Wandering in Woodacre – 2 July 2020

Contemporary Dutch Art – Vita Schagen

Below – “Colorful rooster”; “Spring flowers; Tulips”; “A girl with an ice cream”; “A girl in a field”; “Baseball”; “At the beach. Yellow umbrellas.”

This Date in Literary History – Died 2 July 1961 – Ernest Hemingway, an American journalist, novelist, short story writer, and recipient of both the Pulitzer Prize and the 1954 Nobel Prize in Literature.

Some quotes from the work of Ernest Hemingway:

“The rain will stop, the night will end, the hurt will fade. Hope is never so lost that it can’t be found.”
“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow men. True nobility lies in being superior to your former self.”
“Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep, really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”
“Worry a little bit every day and in a lifetime you will lose a couple of years. If something is wrong, fix it if you can. But train yourself not to worry: Worry never fixes anything.”
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”
“Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be.”

Contemporary Ukrainian Art – Svitlana Iordatii

Below – “Girl with a cat”; “New shoes”; “Ice cream”; “Burger”; “Girl with a puppy”; “Pizza.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 2 July 1877 – Hermann Hesse, a German-born Swiss poet, novelist, and recipient of the 1946 Nobel Prize in Literature.

Some quotes from the work of Hermann Hesse:

“Every experience has its element of magic.”
“There is no reality except the one contained within us. That is why so many people live such an unreal life. They take the images outside them for reality and never allow the world within to assert itself.”
“Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours.”
“I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.”
“Within you there is a stillness and sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself.”
“We kill at every step, not only in wars, riots and executions. We kill when we close our eyes to poverty, suffering and shame.In the same way all disrespect for life, all hard-heartedness, all indifference, all contempt is nothing else than killing.”
“Loneliness is the way by which destiny endeavors to lead man to himself.”
“A home isn’t just a roof over our heads. A home is a place where we feel loved and where we love others. It’s a place we belong. Love is what makes a home, not the contents inside the house or the number on the door. It’s the people waiting for us across the threshold, the people who will take us in their arms after a ad day and kiss us good night and good morning every day for the rest of our lives.”
“Have you also learned that secret from the river; that there is no such thing as time?” That the river is everywhere at the same time, at the source and at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the current, in the ocean and in the mountains, everywhere and that the present only exists for it, not the shadow of the past nor the shadow of the future.”

Contemporary American Art – Let Paaro

Below – “Sunset in Pink”; “Dandelions”; “Red Top”; “In Clover”; “Red and Blue Evening.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 2 July 1923 – Wislawa Szymborska, a Polish poet, essayist, translator, and recipient of the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature.

“On Death, without Exaggeration”
by Wislawa Szymborska

It can’t take a joke,
find a star, make a bridge.
It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming,
building ships, or baking cakes.

In our planning for tomorrow,
it has the final word,
which is always beside the point.

It can’t even get the things done
that are part of its trade:
dig a grave,
make a coffin,
clean up after itself.

Preoccupied with killing,
it does the job awkwardly,
without system or skill.
As though each of us were its first kill.

Oh, it has its triumphs,
but look at its countless defeats,
missed blows,
and repeat attempts!

Sometimes it isn’t strong enough
to swat a fly from the air.
Many are the caterpillars
that have outcrawled it.

All those bulbs, pods,
tentacles, fins, tracheae,
nuptial plumage, and winter fur
show that it has fallen behind
with its halfhearted work.

Ill will won’t help
and even our lending a hand with wars and coups d’etat
is so far not enough.

Hearts beat inside eggs.
Babies’ skeletons grow.
Seeds, hard at work, sprout their first tiny pair of leaves
and sometimes even tall trees fall away.

Whoever claims that it’s omnipotent
is himself living proof
that it’s not.

There’s no life
that couldn’t be immortal
if only for a moment.

always arrives by that very moment too late.

In vain it tugs at the knob
of the invisible door.
As far as you’ve come
can’t be undone.

Below – Wislawa Szymborska.

Contemporary American Art – Stephen A Hall

Below – “The Hijacker”; “Two Eagles Meditation on a Moped”; “American Still Life”; “Don’t Hold Your Breath”; “Iris Crisis”; “Rumble.”

A Poem for Today

“Going Down”
by Jonathan Bracker

Going down the escalator
of the subway, I glanced across
and saw on the escalator’s partner
rising up
someone who looked a bit like you but with hair
not so soft and clean and warm as yours
brushing against mine
on those rare occasions
when inadvertently our foreheads
neared, making me wish it to stay.

We were not physical lovers
and never could have been.
But we were close. Moved three states away,
married happily or not, you are now
only a person I may hope to meet
momentarily, and not really then: merely
in my mind, because of what I chance to see.
But I am not unhappy about this
or think that I am not. Because of your hair.
Because of your beautiful hair.

Below – Dr Jan Yager: “Beautiful woman bending over with bright red nail polish”

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