Musings in Autumn: Elizabeth Gilbert
“There’s a power struggle going on across Europe these days. A few cities are competing against each other to see who shall emerge as the great 21st century European metropolis. Will it be London? Paris? Berlin? Zurich? Maybe Brussels, center of the young union? They all strive to outdo one another culturally, architecturally, politically, fiscally. But Rome, it should be said, has not bothered to join the race for status. Rome doesn’t compete. Rome just watches all the fussing and striving, completely unfazed. I am inspired by the regal self-assurance of this city, so grounded and rounded, so amused and monumental, knowing she is held securely in the palm of history. I would like to be like Rome when I am an old lady.”
A Poem for Today
“Advice to a Blue-Bird”
By Maxwell Bodenheim
Who can make a delicate adventure
Of walking on the ground?
Who can make grass-blades
Arcades for pertly careless straying?
You alone, who skim against these leaves,
Turning all desire into light whips
Moulded by your deep blue wing-tips,
You who shrill your unconcern
Into the sternly antique sky.
You to whom all things
Hold an equal kiss of touch.
Mincing, wanton blue-bird,
Grimace at the hoofs of passing men.
You alone can lose yourself
Within a sky, and rob it of its blue!
British Art – Kay Harwood
In the words of one writer, “Kay Harwood was born in Preston, Lancashire. She graduated in 2004 with a Masters Degree from the Royal Academy School of Painting. Her work consists of multi-scale portrait and landscape paintings with haunting and unsettling undertones.”
Musings in Autumn: Eckhart Tolle
“Watch any plant or animal and let it teach you acceptance of what is, surrender to the Now.
Let it teach you Being.
Let it teach you integrity — which means to be one, to be yourself, to be real.
Let it teach you how to live and how to die, and how not to make living and dying into a problem.”
Art for November – Part I of II: Hilda Morris
Below – “Muted Harp”
A Second Poem for Today
By Tom Thompson
Look, I’ve already ruined it
or it’s ruined me.
The dawn I see by doesn’t need me
like I need it
and any extra letters it brings.
What we call mountains
is a deep violet strip
narrowly rising and falling over the green.
You might call them clouds
and be right
or hand me something crisp
call it money or flowers
and set it alight.
Art for November – Part II of II: C.S. Price
Below – “Still Life: Vase of Flowers”
Musings in Autumn: Frances Trollope
“A single word indicative of doubt, that any thing, or every thing, in that country is not the very best in the world, produces an effect which must be seen and felt to be understood. If the citizens of the United States were indeed the devoted patriots they call themselves, they would surely not thus encrust themselves in the hard, dry, stubborn persuasion, that they are the first and best of the human race, that nothing is to be learnt, but what they are able to teach, and that nothing is worth having, which they do not possess.”
Musings in Autumn: Neil Gaiman
“There are some dogs which, when you meet them, remind you that, despite thousands of years of man-made evolution, every dog is still only two meals away from being a wolf. These dogs advance deliberately, purposefully, the wilderness made flesh, their teeth yellow, their breath a-stink, while in the distance their owners witter, “He’s an old soppy really, just poke him if he’s a nuisance,” and in the green of their eyes the red campfires of the Pleistocene gleam and flicker.”
Canadian Art – Lawrence A. C. Panton
In the words of one writer, “Lawrence Arthur Colley Panton was born in 1894 in England and immigrated to Canada at the age of seventeen. He served in the Army during World War I and undertook art studies in the evenings after his return from the war.
A painter, educator and academician, Panton was active in Toronto from the 1930s until his death. He began his career at the Rous and Mann printing company in Toronto, as a designer until 1924 when he began his teaching career. He first taught at the Central Technical School and then at Western Technical School from 1926 to 1937, followed by the Northern Vocational School from 1937 to 1951. He held the position of principal at the Ontario College of Art from 1951 to 1954.
Panton was active in a number of organizations, including the Ontario Society of Artists (President–1931–1937), the Canadian Society of Painter-Etchers and Engravers, the Canadian Group of Painters, The Royal Canadian Academy and the Arts and Letters Club (President–1953–1954).
Below – “Windswept”; “Woodland Scene”; “Silver Stream”; “Autumn Splendor”; “Autumn, Indian Harbour.”
A Third Poem for Today
“the night begins with sugar”
By Natasha Saje
Salt Lake City
here in our state of yes and smug
crystalline over mountains and horizon melt
such pretty clouds such drifting light
who is it enough for what kind of person
lives in this sweetness this clear
beauty and does not utter a single oh or no
or even I my hand clapped over my mouth my tongue caught by
what’s left in the right hand the dominant and clenched
what’s right in the left hand easily tossed
catching instead malaise a coma of indifference
swirling in our stunning vestibule
mourning the self just getting by
in a theocracy of pretense and defense
here in my state of smog and so what
Musings in Autumn: E.C. “Teddy Blue” Abbott
“They had very little grub and they usually run out of that and lived on straight beef; they had only three or four horses to the man, mostly with sore backs, because the old time saddle ate both ways, the horse’s back and the cowboy’s pistol pocket; they had no tents, no tarps, and damn few slickers. They never kicked, because those boys was raised under just the same conditions as there was on the trail―corn meal and bacon for grub, dirt floors in the houses, and no luxuries.
They used to brag they could go any place a cow could and stand anything a horse could. It was their life.
In person the cowboys were mostly medium-sized men, as a heavy man was hard on horses, quick and wiry, and as a rule very good natured; in fact it did not pay to be anything else. In character their like never was or will be again. They were intensely loyal to the outfit they were working for and would fight to the death for it. They would follow their wagon boss through hell and never complain. I have seen them ride into camp after two days and nights on herd, lay down on their saddle blankets in the rain, and sleep like dead men, then get up laughing and joking about some good time they had had in Ogallala or Dodge City. Living that kind of a life, they were bound to be wild and brave. In fact there was only two things the old-time cowpuncher was afraid of, a decent woman and being set afoot.”
Below – Frederic Remington: “The Stampede”
American Art – Part I of II: Nick Blosser
Artist Statement: “The subjects for [much of work] are places within the general area where I live in northeast Tennessee. . .I hope in these pieces I have extracted some of the particulars of the place each painting is based on, but I have also tried to not allow specific visual information to crowd out the internal response I had to each place. The drawings I use as sources for paintings are not so much about fact finding in process, as they are immediate responses to the personality of the chosen site. I then work toward getting something in the finished paintings that blends what I see with how I feel or associate with what I believe.”
Below – “Close Pine, Distant Pine”; “Woods in February”; “Long Shadows #2”; “Dark Limb”; “Landscape with Dandelions.”
A Fourth Poem for Today
By Leonora Speyer
They dip their wings in the sunset,
They dash against the air
As if to break themselves upon its stillness:
In every movement, too swift to count,
Is a revelry of indecision,
A furtive delight in trees they do not desire
And in grasses that shall not know their weight.
They hover and lean toward the meadow
With little edged cries;
As if frightened at the earth’s nearness,
They seek the high austerity of evening sky
And swirl into its depth.
Musings in Autumn: Harvey Broome
“I have thought that the word America must mean different things to the people who live under its aegis. I would that for each of them it might be symbolized by one — at least one — memory of some aspect of unspoiled nature. America — wide, far-reaching, insouciant — has been the amphitheater for our civilization. I wish each of us could appreciate its vast beauty, and could see how far the elements of our civilization fall short of the sheer majesty of our America.”
American Art – Part II of II: Joe Feddersen
In the words of one writer, “Joe Feddersen is a member of The Confederated Tribes Of The Colville Reservation and has exhibited internationally since the early 1980’s.
Joe Feddersen is an artist whose work explores the interrelationships between urban symbols and indigenous landscapes. A printmaker, basket maker, and glass artist, Feddersen combines contemporary materials with Native iconography to create powerful and evocative works.”
Below – “Floating Center”; “Hidden”; “Canoe Journey IV”; “Deluge”; “Rainbow Basket”; “Parking Lot with Stars.”