Wandering in Woodacre – 19 September 2020

This Date in Art History: Died 19 September 1927 – Michael Ancher, a Danish painter.

Below – “A stroll on the beach”; “Skagen girl, Maren Sofie, knitting”; “Beach scene”; “Two Fishermen by a boat”; “The red lifeboat on its way out to sea”; “Michael Ancher: self-portrait.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 19 September 1894 – Rachel Field, an American poet, novelist, children’s fiction writer, and recipient of both the Newberry Award and the National Book Award.

“Something Told the Wild Geese”
by Rachel Field

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered,—‘Snow.’
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned,—‘Frost.’
All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,—
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.

Below – Rich Spicer: “Wild Geese”


This Date in Art History: Died 19 September 1967 – Zinaida Serebriakova, a Ukrainian-French painter.

Below – “The Veranda in Spring”; “Apples on the Branches”; “The Artist’s Sister”; “House of Cards”; “Nude”; “At the Dressing Table: Self-Portrait.”


This Date in Literary History: Died 19 September 1902 – Masaoka Shiki, a Japanese poet, critic, and author. Shiki is regarded as a major figure in the development of modern haiku poetry.

Haiku
by Masaoka Shiki

Evening snow falling,
a pair of mandarin ducks
on an ancient lake.

Note: Mandarin ducks are symbolic of happiness and marital fidelity in Japan and China.

Below – Rosemary Pocock: “Pair of Mandarin Ducks”

This Date in Art History: Born 19 September 1918 – Pablita Velarde, an American Pueblo painter.

Below – “Basketmaking”; “Deer in the Forest”; Untitled (Jack Rabbits); “Corn Shucking Scene”; “Santa Clara Dancers”; “Deer Dancer.”


Musings in Summer: Robinson Jeffers

“The tides are in our veins, we still mirror the stars, life is your child, but there is in me, older and harder than life and more impartial, the eye that watched before there was an ocean.”

Below – Blue Moon – Heike Schmidt: “Living in the Milky Way”


Contemporary American Art – Kevin Kuenster

In the words of one critic, “Kevin is one of a handful of artists working with the buon fresco technique. It is an extremely old process in which pigments are applied to a wet plaster surface. The plaster is a combination of aged lime putty and Carrara marble dust which is applied to a wood panel. When the plaster dries, the pigment is embedded in the surface which becomes hard and smooth like stone and is very permanent. Etruscan and Roman frescos with their rich colors have endured centuries.”

Below – “Memento”; “The future of loneliness series #3”; “Reflection Duo Green”; “The Three Furies of the Anthropocene”; “Oval Portrait of a Woman”; “Terra Eric Nobis #2 The Earth Will Have Us Back.”

A Poem for Today

“Cattle Fording Tarryall Creek”
by Catherine Savage Brosman

With measured pace, they move in single file,
dark hides, white faces, plodding through low grass,
then walk into the water, cattle-style,
indifferent to the matter where they pass.

The stream is high, the current swift—good rain,
late snow-melt, cold. Immerging to the flank,
the beasts proceed, a queue, a bovine chain,
impassive, stepping to the farther bank—

continuing their march, as if by word,
down valley to fresh pasture. The elect,
and stragglers, join, and recompose the herd,
both multiple and single, to perfect

impressions of an animated scene,
the creek’s meanders, milling cows, and sun.
Well cooled, the cattle graze knee-deep in green.
We leave them to their feed, this painting done.

Below – Olga Sto: “A grazing herd of cattle”

Contemporary American Art – Karen Clark

In the words of one critic, “Karen Clark uses oil, acrylic and collage to create pictorially hybrid compositions.”

Below – “Blue Flow flowers”; “Cowboy Suminagashi”; “Blue Flow Jungle”; “Blue Flow Pagoda #4”; “Best of all Possible Worlds”; “Blue Flow Mermaid.”

A Poem for Today

“Fern Hill”
by Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and
cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was
air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the
nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking
warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Below – Alison Chaplin: “…this hill of fern swells on”

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