David Hollier

Blue Marilyn (Text: from "My Story" by Marilyn Monroe), 2022
Acrylic on Canvas
61 x 56 in
The bells rang. A hush fell over the set. The assistant director called, "Action!" I walked, smiled, waved my right hand and spoke. I was in the movies! I was one of those hundred to one shots - a "bit player." There were a dozen of us on the set, bit players, with a gesture to make and a line or two to recite. Some of them were veteran bit players. After ten years in the movies they were still saying one line and walking ten feet toward nowhere. A few were young and had nice bosoms. But I knew they were different from me. They didn't have my illusions. My illusions didn't have anything to do with being a new actress. I knew how third rate I was. I could actually feel my lack of talent, as if it were cheap clothes I was wearing inside. But, my God, how I wanted to learn! To change, to improve! I didn't want anything else. Not men, not money, not love, but the ability to act. With the arc lights on me and the camera pointed at me, I suddenly knew myself. How clumsy, empty, uncultured I was! A sullen orphan with a goose egg for a head. But I would change. I stood silent and staring. Men were smiling at me and trying to catch my eye. Not the actors or the director and his assistants. They were important people and important people try to catch the eye only of other important people. But the grips and electricians and the other healthy looking workmen had grinning friendly faces for me. I didn't return their grins. I was too busy being desperate. I had a new name, Marilyn Monroe. I had to get born. And this time better than before.