It's back. This is a sweater version of a polyester print I saw last year. Yep, I've got a degree in Marxism so I'm always on the lookout for a print like this. This one is embroidered, and with more details in the rendering than I've seen before. Spectacular, though not economical. It's available here.
Best worn with Animal Crackers and Duck Soup for a Night at the Opera.

A degree in Marxism. I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception. Risible and irresistible 70s tunic, medium-sized, and it's still available. I love the off-center placement of Groucho's iconic face, and the red stripes that invade the black and white landscape. The black collar keeps it crisp, mirroring the black border around the neck and sleeves.

Don't I sound like a docent of novelty prints? This is one for the Polyester Museum of Fine Arts.

This past summer I vowed that I would make all my dreams come true. Fortunately, I like to dream small. With only some minor exertion, look at me now:I'm a patroness of the arts. I'm a card-carrying member of MOMA. I can loll about the sculpture garden, hang out with some of my favorite paintings, and eavesdrop on European tourists enjoying the devalued dollar.

MOMA's recent exhibition of Salvador Dalí's film collaborations and set designs seemed to be in dialogue with my post on the Dalí scarf of a month ago. Truly. Just as if I called up and ordered it like a sandwich. Obviously someone else was thinking of this 4 years ago, or whatever the lead time is to put an exhibition like this together. (I used to be 2 years ahead of the curve. That is: my aesthetic wants and needs blossomed years before ready fulfillment hit store shelves, museum catalogs, movie theater screens and the like. This gap has been narrowing over the years until now, when I'm actually behind. Either I'm losing my touch, or my tinfoil hat stopped working.)

The exhibit had lots to enjoy and many surprises, especially a 49 minute 1975 film called "Impressions of Upper Mongolia", a deliriously self-indulgent microscopic view of a patina developed on the metal band of a ballpoint pen that Dalí cultivated with his own urine. The film is oddly beautiful and inspired me to make movies again. Salvador was way ahead of Warhol, Ofili, and Andres Serrano. His politics gross me out, but Dali was performance art before there was performance art.

I didn't know that Dalí had planned to make a film with the Marx Brothers. A rough draft and some sketches and paintings were on display. That's all that exists of "The Surrealist Woman", Dalí's film that was to star Harpo Marx. Dali struck up a lively friendship with Harpo by sending him a harp strung with barbed wire. Harpo responded by sending a photo of his hands wrapped in bandages.