Sentient in San Francisco – 28 May 2019

This Date in Art History: Born 28 May 1853 – Carl Larsson, a Swedish painter: Part I of II.

Below – “Azalea”; “Birches”; “Breakfast in the Open”; “Around the Lamp”; “The Kitchen.”


Musings in Spring: Louisa May Alcott

“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.”

Below – Claude Monet: “Sailboat at Le Petite Gennevilliers”

This Date in Art History: Born 28 May 1853 – Carl Larsson, a Swedish painter: Part II of II.

Below – “The Cottage”; “My Eldest Daughter, Suzanne with Milk and Book”; “Cloud Bank Over a Choppy Sea”; “Brita”; “The Model on the Table.”

A Poem for Today

“Old Houses”
by Robert Cording

Year after year after year
I have come to love slowly

how old houses hold themselves—

before November’s drizzled rain
or the refreshing light of June—

as if they have all come to agree
that, in time, the days are no longer
a matter of suffering or rejoicing.

I have come to love
how they take on the color of rain or sun
as they go on keeping their vigil

without need of a sign, awaiting nothing

more than the birds that sing from the eaves,
the seizing cold that sounds the rafters.

Below – John Houglum: “This Old House”

Contemporary Canadian Art – Victor Tkachenko

Below – “Pony Tail”; “Gallop”; “Stitched”; “Boy with a Dog”; “Gold Friendship.”

Musings in Spring: Anais Nin

“I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.”

Below – Tricia Scott: “My hair is being pulled by the stars again”

Contemporary Canadian Art – Tatiana Iliina

Below – “Dust of Sunshine”; “South Beach Towers”; “Frozen Pond”; “Windows on Waves”; “Paleontology”; “Funky Town.”

A Poem for Today

by Dana Gioia

This is my past where no one knows me.
These are my friends whom I can’t name—
Here in a field where no one chose me,
The faces older, the voices the same.

Why does this stranger rise to greet me?
What is the joke that makes him smile,
As he calls the children together to meet me,
Bringing them forward in single file?

I nod pretending to recognize them,
Not knowing exactly what I should say.
Why does my presence seem to surprise them?
Who is the woman who turns away?

Is this my home or an illusion?
The bread on the table smells achingly real.
Must I at last solve my confusion,
Or is confusion all I can feel?

Below – Bill Owen: “Class Reunion”

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