With a ticket booked to see a Saturday afternoon screening of Rami Malek in THE AMATEUR, I spent my morning at the National Gallery communing with the work of some true creative professionals: Simone Martini, the irascible Lorenzetti brothers, Pietro and Ambrosio, and tax-dodger, lothario, baby daddy to many and all-round “my type”, Duccio de Buoninsegna. Early 14th Century Siena was very much the place to be if you, like dastardly Duccio, were a fast-living pioneer of the arts and believed there was no such thing as too much gold leaf (gold leaf is to Duccio and medieval Siena as teeny-tiny edible flowers are to Meghan and modern day Montecito, so far as I can tell: it’s strewn over literally anything and everything…).
Kate -- I wish The New Yorker would offer you a job writing film criticism (in lieu of that dorky, head-up-his-ass Richard Brody). Between you and Anthony Lane, I'd know exactly what to watch and what to skip, with a huge dose of laughter, giggles, feminism, and joy along the way.
Kate -- I wish The New Yorker would offer you a job writing film criticism (in lieu of that dorky, head-up-his-ass Richard Brody). Between you and Anthony Lane, I'd know exactly what to watch and what to skip, with a huge dose of laughter, giggles, feminism, and joy along the way.
Me too, ffs!!! I wish anyone would offer me a job, tbh (writing-wise). Hope you’re well! Xxx