![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Feb. 15th, 2005
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Minnie Titell Brune
Feb. 15th, 2005 02:37 pmThis is the photo I am waiting on a print of from the Library of New South Wales.
http://image.sl.nsw.gov.au/cgi-bin/photoshow.pl?doc=photo2005/a744;seq=21
"With boots to die for, American tragedienne Minnie Tittell Brune played the Duke of Reichstadt (the son of Napoleon Bonaparte) in Edmond Rostand's play L'Aiglon for J. C. Williamson. Her naturalistic style surprised the Sydney Mail, which reported that she 'had the faculty of dropping into familiar and commonplace tones with an effect as electrical as it is unexpected'. Tittell Brune inscribed this print with a dramatic line from her performance: 'You do not know my father's history? then, gentlemen I'll tell you'. Talma's studio photograph has been processed to resemble the expensive high-quality platinum prints popular at that time."
Unfortunately, my card seems not to have been charged for this, and I can't find an email address for them anywhere, and am going to have to call and fax them to get it resolved.
http://image.sl.nsw.gov.au/cgi-bin/photoshow.pl?doc=photo2005/a744;seq=21
"With boots to die for, American tragedienne Minnie Tittell Brune played the Duke of Reichstadt (the son of Napoleon Bonaparte) in Edmond Rostand's play L'Aiglon for J. C. Williamson. Her naturalistic style surprised the Sydney Mail, which reported that she 'had the faculty of dropping into familiar and commonplace tones with an effect as electrical as it is unexpected'. Tittell Brune inscribed this print with a dramatic line from her performance: 'You do not know my father's history? then, gentlemen I'll tell you'. Talma's studio photograph has been processed to resemble the expensive high-quality platinum prints popular at that time."
Unfortunately, my card seems not to have been charged for this, and I can't find an email address for them anywhere, and am going to have to call and fax them to get it resolved.
(no subject)
Feb. 15th, 2005 10:41 pmI've mailed the Library of NSW, so that's one more small task completed.
I just sent out a headshot with the note "comfortable with rats" -- this speaks to life without an agent perhaps more than anything ever.
I'm so markedly different than how and how I used to be. It's frustrating, to want to write about that, but realizing there are not true witnesses to the relevant arenas. I've always been an odd contradiction in the degree to which I live in my body and am comfortable with it more than most people, but yet am not all that interested in the tangible physical world around me. It's not anything noble or ascetic or particularly Buddhist -- more than I'm easily distractable, but I'd not actually had cause to explain that to anyone in ages, much less ever had it come out concisely, and that interested me. I guess it's a natural part of getting older, but the talk and the walk get closer and closer together, on several fronts, and that distrbs me, albeit in a good way.
One of the crappiest things about being any sort of artistic professional is the dicksizing -- how many stories you've published, what roles youv'e played in what theatres, etc -- that you wind up spending all this time trying to impress other people (and more often your competition as opposed to the people who can get you published and give you roles), that you never really ever pause to consider why someone should be impressed with you, or if you'd be impressed with you.
I know I seem like an arrogant woman, and one thoroughly in love with herself, but there's an amazing amount of my life that I just don't happen to notice regardless or perhaps because of how in the moment I can be (and let's not even get into the self-ahatred factor). And while I'm often pleased with myself, it rarely occurs to me that I've done anything particularly admirable or impressive. Sometime today, in the warmer weather and slightly longer day, it occured to me that while most of my life is pocked with amazing bouts of horrific underachievement, and I've yet to reach anything remotely resembling where I want to be in any of my endeavors, yeah, I'd be impressed with me from afar. Simply because I'm voracious and haven't let the broadness of my interests do anything but benefit me, even if being a jack-of-all trades is most probably the simplest (and most common) recipe for personal failure as well as probably the most annoying one to be around. I've not really achieved all that much yet, but I am sort of impressive. And it's a very strange feeling, grokking that. And I keep cycling back to this short film script in all this somehow -- it's important that I pursue it to its logical conclusion, with the caveat that I'm not sure what that will be yet.
and I always live in terror of posting things like this because it's so Wanky Wanky Rach, Press the Button in the Middle of Her Back and She'll Utter One of Ten Self-Agrandizements! New from Mattel! Now, with More Posable Limbs for a Full Range of Crappy Directorial Hand Gestures! Boots for Confrontations with Taxi Cabs Sold Separately!
ETA:
Photograph was airmailed on the 11th -- any day now.
I just sent out a headshot with the note "comfortable with rats" -- this speaks to life without an agent perhaps more than anything ever.
I'm so markedly different than how and how I used to be. It's frustrating, to want to write about that, but realizing there are not true witnesses to the relevant arenas. I've always been an odd contradiction in the degree to which I live in my body and am comfortable with it more than most people, but yet am not all that interested in the tangible physical world around me. It's not anything noble or ascetic or particularly Buddhist -- more than I'm easily distractable, but I'd not actually had cause to explain that to anyone in ages, much less ever had it come out concisely, and that interested me. I guess it's a natural part of getting older, but the talk and the walk get closer and closer together, on several fronts, and that distrbs me, albeit in a good way.
One of the crappiest things about being any sort of artistic professional is the dicksizing -- how many stories you've published, what roles youv'e played in what theatres, etc -- that you wind up spending all this time trying to impress other people (and more often your competition as opposed to the people who can get you published and give you roles), that you never really ever pause to consider why someone should be impressed with you, or if you'd be impressed with you.
I know I seem like an arrogant woman, and one thoroughly in love with herself, but there's an amazing amount of my life that I just don't happen to notice regardless or perhaps because of how in the moment I can be (and let's not even get into the self-ahatred factor). And while I'm often pleased with myself, it rarely occurs to me that I've done anything particularly admirable or impressive. Sometime today, in the warmer weather and slightly longer day, it occured to me that while most of my life is pocked with amazing bouts of horrific underachievement, and I've yet to reach anything remotely resembling where I want to be in any of my endeavors, yeah, I'd be impressed with me from afar. Simply because I'm voracious and haven't let the broadness of my interests do anything but benefit me, even if being a jack-of-all trades is most probably the simplest (and most common) recipe for personal failure as well as probably the most annoying one to be around. I've not really achieved all that much yet, but I am sort of impressive. And it's a very strange feeling, grokking that. And I keep cycling back to this short film script in all this somehow -- it's important that I pursue it to its logical conclusion, with the caveat that I'm not sure what that will be yet.
and I always live in terror of posting things like this because it's so Wanky Wanky Rach, Press the Button in the Middle of Her Back and She'll Utter One of Ten Self-Agrandizements! New from Mattel! Now, with More Posable Limbs for a Full Range of Crappy Directorial Hand Gestures! Boots for Confrontations with Taxi Cabs Sold Separately!
ETA:
Photograph was airmailed on the 11th -- any day now.