Redtree Times

Dissolve (2011) – At Principle Gallery

I feel my brains, like a pear, to see if it’s ripe; it will be exquisite by September.

–Virginia Woolf, The Letters of Virginia Woolf: 1888-1912

Well, it is September now. Got around to finally feeling my brains this morning only to find that they are well past their peak ripeness.

August went and turned them soft and mushy.

That’s what August can do to you. As I have noted here many times before, August remains my least favorite month with no other month even coming close in second place. Without going into detail, August has, since I was a kid, has had elements of grimness, death, and desperation for me. It always reminded me of a passage from Raymond Chandler story. It’s from a 1938 story titled Red Wind.

There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen.

I became aware of this passage when it showed up on the Mary Tyler Moore show when Lou Grant reads it to Mary, using it as an example of real writing. I was a kid and it struck a nerve with me, remaining in my mind for all these years. I recognized that feeling even then.

Fortunately, this year’s August was not as bad as some, even with the daily grind of hormonal fatigue that is new to me this year and the continuous daily dose of madness that we’re experiencing here in this country. There was enough bad stuff floating around to make it another craptacular August yet for some reason I felt more equipped to handle its grit, sweatiness, and air of desperation.

I know this feeling might seem alien to a lot of you. You might have tons of fond memories from Augusts past. It might even be your favorite month of the year. This is just one person’s experience of one month.

I’m just glad to make it into September, overripe brains and all.

As I have done for most of the 18 years of this blog, I try to share a favorite song at the beginning of each new September. I generally look forward to this day since it means that sit and listen to several versions of September Song, the great Kurt Weill/ Maxwell Anderson song that was written for and first recorded by Walter Huston, of all people, for the 1938 Broadway play Knickerbocker Holiday in which he plays an aging Peter Stuyvesant, the governor of New Amsterdam (present day New York) in the 1600’s. It’s a song that has been recorded by literally hundreds of artists in a wide variety of styles. Most are excellent. This version from Ella Fitzgerald is one of the best, as might be expected from Ella. As I’ve said many time before, you can’t go wrong with Ella.

I’ve shared the painting at the top, Dissolve, a few times with my annual September Song posts. They seem to fit together perfectly for me in tone and rhythm. That’s probably why this painting has long been a favorite of mine.

Now, let September begin. Aaah…