Contemporary American Art – Ralph Vogler
Below – “Mt Rainier Summer”; “Alaskan Sunset”; “Seaside Twilight”; “New Mexico Fall”; “St Simon Marsh”; “La Fille Avec l’Orange.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 7 May 1943 – Peter Carey, an award-winning Australian novelist, short story writer, and author of “Oscar and Lucinda” and “True History of the Kelly Gang.”
Some quotes from the work of Peter Carey:
“Nostalgia is something we think of as fuzzy. But it’s pain. Pain concerning the past.”
“A cormorant broke the surface, like an improbable idea tearing the membrane between dreams and life.”
[on America] “I have traveled widely. I have seen this country in its infancy. I tell you what it will become. The public squares will be occupied by an uneducated class who will not be able to quote a line of Shakespeare.”
“What a torture to hear that a life had been available to me that I had not been man enough to live.”
“I had known loneliness before, and emptiness upon the moor, but I had never been a NOTHING, a nothing floating on a nothing, known by nothing, lonelier and colder than the space between the stars. It was more frightening than being dead.”
“I did not know that history is like a blood stain that keeps on showing on the wall no matter how many new owners take possession, no matter how many times we paint over it.”
Below – “Morning In the Studio”; “Eating Grapes” (collage); “Wisteria”; “Black Boat”; “Storm Approaching”; “Figure and Flora.”
by Joan Little
I peel oranges neatly.
The sections come apart cleanly, perfectly in my hands.
When Emily peels an orange, she tears holes in it.
Juice squirts in all directions.
“Kate,” she says, “I don’t know how you do it!”
Emily is my best friend.
I hope she never learns how to peel oranges.
Below – Dori Spector: “Peeling An Orange”
Contemporary American Art – Toni Silber-Delerive
Below – “Mountain River”; “In the Kitchen”; “Still life with Artichokes”; “Midtown Buildings”; “Three Sisters”; “Nude on a Ladder.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 7 May 1940 – Angela Carter (pen name of Angela Olive Pearce), an award-winning English novelist, short story writer, poet, journalist, and author of “The Bloody Chamber” and “Nights at the Circus.”
Some quotes from the work of Angela Carter:
“Reading a book is like re-writing it for yourself. You bring to a novel, anything you read, all your experience of the world. You bring your history and you read it in your own terms.”
“Cities have sexes: London is a man, Paris a woman, and New York a well-adjusted transsexual.”
“She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself; her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of her eyes and that is very frightening.”
“The child’s laughter is pure until he first laughs at a clown.”
“There was a house we all had in common and it was called the past, even though we’d lived in different rooms.”
“To ride a bicycle is in itself some protection against superstitious fears, since the bicycle is the product of pure reason applied to motion. Geometry at the service of man! Give me two spheres and a straight line and I will show you how far I can take them. Voltaire himself might have invented the bicycle, since it contributes so much to man’s welfare and nothing at all to his bane. Beneficial to the health, it emits no harmful fumes and permits only the most decorous speeds. How can a bicycle ever be an implement of harm?”
“We must all make do with the rags of love we find flapping on the scarecrow of humanity.”
Contemporary British Art – Nadia Attura
Below (photographs) – “Backwaters Morning”; “Gone Swimming”; “Kew”; “Backwaters Song”; “Cactus Blue”; “Dark Love.”
A Poem for Today
by Pablo Neruda
It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air–
and there, night came in.
When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography–
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.
Below – Elizabeth Becker: “Swallow No. 46”