Wandering in Woodacre – 31 January 2021

Contemporary Australian Art – Rory O’Brien

Below – “Aqua and red ball chaser”; “Fetch”; “Blue and red sausage dog”; “Yellow and copper Boston terrier”; “Red and silver jack russell terrier”; “Lime and red beagle.”

This Date in Literary History: Died 31 August 1956 – A. A. Milne, an English author, poet, playwright, and creator of Winnie-the-Pooh.

Some quotes from the work of A. A. Milne:

“People say nothing is impossible, but I do nothing every day.”
“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.”
“Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.”
“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.”
“‘Sometimes,’ said Pooh, ‘the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.’”
“One of the advantages of being disorganized is that one is always having surprising discoveries.”
“‘What day is it?’ asked Pooh.
‘It’s today,’ squeaked Piglet.
‘My favorite day,’ said Pooh.”
“Some people talk to animals. Not many listen though. That’s the problem.”
“The things that make me different are the things that make me.”
“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.”

Contemporary German Art – Katharina Valeeva

Below – “rain in the city”; “beautiful evening on the beach”; “red umbrella”; “Clouds over the river”; “warm evening”; “Summer Day.”

This Date in Architectural History: Born 31 January 1921 – E. Fay Jones, an American architect who designed the Thorncrown Chapel.

Below – The Thorncrown Chapel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

Contemporary Russian Art – Aleksandr Arefyev

Below – “E047”; “D022”; “C031”; “A043 Rain. Nevsky avenue”; “B087”; “B053.”

This Date in Literary History: Born 31 January 1905 – John O’Hara, an American short story writer, novelist, and author of “Appointment in Samarra” and “BUtterfield 8.”
Here is a tribute from critic Lorin Stein: “O’Hara may not have been the best story writer of the twentieth century, but he is the most addictive. You can binge on his collections the way some people binge on ‘Mad Men,’ and for some of the same reasons. On the topics of class, sex, and alcohol—that is, the topics that mattered to him—his novels amount to a secret history of American life.”

Some quotes from the work of John O’Hara:

“A merchant in Baghdad sends his servant to the marketplace for provisions. Shortly, the servant comes home white and trembling and tells him that in the marketplace he was jostled by a woman, whom he recognized as Death, and she made a threatening gesture. Borrowing the merchant’s horse, he flees at top speed to Samarra, a distance of about 75 miles (125 km), where he believes Death will not find him. The merchant then goes to the marketplace and finds Death, and asks why she made the threatening gesture. She replies, ‘That was not a threatening gesture, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.’”
“America may be unique in being a country which has leapt from barbarism to decadence without touching civilization.”
“The trouble is people leave too much to luck. They get married and then trust to luck. They should be sure in the first place.”
“George Gershwin died on July 11, 1937, but I don’t have to believe it if I don’t want to.”
“George Gershwin died on July 11, 1937, but I don’t have to believe it if I don’t want to.”
“There comes a time in a man’s life, if he is unlucky and leads a full life, when he has a secret so dirty that he knows he never will get rid of it. (Shakespeare knew this and tried to say it, but he said it just as badly as anyone ever said it. ‘All the perfumes of Arabia’ makes you think of all the perfumes of Arabia and nothing more. It is the trouble with all metaphors where human behavior is concerned. People are not ships, chess men, flowers, race horses, oil paintings, bottles of champagne, excrement, musical instruments or anything else but people. Metaphors are all right to give you an idea.)”
“Out story never ends.
You pull the pin out of a hand grenade, and in a few seconds it explodes and men in a small area get killed and wounded. That makes bodies to be buried, hurt men to be treated. It makes widows and fatherless children and bereaved parents. It means pension machinery, and it makes for pacifism in some and for lasting hatred in others. Again, a man out of the danger area sees the carnage the grenade creates, and he shoots himself in the foot. Another man had been standing there just two minutes before the thing went off, and thereafter he believes in God or in a rabbit’s foot. Another man sees human brains for the first time and locks up the picture until one night years later, when he finally comes out with a description of what he saw, and the horror of his description turns his wife away from him.”
Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
when the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it’s no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned a few sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn’t need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn’t want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of my days.”

Contemporary American Art – Yolanda Santa Cruz

Below – “The Call”; “Leaving the city”; “The weight of your absence”; “Been waiting on your texts for so lone, now I just sit and enjoy the sunset”; “Living in”; “Not here.”

A Poem for Today

“The Second Coming”
by William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

This entry was posted in Art and Photography, Books, Movies, Music, and Television, Opinion. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply