Sentient in San Francisco – 6 October 2018

Musings in Autumn: Pablo Neruda

“Laughter is the language of the soul.”


Art for Autumn – Part I of IV: Peggy McGivern (American, contemporary)

Below – “Autumn”; “Blue River”; “Pasture in Hill Country”

Remembering a Writer on the Date of His Death: Died 6 October 1892 – Alfred, Lord Tennyson, an English poet and Poet Laureate from 1850-1892.

“Mariana”
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

“Mariana in the Moated Grange”
(Shakespeare, Measure for Measure)

With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look’d sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, “My life is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!”

Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, “The night is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!”

Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
The cock sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen’s low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seem’d to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, “The day is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!”

About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken’d waters slept,
And o’er it many, round and small,
The cluster’d marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarled bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, “My life is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said “I am aweary, aweary
I would that I were dead!”

And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away,
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, “The night is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said “I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!”

All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak’d;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek’d,
Or from the crevice peer’d about.
Old faces glimmer’d thro’ the doors
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.
She only said, “My life is dreary,
He cometh not,” she said;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!”

The sparrow’s chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then said she, “I am very dreary,
He will not come,” she said;
She wept, “I am aweary, aweary,
Oh God, that I were dead!”

Below – John Everett Millais: “Mariana”

Art for Autumn – Part II of IV: DeLoss McGraw (American, contemporary)

Below – “Down the Rabbit Hole”; “Do Not Love Too Long”; “Drowned Ophelia”

For Your Information: 6 October is National Noodle Day in the United States.

Art for Autumn – Part III of IV: Madeleine McKay (Irish/American, contemporary)

Below – “Croton”; “Visitor”; “Beloved”

Musings in Autumn: Liam James

“Dreams are like stars. You may never touch them, but if you follow them they will lead you to your destiny.”


Art for Autumn – Part IV of IV: Joshua Meador (American, 1911-1965)

Below – Untitled; “Cannon Beach, Oregon”; “Bodega Bay Seascape, California”


Worth a Thousand Words: Nigel Van Wieck (American, contemporary): “Q Train.”


American Art – Dave McGary (1958-2013)

In the words of one writer, “Artist Dave McGary grew up in Cody, Wyoming, the son of a ranching family. At age 16, McGary headed to Pietrasanta, near the Carrara Alps in Italy, where he worked in a foundry by day and on his own sculpture at night for a year and a half. Returning to the United States in 1976, he went to work for Shidoni Foundry, then moved from Santa Fe to the Hondo Valley in southern New Mexico where he ultimately built his own foundry outside Ruidoso, NM. Today, Dave McGary oversees every step of his creative process in a 14,000 square-foot finishing studio where a large staff handles details of chasing, patina and painting his work. The connection to Native American culture through his friendship with Daniel Long Soldier is one way that McGary’s art stands apart from other contemporary interpretations of Native American culture. Though he immerses himself in history books and other means of study, it is his living connection to Native American culture that breathes life into each piece.”

Below (all bronze) – “Free Spirits at Noisy Water”; “Crow and the Bear”; “In Her Father’s Footsteps”; “Rainmaker”; “When Lightning Strikes”; “Stronghearts.”

Remembering a Writer on the Date of Her Death: Died 6 October 1979 – Elizabeth Bishop, an American short story writer, poet, and recipient of both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.

“One Art”
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Contemporary American Art – Thomas Frederick McKnight

Artist Statement: “I try to integrate what is real about a place or thing with its underlying truth, its invisible soul.”

Below – “Austrian Garden”; “Storm Over Mykonos”; “Sonata”; “Oracle”; “Amphora”; “Pan’s Cove.”

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