Contemporary British Art – Lorna Scheepers
Below – “Long way home (The Swan)”; “Underneath The Frozen River, The Water Still Flows”; “The Nature of Memory”; “My heart is like a tree with its flowers ablaze”; “Follow the yellow wood road”; “I Dreamed in a Dream.”
Some quotes from the work of Franz Kafka:
“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.”
“A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”
“I am a cage, in search of a bird.”
“Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.”
“Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.”
“I am free and that is why I am lost.”
“All language is but a poor translation.”
“It’s only because of their stupidity that they’re able to be so sure of themselves.”
“Paths are made by walking”
Below – “Wheat”; “Escape to Space”; “Girl on Fire”; “UFO”; “Wooden Horse”; “Pool.”
“Sheltered in Place”
by Richard Levine
You watch your boy struggle with giving
up the turtle, returning it to the pond
where he’d found it on a walk—
first time you’d all been out in days.
How thoughtful he thought he’d been,
making it a home in the home
where the family sheltered in place.
How he cared for his armored friend.
Having picked flowers, knowing they’d die,
you understand the urge to pluck
the exotic, the beautiful—any diversion
from fear, which is in itself a disease.
That morning, you helped your boy
give up the idea of living forever.
Below – Corbyn Rhodes: “Van Gogh, All Things Come To and End”
Below – “Portrait of a Woman”; “Metamorphosis”; “Young Girl”; “Portrait of a Woman”; “Transience”; “Act in motion.”
A Poem for Today
by Barbara Crooker
“And Now It’s September”
and the garden diminishes: cucumber leaves rumpled
and rusty, zucchini felled by borers, tomatoes sparse
on the vines. But out in the perennial beds, there’s one last
blast of color: ignitions of goldenrod, flamboyant
asters, spiraling mums, all those flashy spikes waving
in the wind, conducting summer’s final notes.
The ornamental grasses have gone to seed, haloed
in the last light. Nights grow chilly, but the days
are still warm; I wear the sun like a shawl on my neck
and arms. Hundreds of blackbirds ribbon in, settle
in the trees, so many black leaves, then, just as suddenly,
they’re gone. This is autumn’s great Departure Gate,
and everyone, boarding passes in hand, waits
patiently in a long, long line.
Below – Sergey Komorny: “autumn garden”