LUDIC LOG

"Well, Dolf?"

"Adolf."

"Oh, honestly, Dolf. Must we stand on formality? Relax a little! Lighten up! Take a moment to enjoy your success."

"What success? There is no triumph here."

"Whatever do you mean, darling? The opening is a tremendous smash! Half of smart Vienna is here! You've already sold four pieces -- at a pretty price, too, I might add, even less my commission -- and we've scarcely been here an hour."

"This is the victory of the bourgeois, of the chattering classes. How I wish that I could have a taste of the true victory, of iron and blood on the battlefied."

"Dear me, Dolf. This intensity of yours...I know it informs your art but you really must learn to go easy. You don't want to offend your public."

"These? These are my public? Bah. There are too many..."

"Don't say it, darling."

"I don't see why not. I know it. You know it. They know it."

"But you mustn't say it, my dear fellow. They're the ones buying your pieces."

"Mmm. For all their parasitic ways, for their degradation of the national character, they do have an instinctive appreciation for watercolor."

"That's why they're simply mad for you, Dolf. You're the toast of the town. Well, except for that fat bore Coleccio."

"That fop! That tedious fool! I have a mind to..."

"You have a mind to keep your mouth shut if you want a good write-up in the Arts Journal next week. Coleccio is an influential man."

"He does not understand my art, the inferior southern ape. His degenerate people, with their greasy hair, sunk in wine in their ruined cities, flaunting of their uncontrollable impure libidos...they sicken me."

"Oh, I know, darling. Oh, it's Reichart, from the Zeitung! Smile, Dolf, he's taking photos."

"Not only can they not live up to the standards of true Aryan art, but they are precisely the sort that might sell out their allies in time of war. The sort who would float a weakened navy, follow a pompous and indecisive leader, and demonstrate total cowardice in the face of aggression."

"Yes, of course, dear man. Would it kill you to let that mustache grow out, Dolf? And don't part your hair like that. It's, you know. Fussy-looking."

"No guinea bastard will buy a painting of Hitler's! Debased guinea swine!"

"Shh, shh. I know. Look, there's Koenig."

"Bah. That decadent surrealist moron. I served with him in the Army. He never polished his boots."

"Well, it can't hurt to be nice to him. He's made quite a name for himself."

"Anyone who paints a green sky and yellow grass should be sterilized."

"Oh, you're so right, Dolf. That whole absurdist color-mixing conceit is so 1920."

"He is a cowardly, effete intellectual. He sickens me."

"Although sterilized might be a little harsh. Taken out of the really top gallery shows, to be sure."

"Sterilized! Or shot, I tell you!"

"You're so passionate about aesthetics, Dolf. Why did you take so long to have an opening."

"Honestly?"

"Well, of course, darling.

"Well, for a long time, Rudi, I thought about going into politics."

"Ha ha! Oh, really, Dolf! Politics? Goodness, dear. Stick with what you're good at."