Tuesday, December 27, 2011

The Panty Museum - it had to be Brussels

I love museums. I've written about several, shall we say, oddball museums. There's the British Lawn Mower Museum, the Beijing Tap Water Museum and the redoubtable Mustard Museum in Wisconsin.

A couple of years ago, Jan Bucquoy, the enfant terrible of the Belgian art scene created the "Musee du Slip" in Brussels. He displays underwear of famous celebrities and politicians like those of Belgian Minister Didier Reynders. So there can be no doubt, his faded blue boxer shorts came with a certificate of authenticity. To further titillate panty fetishers, the white striped boxers are displayed next to the G-string that allegedly covered certain parts of the former Belgian porn star Brigitte Lahaie.

There rules, after all. Owners must have worn their undies for at least one day.

"I want to create poetry with everyday things by putting them in a different context," Bucquoy told Reuters. "I say underpants are art. Put them in a frame and create a new way of looking at the world."

"Alongside celebrity skivvies are artworks that Bucquoy has created over the past 25 years featuring celebrities and underwear that is admittedly not their own. For example, you can find ones of former US President John F. Kennedy and Adolf Hitler wearing underwear on their heads.

An Andy Warhol-style print of Margaret Thatcher, wearing a skin-coloured flower-patterned pair of women's underpants, contrasts sharply with French President Nicolas Sarkozy, whose tri-coloured Y-fronted headwear unmistakably resembles a Napolean Bonaparte hat.

Bucquoy is reported saying that if he had portrayed Hitler in his underpants there would not have been a war. "My quest as an artist is to try to get rid of hierarchy," adding that he hoped he might be able to get underwear samples for his museum from French first lady Carla Bruni, Pope Benedict XVI and Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.  Now there's a trifecta for your fetish.

--From Reuters news reports

Submitted by Gerrie Ferris Finger

Sunday, December 18, 2011

WHISPERING - an Excerpt

It's 1921, the Great War (WWI) is over, Prohibition is the law of the land.  Women now have the vote, the flapper era has begun.

After cognac had been served and Neill and Teddy yawned themselves to their feet pleading exhaustion, she found herself next to Graham, walking down the hall to the bottom of the staircase. She swallowed the knot at the back of her throat.

“Would you like a moonlight walk on the beach?” he asked.

She stood with her hand on the banister, unable to meet his eyes. “I need sleep.”

“I bet. Traveling can give one the screaming meemies.”

She grinned at him. “More like swooning.”

He covered her hand with his. “No swooning, it’s out of fashion.”

“I see you’re a slave to fashion.”

“Absolutely. My own idea of fashion.”

“You dress very smart.” What a dumb thing to say.

“That’s because a smartly-dressed man can hide a multitude of idiocies.”

“What idiocies?”

“Ummm, I don’t confess everything to a woman I’ve just met, no matter how gorgeous. Wait until tomorrow.”

“I shall.” She placed a foot on the first step. “Time …”

“Teddy has taken to you, too, you know.”

“Teddy is fun.”

“If fun’s not included, Teddy doesn’t do it.”

“Like you?”

“I look for a little fun in my life.”

“I guess so, after that beastly war.”

“It was beastly, but there were happy times.”

“You can say that now you’re safe at home.”

“I say, Cleo, I am sorry about …”

She bobbed her head trying to see William in her mind, but his image didn’t come. How could it, she thought, with all the unfocused emotions swirling there?

He drew in a breath. “I want to see happiness in those marvelous green eyes.”

How could she forget the sharp pain of those unhappy days? “I am happy.”

“But sometimes a little melancholy?”

“What’s wrong with melancholy?”

“We at Southerness do not tolerate melancholy.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “Got that, little Bearcat?”

She was not sure if she could get the words out of her mouth to say that her mood was beyond categorizing. She drew away from his finger. “Good night, Graham.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She held her breath for a second. “Yes.”

“Promise a walk on the beach tomorrow night? The lighthouse shows best by moonlight.” He sensed her hesitation because he squeezed her arm. “I’m harmless.”

She gave him her best I-don’t-believe-that-for-a-minute smirk. “What if it rains?”

“It wouldn’t dare. What say?”

“Let’s see about tomorrow.”

“That’s not a no.”

“No, it’s not a no.”

“I’m a happy fella then.”

“Good night.”

“Golf after breakfast?”

“I shall give it my best,” she said.

He went off singing, Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the morning ...

Finally – she could take a deep breath.


Thanks for reading. I'd appreciate your comments.

Gerrie Ferris Finger