American Art – Part I of IV: Nancy Colella
In the words of one writer, “Nancy was a painting major at Muskingum College and graduated with a BA in Art Education, then continued her studies at the Aegean School of Fine Arts in Paros, Greece and at the Instituto de Allende in San Miquel Mexico. After a career in the Hospitality business and while raising her two children, she began studying again at Mass College of Art in Boston, MA and at the North River Arts Society in Marshfield Hills, MA. She has studied with numerous contemporary impressionist painters; Charles Sovek, Peggi Kroll Roberts, Ken Auster, Kim English, Colin Page, Carol Marine and Karin Jurick, to name a few. She is a gallery artist and faculty member at the South Shore Art Center in Cohasset, MA the North River Arts Society in Marshfield, Hill, Ma. and a Copley Artist at the Copley Society in Boston. Nancy lives in Norwell, MA with her husband and yellow lab Cello.”
Reflections in Summer: Ansel Adams
“In wisdom gathered over time I have found that every experience is a form of exploration.”
A Poem for Today
“California Hills in August”
By Dana Gioia
I can imagine someone who found
these fields unbearable, who climbed
the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust,
cracking the brittle weeds underfoot,
wishing a few more trees for shade.
An Easterner especially, who would scorn
the meagerness of summer, the dry
twisted shapes of black elm,
scrub oak, and chaparral, a landscape
August has already drained of green.
One who would hurry over the clinging
thistle, foxtail, golden poppy,
knowing everything was just a weed,
unable to conceive that these trees
and sparse brown bushes were alive.
And hate the bright stillness of the noon
without wind, without motion.
the only other living thing
a hawk, hungry for prey, suspended
in the blinding, sunlit blue.
Reflections in Summer: John Fowles
From the Music Archives: Claude Debussy
Born 22 August 1862 – Claude Debussy, a French composer.
Reflections in Summer: Christopher McCandless
“The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.”
American Art – Part II of IV: Chelsea Gibson
Artist Statement: “I observe human forms and relationships with fascination, awareness, empathy, and frustration. The human figure allows me to use my painterly hand and see more abstract forms – making it possible to paint with other issues in mind. A bunch of triangles becomes an arm; wallpaper becomes scribbles; a knee a line. Objectivity creates intimacy and distance simultaneously. Seeing subtle formal phenomena and having a very accurate imagination play a large part in my painting how a person is. My hope is that even a stranger can become intensely known to the viewer.”
Reflections in Summer: George Eliot
“But the beginning of things, of a world especially, is necessarily vague, chaotic, and exceedingly disturbing. How few of us ever emerge from such beginning! How many souls perish in its tumult! The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation.
The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.” – Kate Chopin, American novelist, short story writer, and author of “The Story of an Hour” and “The Awakening,” who died 22 August 1904.
Some quotes from the work of Kate Chopin:
“Perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one’s life.”
“The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth.”
“She was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.”
“There were days when she was very happy without knowing why. She was happy to be alive and breathing, when her whole being seemed to be one with the sunlight, the color, the odors, the luxuriant warmth of some perfect Southern day. She liked then to wander alone into strange and unfamiliar places. She discovered many a sunny, sleepy corner, fashioned to dream in. And she found it good to dream and to be alone and unmolested.
There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know why—when it did not seem worth while to be glad or sorry, to be alive or dead; when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium and humanity like worms struggling blindly toward inevitable annihilation.”
“She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself.”
Reflections in Summer: Karen Blixen
American Art – Part III of IV: Virginia Derryberry
In the words of one critic, “Virginia Derryberry’s work is shown regularly in exhibitions throughout the United States in such venues as the Carnegie Museum of Art, Forum Gallery, NYC, the London Institute of Art, the Federal Reserve Board in Washington, DC, the Gelb Gallery at Phillips Academy, MA, the Museum of Contemporary Art of Georgia, the Morris Museum of Art, the Erie Museum of Art, and the Southeastern Center for Contemporary Art.”
Reflections in Summer: Beryl Markham
“There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing. There is the silence that comes with morning in a forest, and this is different from the silence of a sleeping city. There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same. There is the silence of emptiness, the silence of fear, the silence of doubt. There is a certain silence that can emanate from a lifeless object as from a chair lately used, or from a piano with old dust upon its keys, or from anything that has answered to the need of a man, for pleasure or for work. This kind of silence can speak. Its voice may be melancholy, but it is not always so; for the chair may have been left by a laughing child or the last notes of the piano may have been raucous and gay. Whatever the mood or the circumstance, the essence of its quality may linger in the silence that follows. It is a soundless echo.”
“Man is unique not because he does science, and he is unique not because he does art, but because science and art equally are expressions of his marvelous plasticity of mind.” – Jacob Bronowski, Polish-English mathematician, biologist, historian of science, poet, dramatist, inventor, and author of “The Ascent of Man” (both the book and the BBC television documentary series), who died on 22 August 1974.
Some quotes from Jacob Bronowski:
“Man masters nature not by force but by understanding. This is why science has succeeded where magic failed: because it has looked for no spell to cast over nature.”
“Dissent is the native activity of the scientist, and it has got him into a good deal of trouble in the last years. But if that is cut off, what is left will not be a scientist. And I doubt whether it will be a man.”
“Has there ever been a society which has died of dissent? Several have died of conformity in our lifetime.”
“It is important that students bring a certain ragamuffin, barefoot irreverence to their studies; they are not here to worship what is known, but to question it.”
“To me, being an intellectual doesn’t mean knowing about intellectual issues; it means taking pleasure in them.”
“No science is immune to the infection of politics and the corruption of power.”
“That is the essence of science: ask an impertinent question, and you are on the way to a pertinent answer.”
“Science has nothing to be ashamed of even in the ruins of Nagasaki. The shame is theirs who appeal to other values than the human imaginative values which science has evolved.”
“The values by which we are to survive are not rules for just and unjust conduct, but are those deeper illuminations in whose light justice and injustice, good and evil, means and ends are seen in fearful sharpness of outline.”
“You will die but the carbon will not; its career does not end with you. It will return to the soil, and there a plant may take it up again in time, sending it once more on a cycle of plant and animal life.”
Reflections in Summer: Trenton Lee Stewart
A Second Poem for Today
“Boats in a Fog,”
By Robinson Jeffers
Sports and gallantries, the stage, the arts, the antics of dancers,
The exuberant voices of music,
Have charm for children but lack nobility; it is bitter earnestness
That makes beauty; the mind
Knows, grown adult.
A sudden fog-drift muffled the ocean,
A throbbing of engines moved in it,
At length, a stone’s throw out, between the rocks and the vapor,
One by one moved shadows
Out of the mystery, shadows, fishing-boats, trailing each other
Following the cliff for guidance,
Holding a difficult path between the peril of the sea-fog
And the foam on the shore granite.
One by one, trailing their leader, six crept by me,
Out of the vapor and into it,
The throb of their engines subdued by the fog, patient and
Coasting all round the peninsula
Back to the buoys in Monterey harbor. A flight of pelicans
Is nothing lovelier to look at;
The flight of the planets is nothing nobler; all the arts lose virtue
Against the essential reality
Of creatures going about their business among the equally
Earnest elements of nature.
Reflections in Summer: Jean Toomer
“You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.” – Ray Bradbury, American writer of fantasy, science fiction, horror, and mystery and author of “Fahrenheit 451,” “The Illustrated Man,” and “Dandelion Wine,” who was born 22 August 1920.
Some quotes from the work of Ray Bradbury:
“Stuff your eyes with wonder, he said, live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.”
“If we listened to our intellect we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go in business because we’d be cynical: ‘It’s gonna go wrong.’ Or ‘She’s going to hurt me.’ Or, ‘I’ve had a couple of bad love affairs, so therefore . . .’ Well, that’s nonsense. You’re going to miss life. You’ve got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.”
“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.
It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”
“With school turning out more runners, jumpers, racers, tinkerers, grabbers, snatchers, fliers, and swimmers instead of examiners, critics, knowers, and imaginative creators, the word ‘intellectual,’ of course, became the swear word it deserved to be.”
“Learning to let go should be learned before learning to get. Life should be touched, not strangled. You’ve got to relax, let it happen at times, and at others move forward with it.”
“Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can’t ‘try’ to do things. You simply ‘must’ do things.”
“A good night’s sleep, or a ten minute bawl, or a pint of chocolate ice cream, or all three together, is good medicine.”
“The books are to remind us what asses and fools we are. They’re Caesar’s praetorian guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, ‘Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal.’ Most of us can’t rush around, talking to everyone, know all the cities of the world, we haven’t time, money or that many friends. The things you’re looking for, Montag, are in the world, but the only way the average chap will ever see ninety-nine per cent of them is in a book. Don’t ask for guarantees. And don’t look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore.”
“If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you’ll never learn.”
“I still love books. Nothing a computer can do can compare to a book. You can’t really put a book on the Internet. Three companies have offered to put books by me on the Net, and I said, ‘If you can make something that has a nice jacket, nice paper with that nice smell, then we’ll talk.’ All the computer can give you is a manuscript. People don’t want to read manuscripts. They want to read books. Books smell good. They look good. You can press it to your bosom. You can carry it in your pocket.”
“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.”
Reflections in Summer: Eric Liddell
Back from the Territory – Art: Jaw Pootoogook
Jaw Pootoogook is in an Inuit Sculptor.
Back from the Territory, I share this with you, before I light out again.
Reflections in Summer: Sean O’Casey
American Art – Part IV of IV: Arthur Day
Arthur Day (born 1923) grew up in suburban New Jersey. Following a tenure in the Navy during World War II, he became active in international politics. His life as a painter began in 1985, when in the words of one writer, he studied oil and watercolor painting at the Art Student’s League of New York.