This Date in Art History: Born 10 June 1907 – Fairfield Porter, an American painter: Part I of II.
Below – “Under the Elms”; “Girl in a Landscape”; “Anne in a Striped Dress”; “July”; “Late Afternoon Snow”; “July Interior.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 10 June 1925 – James Salter, an award-winning American novelist and short story writer.
Some quotes from the work of James Salter:
“To write? Because all this is going to vanish. The only thing left will be the prose and poems, the books, what is written down. Man was very fortunate to have invented the book. Without it the past would completely vanish, and we would be left with nothing, we would be naked on earth.”
“There comes a time when you realize that everything is a dream, and only those things preserved in writing have any possibility of being real.”
“Certain things I remember exactly as they were. They are merely discolored a bit by time, like coins in the pocket of a forgotten suit. Most of the details, though, have long since been transformed or rearranged to bring others of them forward. Some, in fact, are obviously counterfeit; they are no less important. One alters the past to form the future.”
This Date in Art History: Born 10 June 1907 – Fairfield Porter, an American painter: Part II of II.
Below – “The Mirror”; “Iced Coffee”; “Wild Roses”; “Still Life with Stapler”; “Apple Blossoms II”; “Self-Portrait.”
This Date in Literary History: Died 10 June 1973 – William Inge, an American novelist, playwright, and recipient of the Pulitzer Prize.
Some quotes from the work of William Inge:
“Worry is interest paid on trouble before it comes due.”
“We have enslaved the rest of the animal creation, and have treated our distant cousins in fur and feathers so badly that beyond doubt, if they were able to formulate a religion, they would depict the Devil in human form.”
“Nobody is bored when he is trying to make something that is beautiful or to discover something that is true.”
“A nation is a society united by a delusion about its ancestry and by common hatred of its neighbors.”
“Joy is the triumph of life; it is the sign that we are living our true life as spiritual beings.”
“Don’t break the silence unless you can improve on it.”
“Bereavement is the deepest initiation into the mysteries of human life, an initiation more searching and profound than even happy love.”
“Experience is a good teacher, but her fees are very high.”
This Date in Art History: Born 10 June 1953 – Eileen Cooper, an English painter and printmaker.
Below – “Interval”; “Hear the Wind Cry I”; “Pause”; “Source”; “Clio.”
This Date in Literary History: Died 10 June 1958 – Angelina Weld Grimke, an American poet, journalist, and playwright who came to prominence during the Harlem Renaissance.
“The Eyes of My Regret”
by Angelina Weld Grimke
Always at dusk, the same tearless experience,
The same dragging of feet up the same well-worn path
To the same well-worn rock;
The same crimson or gold dropping away of the sun
The same tints, – rose, saffron, violet, lavender, grey
Meeting, mingling, mixing mistily;
Before me the same blue black cedar rising jaggedly to
Over it, the same slow unlidding of twin stars,
Two eyes, unfathomable, soul-searing,
Watching, watching, watching me;
The same two eyes that draw me forth, against my will
dusk after dusk;
The same two eyes that keep me sitting late into the
night, chin on knees
Keep me there lonely, rigid, tearless, numbly
The eyes of my Regret.
Contemporary American Art – Nina Hunter
Below – “That summer feeling”; “Golden Flowers”; “Harvey Nichols window display”; “Flowers. Still Life.”
A Poem for Today
by Lois Beebe Hayna
For part of one strange year we lived
in a small house at the edge of a wood.
No neighbors, which suited us. Nobody
to ask questions. Except
for the one big question we went on
myriads of birds stopped over
briefly. Birds we’d never seen before, drawn
to our leafy quiet and our brook and because,
as we later learned, the place lay beneath
a flyway. Flocks appeared overnight—birds
brilliant or dull, with sharp beaks
or crossed bills, birds small
and enormous, all of them pausing
to gorge at the feeder, to rest their wings,
and disappear. Each flock seemed surer than we
of a destination. By the time we’d watched them
wing north in spring, then make
an anxious autumn return,
we too had pulled it together and we too moved
into what seemed to be our lives.