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[48] GirL At PiAnO A high point in her act: rings of blue smoke swirl above her head like kisses floating off a palm, or like balloons of varnished silk that stretch and lift her toward a parting draft. A mix of comic strip and something raw that worked in Lichtenstein’s pastiche of lines and polka dots; yet, somehow, coming from her lips these figures make us shift and sip — and sip again. What is it makes us look away as if remembering things to do at home? is it the clear distinction: what she sings and what she knows? that unexpected nimbus of true thought? easier, no doubt, to look through little comic blocks, dream-like and Byzantine — present, yet one remove from present scenes. There’s a snake lurking in the grass. —Virgil, Eclogue III ...

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