This Date in Art History: Born 22 April 1891 – Laura Gilpin, an American photographer.
Below – “The Grand Canyon”; “Chichen Itza”; “Rio Grande Before a Storm”; “Old Adobe and Salt Cedars”; “Stony Pass, Colorado”; “Narcissus.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 22 April 1873 – Ellen Glasgow, an American novelist, author of “In This Our Life,” and recipient of the Pulitzer Prize.
Some quotes from the work of Ellen Glasgow:
“All change is not growth, as all movement is not forward.”
“It is human nature to overestimate the thing you’ve never had.”
“The only difference between a rut and a grave are the dimensions.”
“But there is, I have learned, no permanent escape from the past. It may be an unrecognized law of our nature that we should be drawn back, inevitably, to the place where we have suffered most.”
“He knows so little and knows it so fluently.”
“The pathos of life is worse than the tragedy.”
“The older I grow the more earnestly I feel that the few joys of childhood are the best that life has to give.”
“Preserve, within a wild sanctuary, an inaccessible valley of reverie.
“Life may take away happiness. But it can’t take away having had it.”
“Every tree near our house had a name of its own and a special identity. This was the beginning of my love for natural things, for earth and sky, for roads and fields and woods, for trees and grass and flowers; a love which has been second only to my sense of enduring kinship with birds and animals, and all inarticulate creatures.”
“Life is never what one dreams. It is seldom what one desires, but for the vital spirit and the eager mind, the future will always hold the search for buried treasure and the possibility of high adventure.”
Below – “Woman on Porch”; “Yellow Porch”; “Chabot Valley”; “Girl on a Terrace”; “Still Life with Orange Peel”; “Man and Woman in a Large Room.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 22 April 1943 – Louise Gluck, an American poet and recipient of the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.
by Louise Gluck
The garden admires you.
For your sake it smears itself with green pigment,
The ecstatic reds of the roses,
So that you will come to it with your lovers.
And the willows–
See how it has shaped these green
Tents of silence. Yet
There is still something you need,
Your body so soft, so alive, among the stone animals.
Admit that it is terrible to be like them,
This Date in Art History: Born 22 April 1922 – Richard Diebenkorn, an American painter: Part II of II.
Below – “Women Outside”; “Girl and Three Coffee Cups”; “Woman at Table in Strong Light”; “Ocean from a Window”; “Woman in Hat and Gloves”; “Seated Nude, Black Background.”
This Date in Literary History: Died 22 April 1995 – Jane Kenyon, an award-winning American poet.
by Jane Kenyon
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
Below – Anne Herrero: “Empty Bed”
Below – “Wild Things III”; “Blurred Lines II”; “Wild Things II_Klara”; “Transitions”; “Wild Things II”; “Breastfeeding Art.”
By William Jay Smith
All night the wind swept over the house
And through our dream
Swirling the snow up through the pines,
Ruffling the white, ice-capped clapboards,
Rattling the windows,
Rustling around and below our bed
So that we rode
Over wild water
In a white ship breasting the waves.
We rode through the night
On green, marbled
Water, and, half-waking, watched
The white, eroded peaks of icebergs
Sail past our windows;
Rode out the night in that north country,
And awoke, the house buried in snow,
Perched on a
Chill promontory, a
In the mouth of the cold valley,
Its white tongue looped frozen around us,
The trunks of tall birches
Revealing the rib cage of a whale
Stranded by a still stream;
And saw, through the motionless baleen of their branches,
As if through time,
Light that shone
On a landscape of ivory,
A harbor of bone.
Below – Angela Fernandez: “Snowy landscape”