A Monet for tonight

Art Sunday

Landscape near Chatou (1905) , by André Derain.

Rainy day

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what is is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
(e.e.cummings)

the painting is Rain, by Gustave Caillebotte

Art on a cold Sunday

Called a masterpiece from the very first day,Manet's train station, the Gare Saint Lazare, is a favourite of mine. I love airports and railway stations, mainly because I like to sit there watching the people go by, guessing where they come from and where they're going to, I am the little girl on Manet's painting, also from the first time I saw this work.

de profundis

OH why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat.
I would not care to reach the moon,
One round monotonous of change;
Yet even she repeats her tune
Beyond my range.
I never watch the scatter'd fire
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,
But all my heart is one desire,
And all in vain:
For I am bound with fleshly bands,
Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;
I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,
And catch at hope.
(Christina Rossetti)

A lighthouse of one's own

"When darkness fell, the stroke of the Lighthouse, which had laid itself 
with such authority upon the carpet in the darkness, tracing its pattern, 
came now in the softer light of spring mixed with moonlight gliding gently 
as if it laid its caress and lingered stealthily and looked and came 
lovingly again." ( Virginia Woolf, To the 
Lighthouse)

the painting is The Lighthouse at Colliure (1905) by fauve artist André Derain

On the edge of the world

A painting by German artist Joachim Lehrer. Dedicated to Sal and to all those who like lighthouses.

Art on Sunday

Coin de table, by Cézanne. Good morning!

Expectations

TODAY I will let the old boat stand
Where the sweep of the harbor tide comes in
To the pulse of a far, deep-steady sway.
And I will rest and dream and sit on the deck
Watching the world go by
And take my pay for many hard days gone I remember.
I will choose what clouds I like
In the great white fleets that wander the blue
As I lie on my back or loaf at the rail.
And I will listen as the veering winds kiss me and fold me
And put on my brow the touch of the world’s great will.
Daybreak will hear the heart of the boat beat,
Engine throb and piston play
In the quiver and leap at call of life.
To-morrow we move in the gaps and heights
On changing floors of unlevel seas
And no man shall stop us and no man follow
For ours is the quest of an unknown shore
And we are husky and lusty and shouting-gay.

Waiting, by Carl Sandburg