Wandering in Woodacre – 11 September 2020

This Date in Art History: Born 11 September 1903 – Stephen Etnier, an American painter.

Below – ‘Hurricane Ridge, Harpswell”; “Storefront, Nassau”; “Still Morning”; “Boats Along the Shore”; “Waterway Boatyard”; “Fort Popham.”


This Date in Literary History: Born 11 September 1959 – Andre Dubus III, an award-winning American novelist, short story writer, and author of “House of Sand and Fog.”

Some quotes from the work of Andre Dubus III:

“The ocean to my right was maroon, the sky above it silver. There were sand trails through the thick purple ice plant that grew along the roadside… but now the sky is the color of peaches…
It was a ball of bright saffron sinking into the sea, turning the water purple, the sky orange and green.”
“it’s almost easier being down and alone than when you re up and no one s there to share the view with you.”
“Regret was Fear’s big sister.”
“Dat’s what they say of this cauntry back home, Kath: ‘America, the land of milk and honey.’ Bot they never tell you the milk’s gone sour and the honey’s stolen.”
“Lester wanted to rise up out of this like a cloud, to drift over the valley and shore to the Pacific, to dissolve into its huge green expanse like rain.”

Contemporary Hungarian Art -Marco Veronese

Below (photographs/digital art) – “Fossils From The Future rep.7”; “Fossils From The Future rep.3”; “Fossils From The Future rep.14”; “Fossils From The Future rep.12”; “Memoria 5”; “Fossils From The Future rep.15.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 11 September 1885 – D. H. Lawrence, an English novelist, poet, playwright, critic, and author of “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” and “Studies in Classic American Literature.”

Some quotes from the work of D. H. Lawrence:

“The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer. It has never yet melted.”
“One must learn to love, and go through a good deal of suffering to get to it, and the journey is always towards the other soul.”
“Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.”
“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”
“Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved.”
“No form of love is wrong, so long as it is love, and you yourself honour what you are doing. Love has an extraordinary variety of forms! And that is all there is in life, it seems to me. But I grant you, if you deny the variety of love you deny love altogether. If you try to specialize love into one set of accepted feelings, you wound the very soul of love. Love must be multi-form, else it is just tyranny, just death”
“I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.”
“This is what I believe: That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women. There is my creed.”


Contemporary American Art – Lorna Scheepers

Below – “Long way home (The Swan)”; “A Country far, far away”; “I forget where I was”; “Lost in Paradise”; “Elysian”; “The more it changes the more it stays the same.”

A Poem for Today

“Rummage Sale”
by Jennifer Maier

Forgive me, Aunt Phyllis, for rejecting the cut
glass dishes—the odd set you gathered piece
by piece from thirteen boxes of Lux laundry soap.

Pardon me, eggbeater, for preferring the whisk;
and you, small ship in a bottle, for the diminutive
size of your ocean. Please don’t tell my mother,

hideous lamp, that the light you provided
was never enough. Domestic deities, do not be angry
that my counters are not white with flour;

no one is sorrier than I, iron skillet, for the heavy
longing for lightness directing my mortal hand.
And my apologies, to you, above all,

forsaken dresses, that sway from a rod between
ladders behind me, clicking your plastic tongues
at the girl you once made beautiful,

and the woman, with a hard heart and
softening body, who stands in the driveway
making change.

Below – Edward Williams: “Yard Sale”

Contemporary French Art – Mireille Rolland

Below – “Bleu Indigo”; “Pink flamingo’s courtship ritual”; “Sonata for crane’s migration”; “Autumn Song”; “Woman playing trombone”; “The gramophone”; “Romance for three violins.”

A Poem for Today: Ono no Komachi (Japanese, c. 825 – c. 900)

translated by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani

The cicadas sing
in the twilight
of my mountain village-
tonight, no one
will visit save the wind.

Below – Mina Hasman: “Observant” (photograph)

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