Sentient in San Francisco – 22 November 2019

This Date in Art History: Born 22 November 1849 – Christian Rohlfs, a German painter.

Below – “Landscape vision”; “Hilly landscape in late autumn”; “Rosen und Nelken”; “Mondschein am Lago”; “Frauenakt mit gelbem Blumenstrauß (Mädchen auf der Wiese)”; “Abstraction (the Blue Mountain).”


This Date in Literary History: Died 22 November 1993 – Anthony Burgess, an English novelist, playwright, critic, and author of “A Clockwork Orange.”

Some quotes from the work of Anthony Burgess:

“Laugh and the world laughs with you, snore and you sleep alone.”
“Sanity is a handicap and liability if you’re living in a mad world.”
“Language exists less to record the actual than to liberate the imagination.”
“The book I am best known for, or only known for, is a novel I am prepared to repudiate: written a quarter of a century ago, a jeu d’esprit knocked off for money in three weeks, it became known as the raw material for a film which seemed to glorify sex and violence. The film made it easy for readers of the book to misunderstand what it was about, and the misunderstanding will pursue me till I die. I should not have written the book because of this danger of misinterpretation.”
“Literature ceases to be literature when it commits itself to moral uplift; it becomes moral philosophy or some such dull thing.”
“Every dogma has its day.”
“It’s always good to remember where you come from and celebrate it. To remember where you come from is part of where you’re going.”

Contemporary Dutch Art – Mieke Teelen

Below – “The final match”; “Domburg”; Untitled; “Klompweg”; “Freedom”; Untitled.

This Date in Literary History: Died 22 November 1963 – C. S. Lewis, a British novelist, critic, poet, and author of “The Chronicles of Narnia.”

“Night”
by C. S. Lewis

After the fret and failure of this day,
And weariness of thought, O Mother Night,
Come with soft kiss to soothe our care away
And all our little tumults set to right;
Most pitiful of all death’s kindred fair,
Riding above us through the curtained air
On thy dusk car, thou scatterest to the earth
Sweet dreams and drowsy charms of tender might
And lovers’ dear delight before to-morrow’s birth.
Thus art thou wont thy quiet lands to leave
And pillared courts beyond the Milky Way,
Wherein thou tarriest all our solar day
While unsubstantial dreams before thee weave
A foamy dance, and fluttering fancies play
About thy palace in the silver ray
Of some far, moony globe. But when the hour,
The long-expected comes, the ivory gates
Open on noiseless hinge before thy bower
Unbidden, and the jewelled chariot waits
With magic steeds. Thou from the fronting rim
Bending to urge them, whilst thy sea-dark hair
Falls in ambrosial ripples o’er each limb,
With beautiful pale arms, untrammelled, bare
For horsemanship, to those twin chargers fleet
Dost give full rein across the fires that glow
In the wide floor of heaven, from off their feet
Scattering the powdery star-dust as they go.
Come swiftly down the sky, O Lady Night,
Fall through the shadow-country, O most kind,
Shake out thy strands of gentle dreams and light
For chains, wherewith thou still art used to bind
With tenderest love of careful leeches’ art
The bruised and weary heart
In slumber blind.

Contemporary American Art – George Brinner: Part I of II.

Below – “Clouds 2, 19”; “Arroyo and Red Rock Wall”; “Color Fields and Ocean View”; “The White Dress”; “Pond I”; “Maui Forest Trees I.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 22 November 1869 – Andre Gide, a French novelist, essayist, dramatist, and recipient of the 1947 Nobel Prize in Literature.

Some quotes from the work of Andre Gide:

“One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”
“Everything has been said before, but since nobody listens we have to keep going back and begin all over again.”
“Every instant of our lives is essentially irreplaceable: you must know this in order to concentrate on life.”
“The true hypocrite is the one who ceases to perceive his deception, the one who lies with sincerity.”
“To understand is nothing, but to be understood-that is the problem and the source of anguish. The soul throbs and would have the other know-but can not and feels isolated. Then come gestures, words, awkward explanations and material symbols for imponderable outbursts of feeling-and the soul despairs.”
“Yet I’m sure there’s something more to be read in a man. People dare not — they dare not turn the page. The laws of mimicry — I call them the laws of fear. People are afraid to find themselves alone, and don’t find themselves at all. I hate this moral agoraphobia — it’s the worst kind of cowardice. You can’t create something without being alone. But who’s trying to create here? What seems different in yourself: that’s the one rare thing you possess, the one thing which gives each of us his worth; and that’s just what we try to suppress. We imitate. And we claim to love life.”
“There are many things that seem impossible only so long as one does not attempt them.”


Contemporary American Art – George Brinner: Part II of II.

Below – “Hill Country”; “Lake Powell”; “Four Pears and Window View”; “The Critics”; “Lady on Cchre Throw”; “Clouds I.”


This Date in Literary History: Died 22 November 1916 – Jack London, an American novelist, journalist, short story writer, and author of “The Call of the Wild” and “White Fang.”

Some quotes from the work of Jack London:

“Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well.”
“A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog.”
“Limited minds can recognize limitations only in others.”
“I’d rather sing one wild song and burst my heart with it, than live a thousand years watching my digestion and being afraid of the wet.”
“I ride over my beautiful ranch. Between my legs is a beautiful horse.
The air is wine. The grapes on a score of rolling hills are red with autumn flame. Across Sonoma Mountain, wisps of sea fog are stealing. The afternoon sun smolders in the drowsy sky. I have everything to make me glad I am alive.”
“With the aurora borealis flaming coldly overhead, or the stars leaping in the frost dance, and the land numb and frozen under its pall of snow, this song of the huskies might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading of life, the articulate travail of existence. It was an old song, old as the breed itself–one of the first songs of the younger world in a day when songs were sad.”
“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”


Contemporary Italian Art – Sanja Milenkovic

Below – “Light in Arizona”; “Followers”; “Canyon trip”; “Blu water”; “sketch n5”; “Scout.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 22 November 1819 – George Eliot (the pen name of Mary Ann Evans), an English novelist, poet, journalist, translator, and author of “Middlemarch.”

“Roses”
by George Eliot

You love the roses – so do I. I wish
The sky would rain down roses, as they rain
From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white
And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
As feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be
Like sleeping and like waking, all at once!

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