Musings in December: J. Richard Singleton
“I love Las Vegas because it’s the one city less classy than Los Angeles.”
Art in December – Part I of III: Stacy D’Aguiar
Below – “Origin”
A Poem for Today
From “Fresh Oil and Loose Gravel”
By Brian D’Ambrosia
a brace of children,
rusted skeleton keys,
plastic cauliflower bags,
business cards of business-card printers,
a mound of used airmail envelopes.
Old house on moving day,
all echoes and loneliness.
Art in December – Part II of III: Minghua Nie
Below – “My World”
Musings in December: tsegaye gebre medhin
“… walk in the footprints of his ancestors. This land is a museum of man’s ancient history. The American has gone to the moon and found dust, he’s going farther away to look for other planets, very good. But know thyself first. That is what I would tell my American friend.”
Art in December – Part III of III: Andrea Rushing
Below – “Home from the Front”
Musings in December: Jonathan Franzen
“Walter had never liked cats. They’d seemed to him the sociopaths of the pet world, a species domesticated as an evil necessary for the control of rodents and subsequently fetishized the way unhappy countries fetishize their militaries, saluting the uniforms of killers as cat owners stroke their animals’ lovely fur and forgive their claws and fangs. He’d never seen anything in a cat’s face but simpering incuriosity and self-interest; you only had to tease one with a mouse-toy to see where it’s true heart lay…cats were all about using people.”
Canadian Art – Eduard Gurevich
In the words of one writer, “The artist Eduard Gurevich came to Toronto from the Ukraine in order to paint the natural splendor of landscapes in Canada. He paints in a manner that reminds clients of stained glass.”
Below – “Lost in Snow”; “Who Is To Say?”; “One Spring Morning”; “Crazy Beautiful”; “No Fragments, Please”; “Not Alone.”
Musings in December: Jonathan Heatt
“There is no more contemptible sound than a gunshot.”
A Second Poem for Today
By Laurence Alma-Tadema
In summer I am very glad
We children are so small,
For we can see a thousand things
That men can’t see at all.
They don’t know much about the moss
And all the stones they pass:
They never lie and play among
The forests in the grass:
They walk about a long way off;
And, when we’re at the sea,
Let father stoop as best he can
He can’t find things like me.
But, when the snow is on the ground
And all the puddles freeze,
I wish that I were very tall,
High up above the trees.
Musings in December: David Treuer
“To understand American Indians is to understand America. This is the story of the paradoxically least and most American place in the twenty-first century. Welcome to the Rez.”
American Art – Part I of II: H. Leung
In the words of one writer, “Born on May 14, 1933, in Canton, China, Ken H. Leung moved to Hong Kong in 1945 to become involved in the city’s vital young artistic community. Largely self-taught, his first oil paintings went on display in a Hong Kong gallery in 1960. Within a year, his fishing villages and coastal community scenes were a sensation in art circles, and the leading art gallery of Hong Kong started to represent his art.
Over the years, H. Leung exhibited his oils all over the world, and he received numerous honors and distinctions in many countries. In 1978, he became a resident of the United States and a legal citizen a year later. He settled permanently in the San Francisco Bay Area with his wife and four sons, including artists Thomas Shu Pong and Richard Leung.
Today, H. Leung is recognized as one of the premiere neo-impressionist artists; a master of the enchanted landscape, dreamy moods, and magic reflections of light and color. His work is exhibited at prestigious art galleries throughout the United States. His first images were published in 1961, and since then demand for his limited editions has steadily increased in the U.S. as well as in Europe and Asia.”
Below – “Above the Blue”; “Big Sur Cypress”; “Dreamscape”; “Land of Myth”; “Blossom Village”; “Truckee Falls.”
A Third Poem for Today
By Rita Dove
I work a lot and live far less than I could,
but the moon is beautiful and there are
blue stars . . . . I live the chaste song of my heart.
—Garcia Lorca to Emilia Llanos Medinor, November 25, 1920
The moon is in doubt
over whether to be
a man or a woman.
There’ve been rumors,
all manner of allegations,
bold claims and public lies:
He’s belligerent. She’s in a funk.
When he fades, the world teeters.
When she burgeons, crime blossoms.
O how the operatic impulse wavers!
Dip deep, my darling, into the blank pool.
Musings in December: Trisha McCagh
“Animals are the bridge between us and the beauty of all that is natural. They show us what’s missing in our lives, and how to love ourselves more completely and unconditionally. They connect us back to who we are, and to the purpose of why we’re here.”
American Art – Part II of II: Ron Hicks
In the words of one writer, “Ron Hicks’ works have been characterized as a blend of representational art and impressionism. Some critics have compared them to paintings by Rembrandt and Daumier. The 41-year old artist translates his own moody visions with a muted palette and rarely uses pure color. He particularly favors the variety he finds in gray. ‘Gray allows me to capture atmosphere, mood, and layers of emotion,’ he says. ‘Gray sets the tone for the rest of the painting.’”