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Louise Brooks vs. the World: A Cosmic Tale of Horror and Beauty
"Currer Bell is neither man nor woman, but an abstract thing, an artist."
• Michael Garcia Mujica, Lead Educator in Arts and Film History.
Echoing the sentiment about Charlotte Brontë's pseudonymous voice, Michael lends his expertise not only as a writer and visual artist but also as a Lead Educator in arts and film history. Based in Coral Gables, Florida, he is the principal of Vintage Brooks, Inc., where he passionately revitalizes the legacy of silent film star Louise Brooks. His acclaimed blog, Naked on My Goat, serves as a living tribute to Brooks's enduring influence in film, her profound writing, and her broad appreciation for the arts.
Just as Brontë made an indelible mark in literature despite the societal constraints of her time, Michael accentuates Brooks's trailblazing spirit within the film industry. In his role, he ensures that Brooks's iconic voice continues to resonate within the cultural lexicon of the 21st century, celebrating the intricate victories of women in the arts, both past and present.
Explore more about the abstract persona of Charlotte Brontë in Michael's piece, "The Abstract Persona: Understanding Charlotte Brontë's Pseudonymous Journey as Currer Bell."
“I am satisfied that if a book is a good one, it is so whatever the sex of the author may be. All novels are or should be written for both men and women to read, and I am at a loss to conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be really disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man.”
• Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
• Michael Garcia Mujica, Lead Educator in Arts and Film History.
Echoing the sentiment about Charlotte Brontë's pseudonymous voice, Michael lends his expertise not only as a writer and visual artist but also as a Lead Educator in arts and film history. Based in Coral Gables, Florida, he is the principal of Vintage Brooks, Inc., where he passionately revitalizes the legacy of silent film star Louise Brooks. His acclaimed blog, Naked on My Goat, serves as a living tribute to Brooks's enduring influence in film, her profound writing, and her broad appreciation for the arts.
Just as Brontë made an indelible mark in literature despite the societal constraints of her time, Michael accentuates Brooks's trailblazing spirit within the film industry. In his role, he ensures that Brooks's iconic voice continues to resonate within the cultural lexicon of the 21st century, celebrating the intricate victories of women in the arts, both past and present.
Explore more about the abstract persona of Charlotte Brontë in Michael's piece, "The Abstract Persona: Understanding Charlotte Brontë's Pseudonymous Journey as Currer Bell."
“I am satisfied that if a book is a good one, it is so whatever the sex of the author may be. All novels are or should be written for both men and women to read, and I am at a loss to conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be really disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man.”
• Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
Latest posts by Michael Garcia Mujica (see all)
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- The Cult of Personality: Vincent Lesh and Thomas Gladysz - August 28, 2024
Within the brooding boroughs, where cobblestone corridors caught the caress of heaven’s tears and gas lamps glowed with ghostly gleams, Louise Brooks lingered like a vision from a bygone ballad. Her raven ringlets, rebelliously bobbed, billowed like the dark moors, and her gown, gracing her form as if woven by wistful winds, whispered tales of yore. She was an enchantress of emotions, an heiress of heartbeats, bewitched by the world’s whims.
But on a tempestuous twilight, whilst waltzing with a wandering wight, an eerie enigma enveloped her essence. The lilting lullabies of the orchestra ebbed, usurped by an uncanny undertone, and when she sought solace in the stranger’s sight, she saw not the softness of a suitor but the shadowy abyss of eternity. Dread danced in her depths, and she fled, desperate to distance herself from the doom.
Yet, the lurking lament latched onto her, its lamentation in every lash of the wind and lamenting droplet that lamented on her visage. And lo, she beheld it, an apparition amorphous, amalgamating into an abomination, a grotesque grotesquery with gnarling graspers and glowering gazes, a gullet gleaming with grim guillotines.
Louise Brooks, though bathed in the beauty of bygone days, bore the bravery of Brontë’s heroines. As the ghastly ghoul gravitated, her heart hammered a haunting hymn. Though her days had been drenched in decadence, she defied despair, determined to duel the dark demon desiring her demise.
But, behold! The beast balked, its baleful bulk baffled. And Louise, lit by a latent luminescence, laid her hand on its leviathan-like layer.
The tapestry of time tore, and Louise was launched into a limitless labyrinth. She sensed herself subsumed by the stars, swallowed by the sprawling span of space. And as she spiraled, she spied the shrinking sphere she once called home, the shimmering constellations, and the cryptic chasms of the cosmos.
And then, the visage of the vile villain veered into view. Yet, it vibrated with a veneer of victory.
For Louise Brooks had beheld the boundless, the bedrock beneath our banal being. She had faced the fathomless with fortitude and flair, even as it fused with her fate.
And thus, tranquility took her. For she was not merely Miss Brooks. She was the boundless, and the boundless was Brooks.