Sentient in San Francisco – 4 October 2019

This Date in Art History: Born 4 October 1814 – Jean-Francois Millet, a French painter.

Below – “The Sower”; “The Sheepfold”; “Woman Baking Bread”; “The Gleaners”; “The Potato Harvest”; “The Man with the Hoe.”

This Date in Literary History: Died 4 October 1974 – Anne Sexton, an American poet and recipient of the Pulitzer Prize: Part I of II.

Some quotes from the work of Anne Sexton:

“Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.”
“I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.”
“I am a collection of dismantled almosts.”
“As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.”
“I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.”
“Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.”
“I am crazy as hell, but I know it. And knowing it is a kind of sanity that makes the sickness worse.”
“One can’t build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.”
“Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can’t be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.”
“I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible things to repair.”
“The joy that isn’t shared dies young.”
“It is in the small things we see it.
The child’s first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.”
“I’m hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.”
“My ideas are a curse.
They spring from a radical discontent
with the awful order of things.
I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse.
I play witch.”

This Date in Art History: Born 4 October 1861 – Frederic Remington, an American painter, sculptor, and illustrator: Part I of II.

Below – “The Coming and Going of the Pony Express”; “A Dash for the Timber”; “The Scout:Friends or Foes?”; “Shotgun Hospitality”; “A
New Year on the Cimarron”; “Indians Simulating Buffalo”; “Cowpuncher’s Lullaby.”

Musings in Autumn: Albert Einstein

“Our task must be to free ourselves by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and its beauty.”


This Date in Art History: Born 4 October 1861 – Frederic Remington, an American painter, sculptor, and illustrator: Part II of II.

Below – “The Broncho Buster”; “On the Range”; “The Cheyenne”; “The Wicket Pony”; “Rattlesnake”; “Medicine Man.”


This Date in Literary History: Died 4 October 1974 – Anne Sexton, an American poet and recipient of the Pulitzer Prize: Part II of II.

“Her Kind”
by Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

This Date in Art History: Died 4 October 1935 – Jean Beraud, a French painter.

Below – “Cafe Gloppe”; “Symphony in Red and Gold”; “The Drinkers”; “Personnages”; “La Pal Mabile.”

A Poem for Today

“In Your Absence”
by Judith Harris

Not yet summer,
but unseasonable heat
pries open the cherry tree.

It stands there stupefied,
in its sham, pink frills,
dense with early blooming.

Then, as afternoon cools
into more furtive winds,
I look up to see
a blizzard of petals
rushing the sky.

It is only April.
I can’t stop my own life
from hurrying by.
The moon, already pacing.

Below – Karen Hoger: “Cherry Blossoms in Wind”

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