“Above all Picasso suffers from being taken too seriously. He recognizes this himself and it is one of the ironical themes of some of his drawings. The indignant take him too seriously because they attach too much importance to the mad prices his work fetch and so assume that he — instead of his hangers-on — is a racketeer. The ostentatiously tolerant take him too seriously because they forgive him his excesses on the ground that, when he wants to be, he is a great draughtsman. In fact this is untrue. His best drawings if compared to those of Géricault, Daumier or Goya appear brilliant but not profound. Picasso’s future reputation as a great artist would not, as it is so often said, be guaranteed by his realistic works alone. The enthusiastic take him too seriously because they believe that every mark he has made, the date on which he made it and the address he happened to be living at, are of sacred significance.”
A thirteen-year-old is a kaleidoscope of different personalities, if not in most ways a mere figment of her own imagination. At that age, what and who you are depends largely on what book you happen to be reading at the moment. You are the yellow-haired, skinny little heroine of The Secret Garden, slowly adjusting to the rigorous disciplines of English country life after being pampered by your devoted Indian ayah. You are a Brontë sister—not Anne, not Charlotte, more likely Emily—pouring out your wild genius on the lonely moor. You are Elizabeth Barrett Browning on her sickbed, great luminous eyes staring from an emaciated face, the helpless victim of a narrow-minded, vengeful father—but your iron will is capable of triumphing over his petty tyranny in the end. You are Jane Eyre, painfully thin and pale of face but steadfast in spirit, able to withstand the cruelty of the hateful Reeds and in the end, after their downfall, to forgive them. For a day or two you might be a tall, serious, dark-eyed sixth-form prefect out of one of Angela Brazil’s school stories, adored by the smaller girls, and, though full of human little faults, pride and joy of the headmistress. Sometimes you are even Clara Bow, the “It” girl, stirring thousands with your warm beauty and throaty voice; or the mysterious Swedish spellbinder, Greta Garbo.
From Jessica Mitford’s memoir Hons and Rebels.
“If I was going to be a woman, I would want to be as beautiful as possible. And they said to me, ‘Uh, that’s as beautiful as we can get you.’ And I went home and started crying to my wife, and I said, ‘I have to make this picture.’ And she said, ‘Why?’ And I said, ‘Because I think I’m an interesting woman when I look at myself on screen, and I know that if I met myself at a party, I would never talk to that character because she doesn’t fulfill, physically, the demands that we’re brought up to think that women have to have in order for us to ask them out.’ She says, ‘What are you saying?’ and I said, ‘There’s too many interesting women I have not had the experience to know in this life because I have been brainwashed.’ It was not what it felt like to be a woman. It was what it felt like to be someone that people didn’t respect, for the wrong reasons. I know it’s a comedy. But comedy’s a serious business.”