What Mary, Abby, and I had going for a while was a form/manner of troilism; a fully consummated love triangle. What happened between the three of us was rather riotish, but the entire series of scenes was buoyed up by a good deal of love and affection we had for each other. Leading lives unsullied by social inhibitions, we were free to become emotionally and sexually entangled. Staged twentieth century cultural romances look stilted in comparison because, in retrospect, they were obviously just that (staged), and put in motion only to initiate and perpetuate appearances. Historians who will track the movements of P.F.S. are not going to have to steer around a matrix of obvious, embarrassing discrepancies— both the eye-witness and documentation levels exist right there on the surface. And since Mary's portraits are both titillating and substantial works of art, P.F.S. has a way of fulfilling the sense of well-rounded and consummate artistry, on every level, which was our implicit ideal.
Post a Comment