"The long-haired artist seems to have died a natural death," said a speaker at the Victorian Artists Society's show recently. He omitted to add, however, that in the modern manner, the mane now seems to be reappearing as a beard.
When artists wore a flowing mane, Then, in a sentimental vein, With pastorals they lured the eye, Or sad, sweet scenes of sea and sky. But now that hair sprouts from the face They chuck their paint about the place And, in the modern manner, seek To baffle one with the unique. I've often wondered if this surge Of hirsute foam denotes some urge Artistic that controls and sways The hand and brain to newer ways. For instance, might we not expect An artist in dundrearies decked In other manner to behave From him who wore a monkey shave? I've known but one of this quaint throng Who wore both hair and whiskers long, But he, poor bloke, was short of cash, And wore a full beard and moustache That he might draw on this supply When price of brushes soared to high ... But there are ways, it seems to me. To test my novel theory. If some brave man would range the land And catch a few of this quaint band And hold them captive for a while Who knows what tricks of school and style One might evolve if, to each man, We gave a different hirsute plan? You doubt, perhaps? But all the same, There might be money in the game.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002|