This Date in Art History: Born 27 December 1864 – Hermann-Paul, a French painter and illustrator.
Below – “Blossoming Love on the Beach of Gray, France”; “Young Woman and Her Haircut”; “Canal in Venice”; “The Lovers”; “Capri”; “Self-portrait.”
“It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.”
Below – “Ten Thousand Years”; “Clouds in my Coffee”; “Full Sail”; “Under my Umbrella”; “Black Swan.”
“Monody to the Sound of Zithers”
By Kay Boyle
I have wanted other things more than lovers …
I have desired peace, intimately to know
The secret curves of deep-bosomed contentment,
To learn by heart things beautiful and slow.
Cities at night, and cloudful skies, I’ve wanted;
And open cottage doors, old colors and smells a part;
All dim things, layers of river-mist on river—
To capture Beauty’s hands and lay them on my heart.
I have wanted clean rain to kiss my eyelids,
Sea-spray and silver foam to kiss my mouth.
I have wanted strong winds to flay me with passion;
And, to soothe me, tired winds from the south.
These things have I wanted more than lovers …
Jewels in my hands, and dew on morning grass—
Familiar things, while lovers have been strangers.
Friended thus, I have let nothing pass.
Below – Thorolf Holmboe: “Woman Looking Over the Ocean.”
Contemporary Japanese Art – Tomoya N
Below – “Sakura”; “Lion”; “Portrait works Beauty”; “flower”; “Thomas Jefferson”; “The Planet of Earth #3.”
“He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter.”
Contemporary Russian Art – Tatiana Bugaenko
Below – “Winter Light”; “City Walk”; “42nd Street NY”; “Pomegranates”; “Rovinj, Croatia”; “Lake.”
A Poem for Today
“Restless After School”
by Debra Nystrom
Nothing to do but scuff down
the graveyard road behind the playground,
past the name-stones lined up in rows
beneath their guardian pines,
on out into the long, low waves of plains
that dissolved time. We’d angle off
from fence and telephone line, through
ribbon-grass that closed behind as though
we’d never been, and drift toward the bluff
above the river-bend where the junked pickup
moored with its load of locust-skeletons.
Stretched across the blistered hood, we let
our dresses catch the wind while clouds above
dimmed their pink to purple, then shadow-blue—
So slow, we listened to our own bones grow.