Sentient in San Francisco – 6 November 2018

This Date in Art History: Died 6 November 1937 – Colin Campbell Cooper, an American painter: Part I of II.

Below – “Portrait of Emma Lampert Cooper”; “Hudson River Waterfront, N.Y.”; “Palace of Fine Arts, San Francisco”; “Summer”; “Pergola at Samarkand”; “Self-Portrait.”


This Date in Art History: Died 6 November 1937 – Colin Campbell Cooper, an American painter: Part II of II.

Below – “Fortune Teller”; “Rooftops at Sunset”; “Taj Mahal, Afternoon”; “Fifth Avenue, New York City”; “Spanish Garden”; “Polar Bear.”

Remembering a Writer on the Date of His Death: Died 6 November 2000 – L. Sprague de Camp, an American author and historian.
While L. Sprague de Camp is best known as an award-winning author in the science fiction genre, he was also a clear-eyed skeptic who spent much of his career, in the words of one writer, “debunking doubtful history and pseudoscientific claims about the supernatural.”

Below – A timely quote from the work of L. Sprague de Camp:

“‘You don’t like the Goths?’
‘No! Not with the persecution we have to put up with!”
“Persecution?’
‘Religious persecution. We won’t stand for it forever.’
‘I thought the Goths let everybody worship as they pleased.’
‘That’s just it! We Orthodox are forced to stand around and watch Arians and Monophysites and Nestorians and Jews going about their business unmolested, as if they owned the country. If that isn’t persecution, I’d like to know what is!’”


This Date in Art History: Born 6 November 1861 – Dennis Miller Bunker, an American painter: Part I of II.

Below – “The Pool, Midfield”; “Jessica”; “Boy with Rowboat”; “The Fisher Girl, Nantucket”; “Hollyhock”; “Low Tide.”

This Date in Art History: Born 6 November 1861 – Dennis Miller Bunker, an American painter: Part II of II.

Below – “Midsummer Landscape with Apple Tree”; “The Mirror”; “Pines Beyond the Fence”; “Roadside Cottage”; “Tree”; “White Sails.”


A November Poem

“November for Beginners”
by Rita Dove

Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.

So we wait, breeding
mood, making music
of decline. We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.
We ache in secret,
memorizing

a gloomy line
or two of German.
When spring comes
we promise to act
the fool. Pour,
rain! Sail, wind,
with your cargo of zithers!

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