But now I have proof that last night I looked a whole lot better.
(Look, you can even see the Transamerica Pyramid in the background, and a little bit of the Bay Bridge.)
The film noir festival, Noir City 7, continues through this weekend. One of my favorite films-- period-- is showing on the last day, Sunday: Sweet Smell of Success.
(Roger Ebert's Great Movies essay is here, and this in-depth write up on filmsite.org is a detailed walkthrough for us groupies.)
This film has absolutely everything going for it: amazing, crackling, memorable dialogue; well-crafted characters at every level; the incomparable cinematography of James Wong Howe, I could go on and on but if you're really interested, the links above speak better than I could...
This scene below is probably one of the best in the film and shows why the Sweet Smell of Success is worth seeing over and over again.
Amazing what you can see in 10 minutes sometimes.
They call it "chemo skin." It's fragile, so soft, almost translucent looking. It has a beautiful but disturbing glow.
The woman perched on the chair before her, wearing an autumnal looking sweater, all cabled and tweedy in shades of oranges and golds, was wearing a matching turban on her head.
The makeup counter at the Stanford store is very close to Stanford Hospital. The woman told her that she was finishing her round of chemotherapy before going back to her hometown. She was staying in a nearby hotel, with her husband.
The thing you learn when being a makeup artist is how to find a commonality with whomever is sitting before you. Aside from the regular or irregular features, the wishes and desires are also what you learn to tune into. Most people will share the same themes with you (I don't know what I'm doing with my makeup, I need a change). But you always can suss out the deeper desires. Some people will break down and tell you after a few minutes, and some might simply break down, crying. It happens. That's why you always have a box of tissues handy. Not just for wiping brushes but for dabbing tears.
The woman in the chair with the heavy sweater and the turban, dressed for autumn in the heat of summer. Her hands were thin and chilled. The skin so fragile, so thin, that barrier between blood and the atmosphere.
She assembles her clean brushes, some q-tips, some cotton, on a clean tissue. The woman before her is tired and quiet, so she starts working without any direction.
The first thing she must do for this sweet, aging face is to give it some hair. The woman has no eyebrows, no eyelashes. They were victims of the cruel chemicals that are trying to kill the cancer cells but with their loss, her face is fading away.
She has learned to master the art of the eyebrow. Shaping its geometry is not easy and takes practice. There is an actual science to it, but this will be the first time she's created something from absolutely nothing. First, to locate the spot where the brow would naturally sit. Then, to skillfully sketch in tiny hairs to create those delicate arches. The trick is to make the sketch marks look like they have dimension. A waxy brow pencil is the first step, but then adding layers of different powders gives the illusion of depth.
Then the lashline. How to make it natural, yet defined, not too overwhelming so that it's apparent there are no lashes there? The thinnest flat brush, wetted and dark with waterproof cake liner in brown, not black. Applied to the inside of the lashline where the hairs would grow. Deft flicks of the brush bring the eye into shape. Then a smudge of shadow, above, blended. The effect is soft. It works.
All this time, the woman is quiet. She seems to be resting, napping. Enjoying. When the woman finally sees herself in the mirror, finished, she sighs. She cannot stop talking about how wonderful she feels with this face on. Both of them look at each other with glistening, teary eyes. The woman adores the lipstick, a glossy sheer warm red with a golden tinge. Simply is crazy for it, she's so thrilled. All her life, she says, she's been searching for the perfect color of lipstick (like so many women) and finally she's found it. An $18 tube of color and shine that's made her feel complete.
The two hug, rejoice for the simple happiness of finding the perfect lipstick. They part with kisses.
The next day, the woman comes back with her receipt and the lipstick in the bag and a stoic attitude. "My husband didn't like the color."
She is floored. All of the happy thoughts of yesterday evaporate instantly. "Then tell him not to wear it." She says it in a joking way but actually she's dead serious. What else can she say? Who gives a flying fuck about what the husband thinks? His wife is dying before his eyes.
Amazing. She's never forgotten that woman, to this day. Her greatest hope is that the woman recovered fully from her cancer, and has left that man in the dust. Perhaps she has a lover now, and eyebrows and eyelashes and a beautiful, perfect shade of lipstick.
***
The above is part of the writing project I mentioned. I'm relieved to know that as I'm getting older, the moments in my life that I thought were disappearing from my memory are still there. They might take a little more digging, but once I start, the scenes are lining up in my mind, one after the other, impatiently waiting to be dusted off and told to someone, to you.
That photo is one I took when I first got the camera, and it makes me happy to realize that I can also reach back into my own cache and find my images that help support what I'm writing now.
It's a good feeling to know that everything you need is right there for you. And thanks to all of you who are already infusing my project with the encouragement and support I need to keep going.
Okay, time to get ready for work.
xoxo
When you're a makeup artist, you're a technique snob and product junkie, a review hound and an ingredients smartypants. You watch other artists work and appropriate their style, when you see them do something new you haven't tried yourself. You can't really go to school to learn how to be a makeup artist. In theory you can, but in reality, to succeed you need hundreds of hours of practice, on real human faces of every make and model. You pore over printed materials and you can pick up a Glamour magazine or Allure and, without reading the photo credits, you know which makeup artist did the cover model. You don't even care who's on the cover. You go gaga for the technique: if it's good, you go gaga. If there's a perceived flaw or mistake, you rip it up and you and your friends talk about how you could have done it better.
Little girls dressed in colorful New Year's finery were begging for toys and balloons everywhere you looked. Older children were lighting firecrackers and throwing those little exploding balls onto the concrete. The ground everywhere was littered with the remnants of these noisy festivities.
January 25, 2009
Department of Employment, Tourism, Mental Health and Grants for the Arts
City Hall
San Francisco, California
Dear Sir/Madam,
Please excuse the formality of this letter as I had hoped to speak with someone in your office. However, I could not find your office so this letter must be my voice and representative.
As you may or may not know, I am a resident of San Francisco and have been on a "Staycation" (aka, vacation at home due to insufficient funds for travel abroad). At first, I was ambivalent as to the quality of the vacation I would enjoy here, even though as a resident I feel that San Francisco is one of the best places to live. I had my sights set on more exotic locations.
However, I must admit that this has been one of the best holidays I have ever had, which is why I am contacting you today.
Due to my increased productivity and overall enjoyment of life in general, I would like to request a grant of sufficient monies (including health care) so that I might continue my Staycation and not have to go back to work tomorrow. The benefits to me as a happy citizen (and registered voter, I might add) would not even begin to compare to the benefits that San Francisco as a city would reap due to my redoubled efforts to promote our city by taking thousands of photos and writing about my adventures on my blog. The amount of time such PR takes is tremendous and even now I have only been able to describe a fraction of the fun I've had, not to mention the delicious meals I've enjoyed around town and the new friends I've made.
I think I could greatly improve San Francisco's image and overcome some disturbing stereotypes that may be disrupting tourism.
Also, I am incredibly bummed at the thought of going back to the office tomorrow (it's almost too much to bear) and this grant would allow me to continue in the lifestyle I have become accustomed in the past two weeks.
Thank you for your consideration and I look forward to hearing from you soon (today would be great but I'm guessing your office is closed on Sundays).
Very most sincerely and incredibly appreciatively yours,
Julie
ps.: I have enclosed a photo from the last Staycation I had so you will know that my request is quite serious. Until now, I had not had a Staycation since that photo was taken.
pss.: I am the one in the plaid pants.
psss.: PLEASE help me and give me a grant so I can stay on Staycation.
Yeah, that was crazy.
Well, now I can check that off the list of things I've seen.
Most of the fighting photos were blurry but I think you probably get the idea.
You can tell these gals are hamming it up, but still you wouldn't want to pick a fight with one of them. They could flip you. Big time.
And one of the referees was pretty hot.
Is it just me or does she have glitter in her cleavage?I'm home for a tiny break between the Noir Festival matinee (Chicago Deadline with Alan Ladd and Donna Reed) and Women's Roller Derby tonight.
And wouldn't you know it... two more interviews have come in. While I'm out watching the Bay Bombers tonight, please enjoy the following interviews:
My two favorite blogging sisters, Kath and Margie, at soeurs du jour. (BTW, you might also remember that Kath is my VP from my Tangobaby Presidential Campaign last year.)
A lady who is a passionate artist, writer, tango dancer and a delight to know. And she lives too far away from me. Elizabeth at Working Artist.
More interview questions are floating out there in blogland, awaiting answers, so stay tuned.
It's drizzly and grey and foggy this morning... perfect weather considering that Noir City #7 started last night at the Castro Theatre. (Bill and Iasa, it's really making me sad that you're not here for this film festival.)
I'm just lounging in my La-Z-Boy, wishing so much that Richard Widmark's greatest villain, Tommy Udo from Kiss of Death, had been the one pushing Dick Cheney's wheelchair to the Inauguration.
(Just pretend that Cheney is the old lady in the wheelchair and enjoy.)
And now to ponder breakfast and what Noir Festivities I'll be enjoying today (there is also Roller Derby at Kezar Stadium tonight). I feel a bagel is in my future, which has nothing to do with anything.
Enjoy your day. Watch Kiss of Death.
Today is the day that I almost ended The Staycation in a very very bad bad way.
Have you ever done something where you really know you shouldn't be doing what you're doing and the Little Mom Voice in your head is telling you to Stop what you're doing this very instant or else you'll be very very sorry, young lady but you don't listen and you do the bad thing anyway?
I know you know what I'm talking about. You do it too.
Nah, I'm playing with you. It snowed where Starlene lives. She took this photo for me.
AND she made me my very first snowman! I don't have a lot of basis for comparison (none really), but I'm going to go out on a limb and say this might be one of the cuter snowmen ever made.
***
This Staycation has been so full of cool little adventures that I literally have not had time to process them all, let alone post them.
(Yes, this is a Sir Joshua Reynolds portrait.)
Behind this secret white door is the paintings conservation lab at the de Young Museum.
So today I came back to the labs and spent half the day there, watching, observing and learning more and taking over 300 photos.
