum in Madrid. The painting, which was first owned by Prime Minister Manuel de Godoy, who was known as an avid womanizer, was originally hung in his home in front of the naked maja in a way that the naked maja could be revealed at any time with the help of a pulley mechanism.

Here’s vestida…

Frencesco Goya's La Maja Vestido

And presto, here’s desnuda.

Francesco Goya's La Maja Desnuda

However, the smirky expression is more obvious in the nude.

This woman knows her power–and its limits.

…Goya also created another painting of the same woman identically posed, but clothed, entitled La maja vestida (“The Clothed maja“). The identity of the model and why the paintings were created are still unknown. Both paintings were first recorded as belonging to the collection of Prime Minister Manuel de Godoy, Duke of Alcudia, and it has been conjectured that the woman depicted was his young mistress. It has also been suggested that the woman was María del Pilar Teresa Cayetana de Silva y Álvarez de Toledo, 13th Duchess of Alba, with whom Goya is rumored to have been romantically involved and did complete known portraits of. However, many scholars have rejected this possibility, including Australian art critic Robert Hughes in his 2003 biography, Goya. Others believe the woman depicted is actually a composite of several different models.

In 1815, the Spanish Inquisition summoned Goya to reveal who commissioned him to create the “obscene” La maja desnuda, and he was consequently stripped of his position as the Spanish court painter. If Goya gave an explanation of the painting’s origin to the Inquisition, that account has never surfaced. Two sets of stamps depicting La maja desnuda in commemoration of Goya’s work were privately produced in 1930, and later approved by the Spanish Postal Authority. That same year, the United States government barred and returned any mail bearing the stamps.

La maja desnuda is in the collection of the Museo del Prado in Madrid and is on display next to La maja vestida in the same room.

===

Emma must have been wearing a cat suit to imitate this painting, but she would have felt impelled to include a Velasquez. I think she is beginning to push Dance’s limits, even so.

This one is unusual among works by Velasquez, because female nudes were very controlled in the period, and exhibited only in private rooms.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rokeby_Venus

Diego Velasquez's Venus at her Mirror

This is noted as an influence in the later painting by Manet, Olympia.

…by Diego Velázquez (1599–1660), the leading artist of the Spanish Golden Age, in the National Gallery, London. Completed between 1647 and 1651,[1] and probably painted during the artist’s visit to Italy, the work depicts the goddess Venus in an erotic pose, lying on a bed and looking into a mirror held by the god of sensual love, her son Cupid

The Rokeby Venus is the only surviving female nude by Velázquez. Such works were extremely rare in 17th-century Spanish art,[3] which was actively policed by members of the Spanish Inquisition. Despite this, nudes by foreign artists were keenly collected by the court circle, and this painting adorned the houses of Spanish courtiers until 1813 when it was brought to England to hang in Rokeby Park, Yorkshire

…Intertwining pink silk ribbons are draped over the mirror and curl over its frame. The ribbon’s function has been the subject of much debate by art historians; suggestions include an allusion to the fetters used by Cupid to bind lovers, that it was used to hang the mirror, and that it was used to blindfold Venus moments before.[6] The critic Julián Gallego found Cupid’s facial expression to be so melancholy that he believes the ribbons as fetters binding the god to the image of Beauty, and gave the painting the title “Amor conquered by Beauty”….[11]

…The Rokeby Venus may have been intended as a pendant to a 16th-century Venetian painting of a recumbent Venus (which seems to have begun life as a Danaë) in a landscape, in the same pose, but seen from the front. The two were certainly hung together for many years in Spain when in the collection of Gaspar Méndez de Haro y Guzmán (1629–87), the seventh Marquis of Carpio; at what point they were initially paired is uncertain….[27]

…Although the work is widely thought to have been painted from life, the identity of the model is subject to much speculation. In contemporary Spain it was acceptable for artists to employ male nude models for studies; however, the use of female nude models was frowned upon.[17] The painting is believed to have been executed during one of Velázquez’s visits to Rome, and Prater has observed that in Rome the artist “did indeed lead a life of considerable personal liberty that would have been consistent with the notion of using a live nude model female model”.[17]

===

There are numerous famous classics of the Biblical story of Judith beheading Holofernes, the enemy she seduces. Many of them are restrained, clean. Not this one.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artemisia_Gentileschi

Artemisia Gentileschi

Artemisia Gentileschi's Judith

..Artemisia Gentileschi was born in Rome, on July 8, 1593, the first child of the painter Orazio Gentileschi, one of the best representatives of the school of Caravaggio. Artemisia was introduced to painting in her father’s workshop, showing much more talent than her brothers, who worked alongside her. She learned drawing, how to mix color and how to paint. Since her father’s style took inspiration from Caravaggio during that period, her style was just as heavily influenced in turn. But her approach to subject matter was different from her father’s…

…In 1612, despite her early talent, Artemisia was denied access to the all-male professional academies for art. At the time, her father was working with Agostino Tassi to decorate the vaults of Casino della Rose inside the Pallavicini Rospigliosi Palace in Rome, so Orazio hired the Tuscan painter to tutor his daughter privately. During this tutelage, Tassi raped Artemisia. Even though Tassi initially promised to marry Artemisia in order to restore her reputation, he later reneged on his promise and Orazio reported Tassi to the authorities.

In the ensuing 7-month trial, it was discovered that Tassi had planned to murder his wife, had enjoined in adultery with his sister-in-law and planned to steal some of Orazio’s paintings…

…The painting Giuditta che decapita Oloferne (Judith beheading Holofernes) (1612 – 1613), displayed in the Capodimonte Museum of Naples, is impressive for the violence portrayed, and has been interpreted as a wish for psychological revenge for the violence Artemisia had suffered…

…In Florence, Artemisia enjoyed huge success. She was the first woman accepted into the Accademia del Disegno (Academy of Drawing). She maintained good relations with the most respected artists of her time, such as Cristofano Allori, and to be able to conquer the favours and the protection of influential people, starting with Granduke Cosimo II de’ Medici and especially of the Granduchess Cristina. She had a good relationship with Galileo Galilei with whom she remained in epistolary contact for a long time. She was esteemed by Michelangelo Buonarroti the younger (nephew of the great Michelangelo): busy with construction of Casa Buonarroti to celebrate his notable relative, he asked Artemisia to produce a painting to decorate the ceiling of the gallery of paintings…

…A research paper of Roberto Longhi, an important Italian critic, dated 1916, named Gentileschi padre e figlia (Gentileschi father and daughter) described Artemisia as “the only woman in Italy who ever knew about painting, coloring, doughing and other fundamentals”. Longhi also wrote of Judith Slaying Holofernes:

Who could think in fact that over a sheet so candid, a so brutal and terrible massacre could happen […] but – it’s natural to say – this is a terrible woman! A woman painted all this?… there’s nothing sadistic here, instead what strikes the most is the impassibility of the painter, who was even able to notice how the blood, spurting with violence, can decorate with two drops the central spurt! Incredible I tell you! And also please give Mrs. Schiattesi – the conjugal name of Artemisia – the chance to choose the hilt of the sword! At last don’t you think that the only aim of Giuditta is to move away to avoid the blood which could stain her dress? We think anyway that that is a dress of Casa Gentileschi, the finest wardrobe in the Europe during 600, after Van Dyck.

Feminist studies increased the interest towards Artemisia’s artistic work and life…

…However, some art historians suggest that she was shrewdly playing on her fame from the rape trial to cater to a niche market in sexually-charged, female-dominate art for male patrons.

The most recent critic, starting from the difficult reconstruction of the entire catalogue of the Gentileschi, tried to give a less reductive reading of the career of Artemisia, placing it more accurately on the context of the different artistic environments in which the painter actively participated. A reading like this restores Artemisia as an artist who fought with determination, using the weapon of personality and of the artistic qualities, against the prejudices expressed against women painters; being able to introduce herself productively in the circle of the most respected painters of her time, embracing a series of pictorial genres which were probably more ample and varied than her paintings suggest….

…Other female painters began their career while Artemisia was alive. Judged on their artistic merits, Longhi’s statement that Artemisia was “the only woman in Italy who ever knew about painting” may be questioned, but there is no doubt that Artemisia continues to be among the most highly regarded of female artists, and has finally taken her place among the great artists of the Baroque…

She painted other Judiths as well, like this one. The maid servant looks competent too, I think.

Artemisia Gentileschi's Judith and her Maidservant

===

Emma threatens to send along a copy of Klimt’s Judith instead. He’s more often known now for “The Kiss,” but I suspect that’s possibly because–in spite of the kissing–it’s actually less obviously sexual than most of his pictures.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustav_Klimt

Gustav Klimt's Judith I

Gustav Klimt (July 14, 1862February 6, 1918) was an Austrian Symbolist painter and one of the most prominent members of the Vienna Art Nouveau (Vienna Secession) movement. His major works include paintings, murals, sketches, and other art objects, many of which are on display in the Vienna Secession gallery. Klimt’s primary subject was the female body,[1] and his works are marked by a frank eroticism–nowhere is this more apparent than in his numerous drawings in pencil (see Mulher sentada, below)…

…Unlike many young artists, Klimt accepted the principles of conservative Academic training. In 1877 his brother Ernst, who, like his father, would become an engraver, also enrolled in the school. The two brothers and their friend Franz Matsch began working together; by 1880 they had received numerous commissions as a team they called the “Company of Artists”. Klimt began his professional career painting interior murals and ceilings in large public buildings on the Ringstraße including a successful series of “Allegories and Emblems”.

In 1888, Klimt received the Golden order of Merit from Emperor Franz Josef I of Austria for his contributions to art. He also became an honorary member of the University of Munich and the University of Vienna. In 1892 both Klimt’s father and brother Ernst died, and he had to assume financial responsibility for his father’s and brother’s family. The tragedies affected his artistic vision as well, and soon he would veer toward a new personal style. In the early 1890s, Klimt met Emilie Flöge, who, notwithstanding the artist’s relationships with other women, was to be his companion until the end of his life. Whether his relationship with Flöge was sexual or not is debated, but during that period Klimt fathered at least 14 children…[3]

…Klimt’s ‘Golden Phase’ was marked by positive critical reaction and success. Many of his paintings from this period utilized gold leaf; the prominent use of gold can first be traced back to Pallas Athene (1898) and Judith I (1901), although the works most popularly associated with this period are the Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I (1907) and The Kiss (1907 – 1908). Klimt traveled little but trips to Venice and Ravenna, both famous for their beautiful mosaics, most likely inspired his gold technique and his Byzantine imagery. In 1904, he collaborated with other artists on the lavish Palais Stoclet, the home of a wealthy Belgian industrialist, which was one of the grandest monuments of the Art Nouveau age. Klimt’s contributions to the dining room, including both Fulfillment and Expectation, were some of his finest decorative work, and as he publicly stated, “probably the ultimate stage of my development of ornament.”[8] Between 1907 and 1909, Klimt painted five canvases of society women wrapped in fur. His apparent love of costume is expressed in the many photographs of Flöge modeling clothing she designed…

…Klimt’s work is distinguished by the elegant gold or coloured decoration, often of a phallic shape that conceals the more erotic positions of the drawings upon which many of his paintings are based. This can be seen in Judith I (1901), and in The Kiss (1907–1908), and especially in Danaë (1907). One of the most common themes Klimt utilized was that of the dominant woman, the femme fatale. Art historians note an eclectic range of influences contributing to Klimt’s distinct style, including Egyptian, Minoan, Classical Greek, and Byzantine inspirations. Klimt was also inspired by the engravings of Albrecht Dürer, late medieval European painting, and Japanese Rimpa school. His mature works are characterized by a rejection of earlier naturalistic styles, and make use of symbols or symbolic elements to convey psychological ideas and emphasize the “freedom” of art from traditional culture…

…As he worked and relaxed in his home, Klimt normally wore sandals and a long robe with no undergarments. His simple life was somewhat cloistered, devoted to his art and family and little else except the Secessionist Movement, and he avoided café society and other artists socially. Klimt’s fame usually brought patrons to his door, and he could afford to be highly selective. His painting method was very deliberate and painstaking at times and he required lengthy sittings by his subjects. Though very active sexually, he kept his affairs discreet and he avoided personal scandal. Like Rodin, Klimt also utilized mythology and allegory to thinly disguise his highly erotic nature, and his drawings often reveal purely sexual interest in women as objects. His models were routinely available to him to pose in any erotic manner that pleased him. Many of the models were prostitutes as well.

Klimt wrote little about his vision or his methods. He wrote mostly postcards to Flöge and kept no diary. In a rare writing called “Commentary on a non-existent self-portrait”, he states “I have never painted a self-portrait. I am less interested in myself as a subject for a painting than I am in other people, above all women…There is nothing special about me. I am a painter who paints day after day from morning to night…Who ever wants to know something about me… ought to look carefully at my pictures.”…[9]

He has some interesting images, under the circs. Hygeia is very interesting, a very strong figure.

But this one is called Water Snakes, or the Hydra.

Gustav Klimt's Water Snakes

From another online source, quite a different color copy, and the info 1904


Klimt paints “Water Snakes” and is commissioned to paint the series of mosaic murals (1905-1909) for the Palais Stoclet, an opulent private mansion in Brussels.

another copy of the Klimt's Water Snakes

There’s a rude review by Tom Lubbock of his work here, in London’s “The Independent“, from a recent Tate exhibit:

..Reality does not intrude. Design conquers all. Pattern, ornament, outlandish and incredible shape-making, override every resistance. You see it in his treatment of the human figure. Look at the roll-mopped bodies of the nymphs in the last scene of the frieze, or the almost illegibly flattened and attenuated forms of the lesbian mermaids in Water Snakes – they might be sheets of pastry, to be stretched wide or folded over or cut out anyhow…

..But seriously: what’s it about, all this flagrant artifice? Yes, it’s a dramatic turn against realism, and Klimt is not alone in that among late 19th-century artists. But I can’t see that his anti-realism about anything much – apart from making things look neater, less complicated, more stylish.

His art excludes all rough energies. It reduces the world to a beautiful consistency. Beyond that seems to be an utterly blank, unmotivated artist. The famous Kiss is quite passionless. Nothing drives him, not even sex.

Obviously, he’s interested in sex. There’s a wall here of his watery pencil-drawings, in which women open their legs and masturbate. And his paintings are occasionally sexy, but their sexiness is a matter of expertise. Klimt belongs to the Mr Spock school of pornography. He knows what turns on the human male, and he presses the right buttons – cascading tresses, pneumatic bottoms – without apparently sharing in the desires he inflames.

So don’t talk wisely about “the Vienna of Freud” and the birth of psychoanalysis. A far more relevant reference would be to an older Viennese institution – the Spanish Riding School. As in formal equestrianism, what you see in Klimt is the gratuitous triumph of design over life.

Compare Klimt to that other star of Art Nouveau, the English illustrator Aubrey Beardsley. His art is just as artificial – but he knows how outrageous his shape-making is, as well as exquisitely beautiful. There’s a sophisticated irony at play in Beardsley – life is only made fine through the most absurd pretences.

Nothing like that crosses Klimt’s mind. He just likes the way it all looks so smart. He’s basically thick. But when you start to compare Klimt and Beardsley line for line, the contrast really bites. You realise how much Klimt gains from reproduction – and reduction. Make his images small, and their lines look taut and definite. At actual size, you see how approximate and uncertain they are. On any scale, Beardsley’s draughtsmanship is as tense as a tight-rope walker…

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Henry Fuseli, The Nightmare:

The Nightmare is a 1781 oil painting by Swiss artist Henry Fuseli (1741–1825).

Interpretation of The Nightmare has varied widely. The canvas seems to portray simultaneously a dreaming woman and the content of her nightmare. The incubus and the horse’s head refer to contemporary belief and folklore about nightmares, but have been ascribed more specific meanings by some theorists. Contemporary critics were taken aback by the overt sexuality of the painting, which has since been interpreted by some scholars as anticipating Freudian ideas about the subconscious

…For contemporary viewers, The Nightmare invoked the relationship of the incubus and the horse (mare) to nightmares. The work was likely inspired by the waking dreams experienced by Fuseli and his contemporaries, who found that these experiences related to folkloric beliefs like the Germanic tales about demons and witches that possessed people who slept alone. In these stories, men were visited by horses or hags, giving rise to the terms “hag-riding” and “mare-riding”, and women were believed to engage in sex with the devil.[3] The etymology of the word “nightmare”, however, does not relate to horses. Rather, the word is derived from mara, a Scandinavian mythological term referring to a spirit sent to torment or suffocate sleepers. The early meaning of “nightmare” included the sleeper’s experience of weight on the chest combined with sleep paralysis, dyspnea, or a feeling of dread.[4] The painting incorporates a variety of imagery associated with these ideas, depicting a mare’s head and a demon crouched atop the woman…

He painted several later versions, but I think this is the one Emma used.

Fuseli's The Nightmare

Contemporary critics often found the work scandalous due to its sexual themes. A few years before he painted The Nightmare, Fuseli had fallen passionately in love with a woman named Anna Landholdt in Zürich, while he was traveling from Rome to London. Landholdt was the niece of his friend, the Swiss physiognomist Johann Kaspar Lavater. Fuseli wrote of his fantasies to Lavater in 1779:

Last night I had her in bed with me—tossed my bedclothes hugger-mugger—wound my hot and tight-clasped hands about her—fused her body and soul together with my own—poured into her my spirit, breath and strength. Anyone who touches her now commits adultery and incest! She is mine, and I am hers. And have her I will.…[9]

Fuseli’s marriage proposal met with disapproval from the woman’s father, and in any case Fuseli’s love seems to have been unrequited—Landholdt married a family friend soon after. The Nightmare, then, can be seen as a personal portrayal of the erotic aspects of love lost. Art historian H. W. Janson suggests that the sleeping woman represents Landholdt and that the demon is Fuseli himself. Bolstering this claim is an unfinished portrait of a girl on the back of the painting’s canvas, which may portray Landholdt. Anthropologist Charles Stewart, in his study of erotic dreams and nightmares, characterizes the sleeping woman as “voluptuous,”[4] and one scholar of the Gothic describes her as lying in a “sexually receptive position.”[10] In Woman as Sex Object (1972), Marcia Allentuck similarly argues that the painting’s intent is to show female orgasm. This is supported by Fuseli’s sexually overt and even pornographic private drawings (e.g., Symplegma of Man with Two Women, 1770–78).[3] Fuseli’s painting has been considered representative of sublimated sexual instincts.[2] Related interpretations of the painting view the incubus as a dream symbol of male libido, with the sexual act represented by the horse’s intrusion through the curtain.[11]…

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Manet’s 1863 painting Olympia shocked people at the time by being too realistic about things. Manet’s Olympia was, and is, a pretty rude picture.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olympia_(painting)

One imagines the client was rude to begin with. The servant holds flowers. The courtesan is Not Impressed.

Edouard Manet's Olympia

…What shocked contemporary audiences was not Olympia’s nudity, nor even the presence of her fully clothed maid, but her confrontational gaze and a number of details identifying her as a demi-mondaine or courtesan. These include the orchid in her hair, her bracelet, pearl earrings and the oriental shawl on which she lies, symbols of wealth and sensuality. The black ribbon around her neck, in stark contrast with her pale flesh, and her cast-off slipper underline the voluptuous atmosphere. Whereas Titian’s Venus delicately covers her sex, Olympia’s hand firmly protects hers, as if to emphasize her independence and sexual dominance over men. Manet replaced the little dog (symbol of fidelity) in Titian’s painting with a black cat, which symbolized prostitution. Olympia disdainfully ignores the flowers presented to her by her servant, probably a gift from a client. Some have suggested that she is looking in the direction of the door, as her client barges in unannounced…

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In talking about Manet’s Olympia, Emma references the woman who is the model, Victorine Meurent.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victorine_Meurent

Probably one of the more interesting pictures of her:

The Railway, by Édouard Manet

..Victorine Louise Meurent (18441927) was a French painter and a famous model for painters. Although she is now best known as the favorite model of Édouard Manet, she also was an artist in her own right, who exhibited repeatedly at the prestigious Paris Salon. In 1876 her paintings were selected for inclusion at the juried exhibition, when Manet’s work was not…

..e of sixteen in the studio of Thomas Couture. She first worked for Manet in 1862, posing for a painting entitled, The Street Singer. Manet was first drawn to Victorine when he saw her in the street, carrying her guitar. Victorine was particularly noticeable for her petite stature and her red hair, which is depicted as very bright in Manet’s watercolour copy of “Olympia”. As well as playing the guitar, Victorine also played the violin, gave lessons in the two instruments, and sang in cafe’-concerts. Her name remains forever associated with Manet’s masterpieces, The Luncheon on the Grass and Olympia, which include portraits of her. During this time period she also modelled for Belgian painter Alfred Stevens and Degas, both close friends of Manet. Her relationship with Stevens is said to have been particularly close. Manet continued to use Victorine Meurent as a model until the early 1870s, when she began taking art classes and they became estranged, as Victorine was drawn to the more academic style of painting against which Manet’s work was in opposition…

…By 1906, Meurent had left Paris for the suburb of Colombes, where she lived with a woman named Marie Dufour for the remainder of her life. The two appear to have shared ownership of their house. Meurent died on March 17th, 1927. After the death of Dufour, in 1930, the contents of the house were liquidated; in the late 20th C., elderly neighbours recalled the last contents of the house, including a violin and its case, being burnt on a bonfire.

A painting by Meurent was recovered in 2004 and now hangs in the Colombes History Museum…

…Meurent in Fiction

The Irish writer George Moore included Meurent as a character in his semi-fictional autobiography, Memoirs of My Dead Life. She appears as a middle-aged woman past her prime, living in a lesbian relationship with a famous courtesan. More recently, Victorine Meurent’s life has inspired a historical novel, Mademoiselle Victorine by Debra Finerman. She also appears as a character in a film called Manet in Love. Both works involve Meurent as Manet’s mistress.

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Some reference links to Wikipedia on the paintings, in much the way Drin would dig them up from the images sent him by Emma in “Postcards”.