Sentient in San Francisco – 14 July 2019

This Date in Art History: Born 14 July 1862 – Gustave Klimt, an Austrian painter and illustrator.

Below- “The Kiss”; “Eugenia Primavesi”; “Farm Garden with Sunflowers”; “Schubert at the Piano”; “Water Snakes II”; “Danae.”

This Date in the History of the American Old West: Died 14 July 1881 – Billy the Kid (born Henry McCarty, also known as William H. Bonney), an American outlaw and gunfighter.

This Date in Art History: Died 14 July 1966 – Julie Manet, a French painter and model. In the words of one writer, “Born in Paris, Julie Manet was the daughter and only child of artist Berthe Morisot and Eugène Manet, younger brother of painter Édouard Manet.”

Below – Julie Manet was a model for many impressionist artists: Berthe Morisot: “Eugene Manet and His Daughter at Bougival”; Pierre-Auguste Renoir: “Julie Manet with Cat”; Edouard Manet: “Julie Manet sitting on a Watering Can”; Berthe Morisot: “Eugene Manet and His Daughter in the Garden”; Pierre-Auguste Renoir: “Portrait of Julie Manet”; Berthe Morisot: “Julie Daydreaming.”

This Date in Music History: Born 14 July 1912 – Woody Guthrie, an American singer-songwriter and guitarist.


This Date in Art History: Died 14 July 1991 – Constance Stokes, an Australian painter.

Below – “The Sunbather”; “Contemplation”; “The Green Dress”; “Landscape”; “The Friends”; “The Girl in Red Tights.”


This Date in Cinematic History: Born 14 July 1918 – Ingmar Bergman, a Swedish director, writer, and producer who worked film, television, theater, and radio. Ingmar Bergman won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film three times.

Some quotes from the work of Ingmar Bergman:

“I am living permanently in my dream, from which I make brief forays into reality.”
“I make all my decisions on intuition. But then, I must know why I made that decision. I throw a spear into the darkness. That is intuition. Then I must send an army into the darkness to find the spear. That is intellect.”
“No form of art goes beyond ordinary consciousness as film does, straight to our emotions, deep into the twilight room of the soul.
“When you feel perpetually unmotivated, you start questioning your existence in an unhealthy way; everything becomes a pseudo intellectual question you have no interest in responding whatsoever. This whole process becomes your very skin and it does not merely affect you; it actually defines you. So, you see yourself as a shadowy figure unworthy of developing interest, unworthy of wondering about the world – profoundly unworthy in every sense and deeply absent in your very presence.”
“The world is a den of thieves, and night is falling. Evil breaks its chains and runs through the world like a mad dog. The poison affects us all. No one escapes. Therefore let us be happy while we are happy. Let us be kind, generous, affectionate and good. It is necessary and not at all shameful to take pleasure in the little world.”
“No other art-medium–neither painting nor poetry–can communicate the specific quality of the dream as well as the film can. When the lights go down in the cinema and this white shining point opens up for us, our gaze stops flitting hither and thither, settles and becomes quite steady. We just sit there, letting the images flow out over us. Our will ceases to function. We lose our ability to sort things out and fix them in their proper places. We’re drawn into a course of events–we’re participants in a dream. And manufacturing dreams, that’s a juicy business.”
“Old age is like climbing a mountain. You climb from ledge to ledge. The higher you get, the more tired and breathless you become, but your views become more extensive.”

Contemporary Australian Art – Amelia Millard

Below – ‘Amber”; “Olive”; “Edge”; “Wave”; “Emerald”; “Lion.”


A Poem for Today

“Lint”
By Gary Metras

It doesn’t bother me to have
lint in the bottoms of pant pockets;
it gives the hands something to do,
especially since I no longer hold
shovel, hod, or hammer
in the daylight hours of labor
and haven’t, in fact, done so
in twenty-five years. A long time
to be picking lint from pockets.
Perhaps even long enough to have
gathered sacks full of lint
that could have been put
to good use, maybe spun into yarn
to knit a sweater for my wife’s
Christmas present, or strong thread
whirled and woven into a tweedy jacket.
Imagine entering my classroom
in a jacket made from lint.
Who would believe it?
Yet there are stranger things—
the son of a bricklayer with hands
so smooth they’re only fit
for picking lint.

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