Subcultural engagement for the 21st Century...
Barbelith is a new kind of community (find out more)...
You can login or register.

Underground > Creation >

Group Writing Exercise: The Luncheon of the Boating Party

15:10 / 23.05.03

Look at this painting by Auguste Renoir.

(Click here for a larger view.)

Fourteen people (and a dog). Make them speak.

[More thoughts edited from the abstract to help clarify what you're supposed to do: Now pick one figure—describe his/her dress and position, so we know who is speaking—and give us a dramatic monologue: 200 words in his/her voice. Could be interior, could be speaking to another character; if the latter, indicate to whom. Individual monologues may or may not interact as the exercise progresses: as you enter the game, try to honor what has come before even as you introduce new elements.]

17:27 / 27.05.03

The dude on the far left has the best story to tell, I think. The easiest, anyway.

Whisky Priestess

17:32 / 27.05.03

You make them speak first ... how about reintroducing Little Enzo? I liked him.

And if you like that game, you'll probably rather like
this book

(written by a friend of mine, but good nonetheless)

18:55 / 27.05.03

199 words, fellow in the brown, dead center:

With a laugh, she declares she can take pictures without a camera, or paints, or pastels. This charms me, like most things about her. I agree to sit for a portrait. She arranges me like an artist setting a model, tells me to stay upright but comfortable, and then gazes at me from a good distance -- leaning against the railing not four feet from my face.

It is, like many things about her, magical.

Gradually, the bustle and noise of the others around us fade into whiteness. There is only her, her eyes on mine, her overripe lips pulled into a knowing half-smile. Behind her, the boats sail as through a fog, or better, a dense, miasmal steam. There is in this moment something tropical and adventurous. I am torn from this place and brought to some far port of call, buoyed on the warm wind of her promises.

From behind her beer glass, her friend stares at me too. She may be aware of this game, she may have seen it played with other lovers, but this concerns me not at all, for I am fixed, here and now, an ungainly, exotic creature in the warm, glass prison of her eyes.

20:21 / 27.05.03

The girl drinking almost centre, being looked at by the man to her left, our right.

Oh lord. Here again. I was hoping to just stay home with mother and, really, I wish I had. Louisa's friends are too much for me but she always persuades me that I'll like it. And she's always wrong.

*Glances left and smiles*

I can't work out whether he's actually being flattering or just feels he ought to be because I'm Louisa's friend. Either way, I'm glad that he's attentive. As usual, I've failed to start conversation with anyone else here. I ought to stop drinking this wine, but I'm so bored. I wonder if there's more chicken over there?

14:05 / 28.05.03

178 words, (hope this bit is obvious from the text), woman front left with dog, being looked at by man front right.

Aline was striving to ignore the artist by playing with the dog. His woozy smile bobbed over the wine bottles towards her. Her hat, which she’d lovingly strung with bright flowers that morning, afforded her no protection. And she hardly dared glance at his bare arms. The thought of them provoked the prickle of a blush on her cheeks. Noticing this, his quiet smile broadened.

Aline gripped Louisa’s little dog tighter and waggled its front paws up and down in a dance. “What a darling.” she cooed. Under her fingers, she felt the dog’s heart thrumming along. It blinked up at her nervously, tongue flashing up to wet its nose. Pouting, she blew him a kiss in return. With a whimper the dog began to struggle its way out of her grasp. “Oh, wretched creature!” she laughed in delight.

Feeling somewhat more collected Aline stole another glance at the artist. Yes. He was still looking at her. Discovering abruptly that her hands were now unoccupied, she reached out across the table for more wine and turned towards the lake.

14:58 / 28.05.03

Chap right at the back, looks like he has sone kind of brown cape and possibly a hat or a very poor hair-do

Well, I must say, that filly young Louisa has brought along is mighty handsome. Mighty handsome indeed. Have I seen her at one of these soirees before? Quiet type. Always looks like she wants to be somewhere else. Probably doesn't realise that everyone's casting sly glances her way.

And now that utter, utter cad Robert is talking to her. I can imagine just what he's saying as well. "Oh, your eyes are so beautiful". "That dress - it must have been so expensive". "Your hat is divine".

And all I do is sit here, and smoke, and watch. One day I shall get to her first. One day I shall speak to her. For now... another smoke, and perhaps a glass of something chilled.

Whisky Priestess

15:15 / 28.05.03

excellent, excellent ...

17:19 / 28.05.03

Woman to the far right, talking to two fellows, seems somewhat perturbed

Good God, dead? He can't be dead. I was with him only this morning. Only...Oh good lord. When he told me he loved me. I thought he was just being typically sentimental, always is when he's hungover but...Oh no. Oh, no. What if it's...The gambling. The debts. The bloody idiot! Why couldn't he have told me, my father's paid before, why did he have to pick now to be shy about it? Damn him. Bastard. Stupid, sentimental bloody bastard. I would have paid. I would have paid. Oh god...I would have paid...

Oh God, what the hell am I going to do now? How the fuck do I get out of here?

09:34 / 30.05.03

The dog (well, someone had to do it)

Oh mon monsieur! Je ne peux pas croire que je sens cette voie d'un être humain! Mais si elle continue à me tenir en haut par mes pieds de devant et frotter mes régions inférieures contre sa blouse blanche fraîche, je crains que j'aille avoir peu de mort partout son coffre(poitrine)! Comment mortifiant pour un chien de ma position. Je ne serai jamais capable de soutenir ma tête haut dans les parcs et les avenues de Paris de nouveau! Je soupçonne que quelqu'un a mis du vin dans ma boule d'eau.

12:44 / 30.05.03

Ah ha ha ha.

Oh my Mister! I cannot believe only I feel this way of a human being! But if it continues to hold me in top by my feet of front and to rub my lower areas against its fresh white blouse, I fear that I will have little death everywhere his coffre(poitrine)! How mortifying for a dog of my position. I will be never able to support my head high in the parks and the avenues of Paris again! I suspect that somebody put wine in my water ball.

Ah ha ha.

I love Babel Fish.

Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

13:09 / 30.05.03

Yes, it lost a little something in translation on the way into Babel Fish, and has come out the other way quite ridiculous, but you get the idea. And possibly that's just how a dog's internal monologue reads anyway.

13:37 / 30.05.03

Machine translation, and Babel Fish in particular, is notorious for producing results of unintentional hilarity. And given that the source text wasd pretty goddam funny for starters... well, it's just a beaut.

You people are fabulous. Let's have more!

09:13 / 03.06.03

Yes, more. I'm particularly interested in what the chap with the ridiculous hat on, squeezed into the right corner between two other blokes, has to say for himself.

14:07 / 03.06.03

bloke with hat

"i dont think you should be so quick to refuse, madame. i am regulalry spoken of in those circles within which abilities such as mine are prized. i assure you that if you were to hand your soul and your womanhood to me, that you would return to your husband unsatisfied to a murderous degree."

woman whose sshoulder he is hanging over

"i'm sorry, do we know you?"

06:58 / 18.03.04

The painting thread in Art and Design prompted me to bump this up. More, please!

13:20 / 18.03.04

I can't figure out who Toksik meant so I hope I'm not contradicting him. This builds off Mr Mesey's post, the artist (foreground lower right) talking to Aline (with dog). I assume the redhead in the white hat is Louisa. 165 words.

"Mademoiselle, the light. I beg you do not move. O sun, I beg you attend this spot but a few moments more. I am captive. I soar. I feel my feet upon the skin of planets Racine had never known.

"Ah, a jesting cloud ends the vision. Mademoiselle, you blush. You have my apologies, I was not myself. Louisa? She did not hear. These words were drawn for us alone.

"You refer to Louisa and I. That is no longer, I assure you. Listen, her laugh tickles the air. She does not hear how I, beside, describe her. I fear she has not heard my words for some time. Vichy leans close. She does not turn to him. She is nonetheless enrapt.

"I am the hand whose crops chose not to grow. I am the thought that laid hope low. Nature daubed this scene with paint, Nature cast this vision's fall. And now you must excuse me dear, for I think I'm hearing Nature's call."

.

22:03 / 18.03.04

Ok, the guy at the back with the brown cap, talking to the bearded character with top hat.

" I'm a simple chap, sir, I ain't got no understanding of 'igh society ways. "

" Yes, yes, but my good fellow... " tips wink, hands over a sovereign " We're all men of the world... Is it entirely out of the question for... perhaps a short tete a tete to be arranged ? A mere chance meeting, when... when the weather's inclement, what ? In these cold Autumn days, when a man's bones can get chilled, and a carriage, warm fire, might seem pretty damn tempting, mm ? "

" Well sir... "

" Damn yer eyes, lad ! Y'know what I mean ! "

" Sir, I... "

" I see... I see. " Pauses " Perhaps I spoke out of turn... " Strokes beard, thinks again " But see here, boy, I must have what I want. "

" Sir, " obsequious, quite flashy, fairly broken-toothed grin " I understand. "

" Mm, good. "

" Five minutes then sir ? "

" Yes. Because if that bloody dog isn't delivered to me gamekeeper's lodge very, very shortly, you're on the boat to Australia, my good man ! "

" Oh... Er, good enough sir... "

The Tower Always Falls

22:51 / 29.03.04

Top right corner. Man in the top hat directly facing the perturbed woman

Lord save me from these parties with their gratuitous displays of eccentricity.

Honestly, I understand that family obligations occasionally must trample over good sense, but does Constance have to drag us to every gathering of these profligate thespians and self-supposed "artistes" and revolutionaries that her sister feels fit to court? I don't think I've ever seen any of these self-styled bohemians do anything besides talk about their "movements" and "art", rather than create anything.

Perhaps it’s petty, but I can’t help but relay the story I heard at the business club about that syphilitic gambler they dredged out of the river. I recall meeting him once at one of these ridiculous functions. The boy fancied himself a composer, I recall. All a horrible cacophony of sounds that complimented his un-informed political stances. Good riddance I say.

I doubt Louisa’s father would appreciate how his daughter is spending her stipend. Perhaps I should address the issue with him when Constance and I go over for our Sunday brunch tomorrow…

Oh dear. It appears my anecdote about that dead ne’er-do-well has upset my wife. Women and their delicate constitutions.

What did that fool in the hat just say to my wife?

199 words! squuueeeeaak!

05:08 / 31.03.04

Bloke top left, looking apparently into the distance... 199 words

Such a fine day. *deep inhale* I, Vichy, survey the scene, aloof and alone.

Ah, Frederick, attempting to capture the attentions of Aline once again. Though she ignores his advances as per usual. He casts such disspirited glances my way. Does he fear I will steal her? Such a laugh, I would steal him before her. But never will it be. *sigh*

Over yonder the Marquis has pinned that boy into a corner. He is such an uncouth man. Always thinking with his smaller brain. It will be the death of him one day.

I remember when I was one of his ‘conquests’. Young and naïve I was, new to the city. Such a strange hidden world he opened to me. I thought it the most marvelous discovery. Until the Marquis found a new plaything and I was discarded like so many others…

I thought it was love. I had never loved or been loved before. Desperately I tried to win back his affections, to no avail. If only I knew then what I have seen of him through the years. I would have laughed. He has no heart to win, no soul.

It was all so long ago...