Box Turtle Bulletin

The Daily Agenda for Monday, May 16

TODAY’S AGENDA:
It’s a very light day today and nothing much happened on this day in history, but the birthdays are fabulous.

Tamara de Lempicka (top) and "Auto-Portrait (Tamara in the Green Bugatti)," 1925 (bottom)

TODAY’S BIRTHDAYS:
Tamara de Lempicka: 1898. The polish Art Deco painter known as “la belle Polonaise,” she personified the glamor of the Great Gatsby society of the interwar years. In 1978, The New York Times called her the “Steel-eyed goddess of the automobile age.” Her famous self-portrait, Auto-Portrait (Tamara in the Green Bugatti) portrayed a woman who was utterly free, independent, and self-assured. Automobiles provided women with a freedom and mobility that they had never known before, and the portrait’s depiction of a 400 horsepower Bugatti added raw speed and power to the mix. During the roaring twenties, Tamara lived the bohemian life in Paris, hanging out with Pablo Picasso, Jean Cocteau, and André Gide. She was famously, infamously bisexual, and she was uncompromising in her very public affairs in a way that was scandalous at the time. She reveled in it. “I live on the fringe of society,” she announced, “and the rules of normal society have no currency for those on the fringe.”

In 1928, she earned a commission to paint a portrait of the mistress of Baron Raoul Kuffner. By the time she was finished, she replaced the mistress’s position, and eventually became Kuffner’s wife in 1933. In 1939, the couple took an “extended vacation” to America, and ended up staying through the Second World War, where she became a favorite in Hollywood. But by the time the War ended, her style was no longer popular. She switched from using a brush to a pallet knife, but critics savaged her work. She retired from active painting in 1962, determined never to show her work again.

In subsequent years, she not only complained that the paints and materials were now inferior to the “old days,” but that people in the 1970s lacked the qualities and “breeding” that inspired her art. After her husband died, she moved to Cuernevaca, Mexico in 1978 to rejoin the society of aging artists and aristocrats. By then, the art world was rediscovering the Art Deco era and her paintings were rediscovered and became highly sought after. She died in 1980, and her ashes were scattered over the volcano Popocatepetl.

Top: Liberace's signed photo to his mother. He was always Walter to her. Bottom: Liberace's transparent closet.

Liberace: 1919. Born Wladziu Valentino Liberace, he was known as Lee to his friends, Walter to his family, and Liberace to everyone else. His father, a french horn player, loved music but his mother saw it as an unfordable luxury. His father prevailed, taking his children to concerts and insisting on excellence in their music lessons. Liberace later recalled, “My dad’s love and respect for music created in him a deep determination to give as his legacy to the world, a family of musicians dedicated to the advancement of the art.”

On “Mr. Showmanship’s” terms, the advancement of the art took on an entirely new meaning. The word “synonymous” doesn’t do justice to the connection between Liberace’s name and flamboyance. He raised eyebrows by wearing a relatively simple white tuxedo at the Hollywood Bowl in 1952, and he continued to wear it so he could be easily seen in darkened concert halls. But it didn’t take long before that gave way to sequined jackets, then entire rhinestone-encrusted, fur-trimmed monstrosities that were “just one tuck short of drag,” as he put it. In the 1950’s he installed a pexiglass lid on his piano so as to not obstruct the view; by the 1960s his pianos were often encrusted with jewels and mirrors. And then there was the candelabrum. Always the rococo candelabrum. His entrances at the start of his Las Vegas shows were legendary. Sometimes he’d step out of  a sequined limousine that rolled onto stage, sometimes he flew in by invisible wires. After making a grand runway walk, he’d hold out his arms to show off his outfit and yet, “I hope you like it! You paid for it!” The audience roared back their approval.

He was as out as any closeted gay man could possible be, and as closeted as every fearful performer was determined to be. But the difference between Liberace and everyone else is that, his verbal denials aside — he even sued London’s Daily Mirror in 1956 when they questioned his sexuality in print and, incredibly, won! — he didn’t otherwise put a lot of effort into trying to fool his audience while on stage. Art critic Dave Hickey, in his essay “A Rhinestone as Big As The Ritz,” I think, put it best:

He never came out of the closet; he lived in it like the grand hypocrite that he was, and died in it, of a disease he refused to acknowledge. But neither, in fact, did Wilde come out of it, and he, along with Swineburn and their Belle Époque cronies, probably invented the closet as a mode of subversive public/private existence. Nor did Noel Coward come out of it. He tricked it up with the smoke and mirrors of leisure-class ennui and cloaked it in public-school double entendre. What Liberace did do, however, was Americanize the closet, democratize it, fit it out with transparent walls, and take it up on stage and demand our complicity in his “open secret.” …”A bit like cousin Ed, ain’t he,” my grandfather said. Getting it but not saying it.

In 1982, Scott Thorson, Liberace’s 24-year-old bodyguard, limo driver, and boyfriend of five years sued Liberace for $113 million in palimony after they broke up, but wound up settling for a pittance. Liberace’s closet remained sealed right up until he died in 1987. The official cause of death was cardiac arrest due to congestive heart failure brought on by subacute encephalopath. Before he died, Hank Greenspun, publisher of the Las Vegas Sun, wrote in a front-page story that Liberace had AIDS. Greenspun said he had known Liberace for 40 years and that he had the medical records, laboratory reports and other documentation to prove it. Liberace and his handlers stood by their denials, and Wikipedia still has an entire section devoted to his “alleged homosexuality” to this very day.

Tonéx: 1975. Born Anthony Charles Williams II, the preacher’s kid, gospel rapper, producer and preacher himself, Tonéx’s first release, Pronounced Toe-Nay, was sold mainly out of the trunk of his car. The eclectic mix of hip-hop, funk, jazz, mellow grooves, and soul-style gospel quickly caught on and garnered the attention of major gospel labels. While his music had cross-over appeal into secular markets, Tonéx remained committed to making gospel music. His 2004 double CD Out The Box debuted at number one on Billboard’s Gospel Album chart, and featured Kirk Franklin and Prince percussionist Sheila E.

But that same year, things started to unravel. His father died, forcing him to take on the responsibility of becoming senior pastor of their family’s church. He also divorced his wife of 5 years and was sued by his record label for one million dollars citing breach of contract. That led to Tonéx’s announcement that he would retire gospel music, “an industry that is only built to make money, not heal broken souls.” He continued to record, produce and appear in the San Diego cast of Dreamgirls. When he publicly came out as gay in 2010, his transformation was complete, and he officially retired his stage name, restyled TON3X, shortly after.

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