Sentient in San Francisco – 27 April 2020

Contemporary Australian Art – Joseph Villanueva

Below – “Tall Trees No.8”; “Tall Trees No.15”; “Tasman Lily Pond No. 18”; “Tall Trees No.16”; “Light Through the Thicket 2”; “Sky Theory 8.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 27 April 1945 – August Wilson, an American playwright, author of “The Pittsburg Cycle,” and two-time recipient of the Pulitzer Prize.

Some quotes from the work of August Wilson:

“I believe in the American theatre. I believe in its power to inform about the human condition, its power to heal … its power to uncover the truths we wrestle from uncertain and sometimes unyielding realities.”
“Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing.”
“Have a belief in yourself that is bigger than anyone’s disbelief.”
“You got to be right with yourself before you can be right with anybody else.”
“I am not a historian. I happen to think that the content of my mother’s life – her myths, her superstitions, her prayers, the contents of her pantry, the smell of her kitchen, the song that escaped from her sometimes parched lips, her thoughtful repose and pregnant laughter – are all worthy of art.”
“All of art is a search for ways of being, of living life more fully.”
“All you need in the world is love and laughter. That’s all anybody needs. To have love in one hand and laughter in the other.’


Contemporary French Art- Mr STRANGE Jean-Marie GITARD

Below (photomanipulation or digital collage) – “SAUTE CHARLY! 2”; “ESCALATOR”; “MR. BERMANS, POLICIER”; “CALIFORNIA”; “Le Projectile”; “10 Miles.”

This Date in Literary History: Died 27 April 1882 – Ralph Waldo Emerson, an American essayist, philosopher, poet, and leader of the transcendentalist movement.

Some quotes from the work of Ralph Waldo Emerson:

“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety. Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in. Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This new day is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on the yesterdays.”
“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”
“Successful is the person who has lived well, laughed often and loved much, who has gained the respect of children, who leaves the world better than they found it, who has never lacked appreciation for the earth’s beauty, who never fails to look for the best in others or give the best of themselves.”
“What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.
“The years in your life
are less important
than the life in your years.”


Contemporary Dutch Art – Rome Van Rijckevorsel

Below – “Venus with a golden apple”; “Waiting in a line”; “The two graces”; “Crazy thing called love”; “Sugar Babe”; “The seven sisters.”


This Date in Literary History: Born 27 April 1904 – Cecil Day-Lewis, an Anglo-Irish poet and the Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom from 1968 until his death in 1972.

“A Hard Frost”
by Cecil Day-Lewis

A frost came in the night and stole my world
And left this changeling for it – a precocious
Image of spring, too brilliant to be true:
White lilac on the window-pane, each grass-blade
Furred like a catkin, maydrift loading the hedge.
The elms behind the house are elms no longer
But blossomers in crystal, stems of the mist
That hangs yet in the valley below, amorphous
As the blind tissue whence creation formed.

The sun looks out and the fields blaze with diamonds
Mockery spring, to lend this bridal gear
For a few hours to a raw country maid,
Then leave her all disconsolate with old fairings
Of aconite and snowdrop! No, not here
Amid this flounce and filigree of death
Is the real transformation scene in progress,
But deep below where frost
Worrying the stiff clods unclenches their
Grip on the seed and lets
the future breathe.


Contemporary Polish Art – Agnieszka Kozien

Below – “Dusk in the desert 1”; “En route 6”; “Summertime 50”; “In the desert 1”; “Summertime 47”; “In the desert 3.”


This Date in Literary History: Died 27 April 1932 – Hart Crane, an American poet.
“To Brooklyn Bridge” is one of my favorite poems.

from “The Bridge: To Brooklyn Bridge”
by Hart Crane

How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—

Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes
As apparitional as sails that cross
Some page of figures to be filed away;
—Till elevators drop us from our day …

I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights
With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene
Never disclosed, but hastened to again,
Foretold to other eyes on the same screen;

And Thee, across the harbor, silver paced
As though the sun took step of thee yet left
Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,—
Implicitly thy freedom staying thee!

Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft
A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets,
Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning,
A jest falls from the speechless caravan.

Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks,
A rip-tooth of the sky’s acetylene;
All afternoon the cloud flown derricks turn …
Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still.

And obscure as that heaven of the Jews,
Thy guerdon … Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time cannot raise:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show.

O harp and altar, of the fury fused,
(How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!)
Terrific threshold of the prophet’s pledge,
Prayer of pariah, and the lover’s cry,

Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift
Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars,
Beading thy path—condense eternity:
And we have seen night lifted in thine arms.

Under thy shadow by the piers I waited
Only in darkness is thy shadow clear.
The City’s fiery parcels all undone,
Already snow submerges an iron year …

O Sleepless as the river under thee,
Vaulting the sea, the prairies’ dreaming sod,
Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend
And of the curveship lend a myth to God.

Below – Emile Renouf: “View of the Brooklyn Bridge”

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