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Wed Jun 19 09:11:28 EDT 2019
Slept from ten to six-thirty.
Woke briefly around two.
High of eighty and rainy today.
Work:
- Remember to change backup.
Done.
Scott called in sick.
He's sounded pretty bad the last couple days.
Bought groceries at Meijer during lunch.
Home:
- Pay Barclays card
Done.
- Grocery
Done.
Forgot all about the SEMIBUG meeting yesterday.
https://lithub.com/in-pablo-picassos-studio-during-the-nazi-occupation-of-paris/
> Another man who came a great deal at that time was André Dubois, who later on became Prefect of Police and after that went to the magazine Match. At that time he worked in the Ministry of the Interior and since the Germans were finding little ways of bothering Picasso and might well have bothered him a great deal more, André Dubois came almost every day to see that everything was all right. Jean-Paul Sartre came frequently, and Simone de Beauvoir, and the poet Pierre Reverdy. Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir talked mostly to each other. When Sartre talked with Picasso, it was off in a corner, as a rule, and he looked so mysterious and confidential I felt he must be talking about the Resistance and some of its clandestine publications. Whenever Sartre had anything to say in my presence, it was never about painting in general or Picasso’s painting in particular and I found him usually so didactic that I formed the habit of talking with others, such as the poet Jacques Prévert. At a time when most people weren’t joking much, Prévert generally managed to find something funny. Picasso had had a sculpture of his own hand cast in bronze. One day Prévert amused himself and the rest of us by sticking the bronze hand into his sleeve and shaking hands with the others, then walking away and leaving the bronze hand in theirs.
> Another one of the studio regulars was the photographer Brassaï, who came often to photograph Picasso’s sculpture. Picasso delighted in teasing him and would generally greet him with, “What are you going to break on me today?” Brassaï was accident-prone, and a simple remark like that was enough to start him off. At that time Picasso was working on the sculpture of the pregnant cat with its tail sticking out stiffly behind. One morning as Brassaï was setting up his tripod, Picasso said to him, “For heaven’s sake don’t go near that tail; you’ll make it fall off.” Brassaï obligingly drew away from the cat, pulled his tripod around, made another movement to the side and, of course, knocked off the cat’s tail. As soon as he could disengage himself from the sculpture, he began to pull his tripod toward him. Picasso said, “You’d be better off to stop pulling at that tripod and pull in your eyes”—not a very kind remark, because Brassaï suffered from a condition—thyroid, perhaps—that made his eyes bulge out of his head. But I could see from the start that no one ever got angry at Picasso’s jibes. Brassaï began to laugh so hard—whether because he thought it was funny or because he thought he had to—that he got his legs mixed up with his tripod and fell over backwards into a big basin of water that Picasso kept in the studio for Kasbek, his Afghan hound. As Brassaï fell, he splashed water over everybody. That was enough to put Picasso in a good mood for the rest of the morning.
> “If no one came to see me in the morning, I’d have nothing to start working on in the afternoon,” he told me later. “These contacts are a way of recharging my battery, even if what takes place has no apparent connection with my work. It’s like the flare of a match. It lights up my whole day.”<Paste>
Servings: grains 1/6, fruit 2/4, vegetables 3/4, dairy 0/2, meat 2/3, nuts 0/0.5
Brunch: cucumber, tomato, grapefruit, migas, coffee
Lunch: mandarin, celery
Afternoon snack: green tea
Dinner: pizza
104/62
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