Sentient in San Francisco – 26 August 2019

This Date in Art History: Died 26 August 2001 – Louis Muhistock, a Polish-Canadian painter.

Below – “Montreal Street Scene”; “Winter Afternoon”; “View from the studio window”; “Flowers”; “Open door to our garden”; “Reclining Nude.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 26 August 1874 – Zona Gale, an American novelist, short story writer, and playwright. Gale became the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1921.

Some quotes from the work of Zona Gale:

“Moments of mystery are rare enough, in all conscience; and when they do arrive all the world misses them by trying to understand them. Which is manifestly ungrateful and stupid.”
“I don’t know a better preparation for life than love of poetry and a good digestion”
“I can never understand why I should eat at one or sleep at eleven, if it is, as it often is, my one and my eleven and nobody else’s. For, as between the clock and me alone, one and eleven and all other o’clocks are mine and I am not theirs. But I have known men and women living in hotels who would interrupt a sunset to go to dine, or wave away the stars in their courses to go to sleep, merely because the hour had struck.”
“I tell you of all history the most beautiful product is the family life.”

Contemporary Argentinean Art – Luisa Pagola: Part I of II.

Below – “The nap”; “Woman”; “Meditation”; “Illuminated landscape”;

A Poem for Today

“At 14”
by Don Welch

To be shy,
to lower your eyes
after making a greeting.

to know
wherever you go
you’ll be called on,

to fear
whoever you’re near
will ask you,

to wear
the softer sides of the air
in rooms filled with angers,

your ship
always docked
in transparent slips

whose wharves
are sheerer than membranes.

Below – Rob Beckett: “Portrait of a teenage boy”

Contemporary Argentinean Art – Luisa Pagola: Part II of II.

Below – “Vital”; “The aleph”; “The contemplation of the bird”; “Blue meditation”; “Nature.”

Musings in Summer: John Prine

“If heartaches were commercials we’d all be on TV.”

Below – April Harker: “Heartbreak”

Contemporary American Art – Ed Freeman: Part I of II.

Below (photographs) – “Buckaroo Motel, Tucumcari New Mexico”; “Sundowner Motel, Desert Shores CA”; “Gem Theater, Pioche Nevada”; El Moroco Motel, Bakersfield CA”; “Gun Store, Vernon TX.”

This Date in Literary History: Died 26 August 2018 – Neil Simon, an American writer, playwright, screenwriter, author of “Lost in Yonkers,” and recipient of many awards, and recipient of many awards, including the Pulitzer Prize for Drama.

Some quotes from the work of Neil Simon:

“I firmly believe that if you follow a path that interests you, not to the exclusion of love, sensitivity, and cooperation with others, but with the strength of conviction that you can move others by your own efforts, and do not make success or failure the criteria by which you live, the chances are you’ll be a person worthy of your own respect.”
“If no one ever took risks, Michelangelo would have painted the Sistine floor.”
“If you can go through life without experiencing pain you probably haven’t been born yet.”
“When it’s 100 degrees in New York, it’s 72 in Los Angeles. When it’s 30 degrees in New York, in Los Angeles it’s still 72. However, there are 6 million interesting people in New York, and only 72 in Los Angeles.”
“I love living. I have some problems with my life, but living is the best thing they’ve come up with so far.”

Contemporary American Art – Ed Freeman: Part II of II.

Below (photographs) – “Plain House, Trona, CA.”Fiesta Ballroom, Bakersfield CA”; “Hollywood Rejects”; “sunken bus, bombay beach ca”; “ El Rancho Motel (vacancy) – Ely, Nevada 9.”

A Poem for Today

“What My Father Left Behind”
by Chris Forhan

Jam jar of cigarette ends and ashes on his workbench,
hammer he nailed our address to a stump with,
balsa wood steamship, half-finished—

is that him, waving from the stern? Well, good luck to him.
Slur of sunlight filling the backyard, August’s high wattage,
white blossoming, it’s a curve, it comes back.   My mother

in a patio chair, leaning forward, squinting, threading
her needle again, her eye lifts to the roof, to my brother,
who stands and jerks his arm upward—he might be

insulting the sky, but he’s only letting go
a bit of green, a molded plastic soldier
tied to a parachute, thin as a bread bag, it rises, it arcs

against the blue—good luck to it—my sister and I below,
heads tilted back as we stand in the grass, good
luck to all of us, still here, still in love with it.

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