Indulge: transitive verb
1b : to take unrestrained pleasure in
2a : to yield to the desire of
Indulge. The word is bulbous. It describes perfectly buying Sylvia Plath's "Horse Chestnut."
When I learned that the items comprising the exhibit "Sylvia Plath: Her Drawings" were for sale I nearly passed out. It was the opening day of the exhibit, and I was browsing the Mayor Gallery's website hopeful that the images with which we were teased in the press would all be available for viewing. In all the news stories leading up to the opening, I cannot recall one mentioning that the drawings were for sale. The day the exhibit opened there were, indeed, images on the Mayor's website. I clicked the first image, the one of "Wuthering Heights Today." The image -- which I am familiar with as it was reprinted a few times: on the cover of the 1965 Uncollected Poems and in Lois Ames' "Biographical Note" in the American edition of The Bell Jar -- appeared on the web page but what struck me was the not the beautiful digital surrogate of the drawing but bold "Sold" in red on the left-hand side. I clicked back and then viewed the image for "Cambridge: a View of Gables and Chimney-pots."
The same red "Sold" taunted me; distracting me from what I was there to do which was to view the images. My mind stopped. I clicked over to the contact us link and was on the phone with the Gallery before I knew what I was doing. Within a minute I had the price list of the remaining drawings that were unsold. Within a few more minutes I agreed to purchase "Horse Chestnut," which was the last drawing for sale with Plath's initials gracing the paper. It would be shipped the week of December 12th, but the nearly six weeks in-between were interminable.
That is, until the gallery emailed me the tracking number for the shipment.
Two days later - after a brief customs delay - the drawing was delivered. Opening the box at work and unwrapping the layers of bubble wrap and packing tape felt like it took ages. The drawing came in the frame in which it was exhibited. Taped to the back was a photocopy of the back of the drawing, which had Plath's name typed, presumably by Plath herself. In addition, a note by Ted Hughes which reads "by Sylvia Plath" and was accompanied by his authenticating signature. After seeing that, and learning from the gallery that the drawing was not in UV protected glass (which means it could possibly fade over time if exposed to too much light), I decided immediately to remove the drawing from the frame.
It was an ordeal to remove the picture from the frame. It was sealed tight which, from time to time, made me question the decision to remove it. But, after breaking the paper which covered the seams between the frame and the backboard; and after removing the points that went into the frame that kept the backboard down; and after carefully cutting the gummed linen tape that bound the glass to the larger mat board; and after slicing the tape connecting the smaller, island mat board from the larger one; and after ever so carefully slicing through the four adhesive paper hinges connecting the smaller mounting mat board to the drawing itself was I able to hold the most precious piece of paper I have ever owned.
From an aesthetic point of view, I am frustrated that the drawing was adhered in this way: with an actual adhesive substance. It can be undone -- in fact it was undone, by applying methyl cellulose to soften the adhesive on the hinges and then gently pulling up the tape (another option was to steam them off) -- but I don't know why they opted for this rather than, for example mylar photo mounting corners that you can tuck the corners of the paper into to hold it in place. These corners do the same thing: they hold the paper in place, but even better they don't physically attach to the drawing! And, being clear they do not affect viewing the drawing, and do not damage it! It seems to me -- not knowing anything about this artsy framing world -- that 
by adhering something to Plath's drawing you are actually somehow damaging it. I understand the materials the framers used were supposed to archivally sound, but I just did not like the idea of something sticking to it... You could see the impression of the adhesive through the drawing,and the corners were actually curling in a bit, like there was too much tension in the way the image was mounted. 
This was corrected by gently pressing and flattening the paper under a weight for about a week. And lastly, the mat board and the mount board the framers used tested positive for acidity. If you are reading this, and you purchased one (or more), you may want to consider starting from scratch and re-doing it. As a result of all this...the frame and mat boards were tossed.
All that being said, once I was able to hold the drawing in my hands, the object became more real than before. I felt selfish. I feel selfish. It belongs in an archive and one day will. (Actually, it's at work so it kind of is already in an archive!) And now that the drawings are separated by an unknowable number of miles, a line from Plath's poem "The Colossus" seems especially apt: "I shall never get you put together entirely." If you are reading this and were lucky enough to see the exhibit in person, please know that I am very jealous.
The authentication by Hughes was in pencil, which was probably done as pen might have bled through the paper. And who typed Plath's name on it? It "looks" like her own typewriter. The "Sylvia" is typed behind the larger chestnut and the "Plath" off it just above the smaller nut. What about about the two small red pencil marks? Did either of her children - Frieda or Nicholas - make them? Did Plath herself when she was grading a paper? Was it a red-painted nail? I don't know! But while they seem like a blemish and are likely the reason it remained unsold after the preview evening which opened the exhibition, they are, to me, anything but.
After gazing at "Horse Chestnut," and the other drawings from the exhibit in the catalog, I came to the conclusion that the presence of Plath's initials on the drawing means that it was something she considered completed. For me, this makes the piece more special and precious. And for those drawings in the exhibition that look nearly complete or that are unfinished: what happened in Plath's life at the time of composition to distract her from completing the drawing? I suppose we will never know.
Plath describes her sketchbook briefly in her Journals. In the entry written from Benidorm on her honeymoon she writes about "Mr. and Mrs. Ted Hughes' Writing Table": "...a bottle of jet black ink, scrupulously screwed shut, a small sketch book of rag paper atop Ted's anthology of Spanish poems..." (259).
For other sketching references in Plath's Journals see pages 249, 554, 555, 558, 559, and 560. On page 558, Plath possibly describes this drawing when she writes "Sat once more in Tuileries to finish sketch." On page 559-560, Plath possibly describes this drawing, "Stopped by Seine in sun to sketch a harlequin-style kiosque which had taken my fancy near the Louvre: one of those round poster-stands in green with a mosque-like roof and colored pastel posters all around...I was turning back to finish my little sketch of which I was fonder than any I'd done..." And, on page 560, possibly this drawing, "...walked to Ile de la Citie and sat on a bench before the Palais de la Justice … in gray chill air sketching the Tabac and cafe opposite...heavy and structured in simple shaded geometric forms and designs..."
I scanned "Horse Chestnut," both sides, and you can see here the remaining bits of paper from the adhesive that used to "suspend" the drawing in mount in the frame. These have been removed and I did take a clean scan before having a custom frame made, and housing it on a mat board that is actually acid free, and within UV safe glass.
I love it. I love it more now than I did yesterday or even twenty minutes ago. Ever since I bought it, the lines from Plath's "Lady Lazarus" have been going through my mind...
"And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes."
There is a large charge. But it was a very small price to pay for a one of a kind document created -- with all her heart, thought, creativity, and concentration -- by Sylvia Plath.
If you have not already, please check out Plathery's recent post about "Still Life with Pots and Fruit."
Postscript: Homage to what Sylvia Plath believed
Today is the 49th anniversary of Sylvia Plath's death. The above was more about me than I am comfortable with, especially in a blog about Sylvia Plath, so I thought I would put down a selection of some of Sylvia Plath's beliefs from her Journals.
"someone believes I am a human being, not merely a name"
"I don't believe in God as a kind of father in the sky. I don't believe that the meek will inherit the earth."
"I believe I have kissed him once. Perhaps twice."
"I accept the idea of a creative marriage now as I never did before; I believe I could paint, write, and keep a home and husband."
"Believe in some beneficent force beyond your own limited self"
"to believe oneself imperfect & others perfect - This is true happiness" (from notes on Saint Teresa of Avila)
"Percy Key is dead...I find this difficult to believe."
In her poetry, Plath used the word "believe" only ten times. Most memorably, perhaps, is from from the incomparable "The Moon and the Yew Tree" : "How I would like to believe in tenderness."
1b : to take unrestrained pleasure in
2a : to yield to the desire of
Indulge. The word is bulbous. It describes perfectly buying Sylvia Plath's "Horse Chestnut."
When I learned that the items comprising the exhibit "Sylvia Plath: Her Drawings" were for sale I nearly passed out. It was the opening day of the exhibit, and I was browsing the Mayor Gallery's website hopeful that the images with which we were teased in the press would all be available for viewing. In all the news stories leading up to the opening, I cannot recall one mentioning that the drawings were for sale. The day the exhibit opened there were, indeed, images on the Mayor's website. I clicked the first image, the one of "Wuthering Heights Today." The image -- which I am familiar with as it was reprinted a few times: on the cover of the 1965 Uncollected Poems and in Lois Ames' "Biographical Note" in the American edition of The Bell Jar -- appeared on the web page but what struck me was the not the beautiful digital surrogate of the drawing but bold "Sold" in red on the left-hand side. I clicked back and then viewed the image for "Cambridge: a View of Gables and Chimney-pots."
The same red "Sold" taunted me; distracting me from what I was there to do which was to view the images. My mind stopped. I clicked over to the contact us link and was on the phone with the Gallery before I knew what I was doing. Within a minute I had the price list of the remaining drawings that were unsold. Within a few more minutes I agreed to purchase "Horse Chestnut," which was the last drawing for sale with Plath's initials gracing the paper. It would be shipped the week of December 12th, but the nearly six weeks in-between were interminable. That is, until the gallery emailed me the tracking number for the shipment.
Two days later - after a brief customs delay - the drawing was delivered. Opening the box at work and unwrapping the layers of bubble wrap and packing tape felt like it took ages. The drawing came in the frame in which it was exhibited. Taped to the back was a photocopy of the back of the drawing, which had Plath's name typed, presumably by Plath herself. In addition, a note by Ted Hughes which reads "by Sylvia Plath" and was accompanied by his authenticating signature. After seeing that, and learning from the gallery that the drawing was not in UV protected glass (which means it could possibly fade over time if exposed to too much light), I decided immediately to remove the drawing from the frame.
It was an ordeal to remove the picture from the frame. It was sealed tight which, from time to time, made me question the decision to remove it. But, after breaking the paper which covered the seams between the frame and the backboard; and after removing the points that went into the frame that kept the backboard down; and after carefully cutting the gummed linen tape that bound the glass to the larger mat board; and after slicing the tape connecting the smaller, island mat board from the larger one; and after ever so carefully slicing through the four adhesive paper hinges connecting the smaller mounting mat board to the drawing itself was I able to hold the most precious piece of paper I have ever owned. 
From an aesthetic point of view, I am frustrated that the drawing was adhered in this way: with an actual adhesive substance. It can be undone -- in fact it was undone, by applying methyl cellulose to soften the adhesive on the hinges and then gently pulling up the tape (another option was to steam them off) -- but I don't know why they opted for this rather than, for example mylar photo mounting corners that you can tuck the corners of the paper into to hold it in place. These corners do the same thing: they hold the paper in place, but even better they don't physically attach to the drawing! And, being clear they do not affect viewing the drawing, and do not damage it! It seems to me -- not knowing anything about this artsy framing world -- that 
by adhering something to Plath's drawing you are actually somehow damaging it. I understand the materials the framers used were supposed to archivally sound, but I just did not like the idea of something sticking to it... You could see the impression of the adhesive through the drawing,and the corners were actually curling in a bit, like there was too much tension in the way the image was mounted. 
This was corrected by gently pressing and flattening the paper under a weight for about a week. And lastly, the mat board and the mount board the framers used tested positive for acidity. If you are reading this, and you purchased one (or more), you may want to consider starting from scratch and re-doing it. As a result of all this...the frame and mat boards were tossed.
All that being said, once I was able to hold the drawing in my hands, the object became more real than before. I felt selfish. I feel selfish. It belongs in an archive and one day will. (Actually, it's at work so it kind of is already in an archive!) And now that the drawings are separated by an unknowable number of miles, a line from Plath's poem "The Colossus" seems especially apt: "I shall never get you put together entirely." If you are reading this and were lucky enough to see the exhibit in person, please know that I am very jealous.
The authentication by Hughes was in pencil, which was probably done as pen might have bled through the paper. And who typed Plath's name on it? It "looks" like her own typewriter. The "Sylvia" is typed behind the larger chestnut and the "Plath" off it just above the smaller nut. What about about the two small red pencil marks? Did either of her children - Frieda or Nicholas - make them? Did Plath herself when she was grading a paper? Was it a red-painted nail? I don't know! But while they seem like a blemish and are likely the reason it remained unsold after the preview evening which opened the exhibition, they are, to me, anything but.
After gazing at "Horse Chestnut," and the other drawings from the exhibit in the catalog, I came to the conclusion that the presence of Plath's initials on the drawing means that it was something she considered completed. For me, this makes the piece more special and precious. And for those drawings in the exhibition that look nearly complete or that are unfinished: what happened in Plath's life at the time of composition to distract her from completing the drawing? I suppose we will never know.
Plath describes her sketchbook briefly in her Journals. In the entry written from Benidorm on her honeymoon she writes about "Mr. and Mrs. Ted Hughes' Writing Table": "...a bottle of jet black ink, scrupulously screwed shut, a small sketch book of rag paper atop Ted's anthology of Spanish poems..." (259).
For other sketching references in Plath's Journals see pages 249, 554, 555, 558, 559, and 560. On page 558, Plath possibly describes this drawing when she writes "Sat once more in Tuileries to finish sketch." On page 559-560, Plath possibly describes this drawing, "Stopped by Seine in sun to sketch a harlequin-style kiosque which had taken my fancy near the Louvre: one of those round poster-stands in green with a mosque-like roof and colored pastel posters all around...I was turning back to finish my little sketch of which I was fonder than any I'd done..." And, on page 560, possibly this drawing, "...walked to Ile de la Citie and sat on a bench before the Palais de la Justice … in gray chill air sketching the Tabac and cafe opposite...heavy and structured in simple shaded geometric forms and designs..."
I scanned "Horse Chestnut," both sides, and you can see here the remaining bits of paper from the adhesive that used to "suspend" the drawing in mount in the frame. These have been removed and I did take a clean scan before having a custom frame made, and housing it on a mat board that is actually acid free, and within UV safe glass.
I love it. I love it more now than I did yesterday or even twenty minutes ago. Ever since I bought it, the lines from Plath's "Lady Lazarus" have been going through my mind...
"And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes."
There is a large charge. But it was a very small price to pay for a one of a kind document created -- with all her heart, thought, creativity, and concentration -- by Sylvia Plath.
If you have not already, please check out Plathery's recent post about "Still Life with Pots and Fruit."
Postscript: Homage to what Sylvia Plath believed
Today is the 49th anniversary of Sylvia Plath's death. The above was more about me than I am comfortable with, especially in a blog about Sylvia Plath, so I thought I would put down a selection of some of Sylvia Plath's beliefs from her Journals.
"someone believes I am a human being, not merely a name"
"I don't believe in God as a kind of father in the sky. I don't believe that the meek will inherit the earth."
"I believe I have kissed him once. Perhaps twice."
"I accept the idea of a creative marriage now as I never did before; I believe I could paint, write, and keep a home and husband."
"Believe in some beneficent force beyond your own limited self"
"to believe oneself imperfect & others perfect - This is true happiness" (from notes on Saint Teresa of Avila)
"Percy Key is dead...I find this difficult to believe."
In her poetry, Plath used the word "believe" only ten times. Most memorably, perhaps, is from from the incomparable "The Moon and the Yew Tree" : "How I would like to believe in tenderness."