Life, 1913-04-10 · page 28 of 48
Life — April 10, 1913 — page 28: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This humorous poem by John Kendrick Bangs mocks early 20th-century avant-garde art movements—specifically Cubism and Futurism. The joke centers on the absurdity of these new styles through an exaggerated love story between a "Cubist" and a "Matisse Maid" (referencing Henri Matisse, a Fauvist painter). The satire works by describing their romance and baby using the distorted, geometrically fragmented language of Cubist art: unnatural colors ("pea-green," "yellow"), broken perspectives ("slatted arms," "bow-knot neck"), and emotional descriptions rendered as visual oddities ("mauve tomato," "terra cotta torso"). The punchline—their baby is a "perfect little blockhead" with mismatched colors and shapes—suggests that Cubism produces ugly, incomprehensible results. The accompanying crude illustration of a geometric head reinforces the mockery. This reflects widespread public and critical skepticism about modernist art in the 1910s-1920s, when such movements seemed baffling and pretentious to conventional audiences.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
A Cubist HE Cubist married the Matisse Maid— A Post-Futurist marriage— And honeymooning went, ‘tis said, In a wheelless, horseless carriage. A lovely picture was the bride. She carried pea-green tulips; Her neck was in a bow-knot tied, And brilliant were her blue lips. He gazed with wonder on her grace. “Ah, how my being tingles! He cried. “Some day I'll paint that face, And bring out all the shingles.” She gave him O so sweet a smile— 'Twas like a mauve tomato— And on her cheek there came, the while, The tint of the potato. “T love you, Cubey dear,” she said, “As fish-hooks love the rushes. Then shyly hung on biased head To hide her yellow blushes. FURNISHED ROOM 10 LET Romance “T love you as the horseflies love The eagle, only more so!” And shed some sepia tears above His terra cotta torso. He clasped her in his slatted arms, And, heedless of reproofing, He sang her highly colored charms In terms suggesting roofing. He painted them in dull dun-brown In accents far from stolid, And when he'd got the last one down Not one but was a solid. oe ee A year passed by, and then there came The harvest! Quien sabe! The parents catalogued the same As just “A CUBIST BABY It had red ears, green lips, blue hair Upon its little shock head, With slats and shingles everywhere— A perfect little blockhead. John Kendrick Bangs. oi, VY SB Oh, could you view the melody Of every grace And music of her face. Richard Lovelace. comicbooks.com stron cartivrun.resrviasimesarerie: | § E E £ § ‘- é c= é E E E : E E iS :: i: : f E F E E : e FE: i: f: § F RWHAARANAMNTLTTh