The Lovers’ Chronicle 3 January – venetian lovers – premiere of Donizetti’s Don Pasquale – art by August Macke

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Do you know what it is to be a lover?  To be half of a whole?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

finally together
in each other’s arms
“We seem to spend
a lot of time naked in bed.”
my favorite place
to be with you
“What are you thinking about?”
everything, bein’ half of a whole
my favorite line i did not write;
‘You came upon me wave on wave
you’re the reason I’m still here
am I the one you were sent to save
you came upon me wave on wave’
“You know I always had you baby,
just waiting for you to find
what you were looking for.”

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

music, good yet sad
i can hardly deceive you
with divided devotions
and emotions mixed
i take the meanin’,
with heaviness
made up fresh adventures
where pleasure taken
on your face all flush on our bed,
hearts poundin’ where we lay,
the melody plaintive, sigh on sigh

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

This one is a tribute to Venice and Venetian music.  One of the great cities of the world for lovers.  Today is the anniversary of the death of the Venetian composer Baldassare Galuppi.  His music served as inspiration for Robert Browning‘s poem, A Toccata of Galuppi’s, which is not a love poem but served as inspiration for the Poem of the Day.  Browning’s poem inspired a 1989 setting, in modern idiom but with musical quotations from Galuppi’s works, by the composer Dominick Argento.  I tried to find it for the Song of the Day, but I could not so I went with another Venetian composer for the SOD.  Hope you like,

Venetian Lovers

This music, good yet sad to hear
I can hardly misconceive you
With divided devotions and mixed emotions
I take the meanin’, with a heavy heart…

They lived in Venice
Where the merchants were the kings,
Where Saint Mark’s is and the Grand Canal,
Where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings
Where they lived and laughed and loved
Where they made up fresh adventures
Where they took their pleasure
When the sea was warm in May

The lady such a beauty, lips so red,
Her neck, her face all flush on their bed,
Her chest poundin’ where he laid his head
Well, it was all graceful for them
They would break talk off and work
Her with her brush, him with his pen,
While the music played and filled the air
The melody so plaintive, sigh on sigh

Told them somethin’ Must this end
Love must last We can but try
Are you happy And are you still as happy
Yes. And you Then, more kisses
When as many as could be seemed so few
Passion persistent till it must be answered to
Then they resumed their pleasure
And resumed their fulfillment of each other

Till in due time, Time stepped tacitly
And took them where they never see the sun.

To reason, to take a stand, to not swerve,
Triumph over a secret wrung from some reserve,
In comes cold music till it creeps through every nerve
Ghostly creakin’, dust and ashes, dead and done with
Venice spent what Venice earned
The soul, doubtless, is immortal
Where a soul can be discerned
Souls shall rise in their design

As for Venice and the lovers, merely born to bloom
There they bore their concupiscence, mirth and folly
What of soul is left, when the kissin’ has to stop
Dust and ashes so you wrote it,
And I want the heart to scold
Do you know what it is to be a lover
Do you know what it is to be half of a whole
I feel cold and grown old

© copyright 2013 mac tag/Cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

The Song of the Day is La virtù dei strali d’Amore (The Power of Cupid’s Arrows) by Francesco Cavalli.

On this day in 1843 – The comic opera “Don Pasquale” by the Italian composer Gaetano Donizetti had its first performance in Paris.  To this day it remains one of his best-loved and most often-performed works.

Don Pasquale
Opera by Gaetano Donizetti
Luigi Lablache in Don Pasquale.jpeg

Luigi Lablache as Don Pasquale in the 1843 premiere
 
Don Pasquale is an opera buffa in three acts by Donizetti with an Italian libretto completed largely by Giovanni Ruffini as well as the composer. It was based on a libretto by Angelo Anelli for Stefano Pavesi’s opera Ser Marcantonio written in 1810 but, on the published libretto, the author appears as “M.A.”  The opera was first performed by the Théâtre-Italien at the Salle Ventadour in Paris with great success and it is generally regarded as being the high point of the 19th century opera buffa tradition and marking its ending.
Giulia Grisi, 1844
Antonio Tamburini

Donizetti had just returned to Paris from Vienna in the autumn of 1842 and it was there that it was suggested to him by Jules Janin, the newly appointed director of the Théâtre-Italien, that he might compose a new opera for that house.  Janin prepared a formal proposal on 27 September, but while no specific subject nor title was mentioned, Janin suggested that it should be a new opera buffa tailored to the talents of some major singers including Giulia Grisi, Antonio Tamburini, and Luigi Lablache.

Synopsis


=== Overture===
The music is suggestive of an opera of this type, bright,and lively, it starts with plenty of percussion and brass instruments. After a while, the ambiance changes to suggest a party. The overture ends with a satisfactory finale.Time: Early 19th century
Place: Rome

Act 1

Scenes 1–3: A room in the home of Don Pasquale, at 9 o’clock

Ernesto has refused the woman that his uncle Don Pasquale had found for him, and as a result is to be disinherited. Ernesto declares his devotion to the young – but poor – widow Norina. In view of Ernesto’s determination, Don Pasquale decides to marry in old age to produce his own heir, and anxiously awaits the arrival of his physician, Dr. Malatesta, who is determined to teach Don Pasquale how foolish he is being, but has been pretending to search for a suitable bride. Malatesta, confronted with Pasquale’s impatience, mutters that he is a buffoon, but proceeds to describe the attributes of the bride-to-be (Bella siccome un angelo – “Beautiful like an angel”). Honest, modest and sweet – when pressed, Malatesta reveals she is in fact his sister. Overcome with joy, Pasquale demands to meet her at once, and sends Malatesta to fetch her, before singing of the love that has gripped him (Ah, un foco insolito – “A sudden fire”).

Ernesto comes back and pleads with the Don to consult with his friend Malatesta – when he hears that Malatesta supposedly supports Pasquale, he is amazed at this apparent betrayal (Mi fa il destino mendico – “Fate has made a beggar of me”). Ernesto determines to elope and writes to tell Norina that all is lost.

Scenes 4–5: An apartment in the home of Norina

Norina sits alone, reading a book. She recites a passage, before laughing at the situation described and reflecting on her own temperament (So anch’io la virtù magica – I too know your magical virtues”). She is in cahoots with Dr. Malatesta and impatiently waits for him to come and explain his plan at which he had only hinted. A servant delivers the letter from Ernesto, which she quickly reads and is instantly dismayed.

Malatesta arrives to explain the stratagem, but Norina cuts him off and hands him the letter, which he reads aloud: Ernesto has announced his intention to leave Rome, and Europe altogether. Malatesta reassures her, saying that he has adapted his plan: Norina shall play the part of Malatesta’s sister. Having arranged for his cousin to act as a notary, they will easily deceive the Don. Norina consents to play her part in the deception, and they discuss her strategies in a lively duet (Pronta son; purch’io non manchi – “I am ready; if I do not miss”).

Act 2

File:Son tradito, calpestato (Don Pasquale).webm
Act II finale, “Son tradito”, at the Liceu in 2015. Cast: Lorenzo Regazzo (Don Pasquale), Valentina Nafornita (Norina), Juan Francisco Gatell (Ernesto), Mariusz Kwiecien (Dottor Malatesta)

A salon in the home of Don Pasquale

Ernesto is alone: lamenting his fate, he considers his decision to leave Rome (Cercherò lontana terra – “I shall seek a distant land”). He leaves the room just as Pasquale enters, dressed in his outdated finery, along with his servants, to whom he gives instructions to admit Malatesta on his arrival. He parades around in his grand costume, hoping it will conceal his advancing years.

Malatesta arrives with Norina in tow, and introduces her to Pasquale as his sister, Sofronia, fresh out of the convent. Pasquale is smitten, and Norina plays the part of a dutiful, modest and submissive lady, to Pasquale’s satisfaction. Norina consents to the proposed marriage, which delights Pasquale. He wants to send for the notary to conduct the ceremony straight away – conveniently, Malatesta has brought one along, who waits in the antechamber.

Malatesta fetches the supposed notary, as servants arrange a table. Taking his seat, the “notary” writes out a marriage contract as dictated by Malatesta and Pasquale (Fra da una parta – “Between, on one hand”), where the Don bequeaths all his estate to be administrated by Sofronia. The contract is quickly drawn up: Pasquale signs but, before Norina can affix her signature, Ernesto bursts in. Intending to say a final farewell, he is amazed to see Norina about to marry Pasquale. However, Malatesta persuades him not to say anything (Figliol non mi far scene – “Son, don’t make a scene”), and he is forced to act as the final witness much to Don Pasquale’s delight.

As soon as the contract is signed, Norina abandons her pretence of docility, and refuses Pasquale’s embrace. She announces her intention to teach him manners, and to have Ernesto as a gallant to accompany her on evening strolls. Pasquale is horrified at this transformation, while Malatesta and Ernesto can barely conceal their amusement (È rimasto là impietrato – “He stands there, petrified”). Summoning the household staff, Norina recites a long list of demands – more servants (young and handsome at that), carriages and horses, furniture – and instructs them to spare no expense doubling all their wages. Pasquale is stricken at his misfortune, so Malatesta urges him to go to bed.

Act 3

Staging of Don Pasquale at the Salle Ventadour in Paris (1843)

Scenes 1–5: A room in the home of Don Pasquale

Pasquale sits in a room, surrounded by piles of newly purchased jewels, dresses and the like, as the servants bustle in and out of Norina’s apartment (I diamanti presto presto – “The diamonds, quickly, quickly”). Dismayed by the piles of bills and invoices, the Don summons the courage to confront his tyrannical new wife. Norina emerges, dressed to go out. He attempts to reason with her, but she pays little heed (Signorina, in tanta fretta – “Madam, where are you off to in such a hurry”). He suggests that if she leaves, he may not allow her to return, an idea that she meets with patronising insincerity (Via, caro sposino – “There, there, dear little husband”) but the discussion ends in her slapping him. As she exits, she drops a note which Pasquale picks up and reads. The note is addressed to Sofronia, arranging a meeting in the garden with its unnamed, admiring author. Pasquale calls for a servant to summon Malatesta, before leaving the room.

The servants return and, amongst themselves, at once complain at the amount of work they are being made to do, and reveal how much they are enjoying the farcical drama developing between Pasquale and his new wife (Che interminabile andirivieni! – “Such endless coming and going!”). At the approach of Malatesta and Ernesto, however, they exit, assured of more entertainment to come. Malatesta reminds Ernesto of the finer points of their plan, and the latter leaves. The doctor moves forward to greet Don Pasquale, who tells him of Norina’s intended assignation, and his own plan to expose her unfaithfulness before a magistrate. Malatesta persuades him to moderate his plan and Pasquale, believing him an ally, consents to his conditions, while plotting his revenge on Norina (Aspetta, aspetta, cara sposina – “Wait, wait, dear little wife”).

Scenes 6–7: The garden, adjoining Pasquale’s house

In the garden, as night draws in, Ernesto sings of his love for Norina, as he waits for her arrival (Com’è gentil – “How lovely”). At last, Norina emerges, and they express their love: (Tornami a dir che m’ami – “Tell me once more that you love me”). Don Pasquale and Malatesta have observed and, as they reveal themselves, Ernesto covers himself with a cloak and runs to the house. Pasquale tries to confront Norina – he has caught her in flagrante – but this only provokes a fight that leaves the Don spluttering. She refuses to leave at his demand, so Malatesta, as per his agreement with Pasquale, takes over. Pretending to negotiate with Norina/Sofronia, he tells Pasquale that the only way to make her leave will be to allow Ernesto to marry his beloved, whom “Sofronia” apparently despises. Pasquale consents, and calls out to the house, from which Ernesto and the servants emerge. He instructs Ernesto to send for his would-be bride, but Malatesta reveals that Norina is in fact the woman Pasquale thinks he married, while the real Sofronia remains in a convent. All are reconciled, and the moral of the story – not to marry in old age – is revealed in a playful quartet (La moral di tutto questo – “The moral of all this”).

August Macke
August Macke 042.jpg

August Macke, Self-portrait, 1906, oil on canvas

Today is the birthday of August Macke (Meschede 3 January 1887 – 26 September 1914 near Perthes-lès-Hurlus, France); one of the leading members of the German Expressionist group Der Blaue Reiter (The Blue Rider).  He lived during a particularly innovative time for German art: the development of the main German Expressionist movements as well as the arrival of the successive avant-garde movements which were forming in the rest of Europe.  Like a true artist of his time, Macke knew how to integrate into his painting the elements of the avant-garde which most interested him.

Macke’s career was cut short by his early death in the second month of the First World War at the front in Champagne, France.  His final painting, Farewell, depicts the mood of gloom that settled after the outbreak of war.  This was also the same year that he painted the famous painting, Türkisches Café in München (1914).

Gallery

Bathing girls with town in the backgraund, 1913

Bathing girls with town in the backgraund, 1913

three acts 1913

three acts 1913

Street with church in Kandern, 1911

Rokoko,1912, oil on canvas, 89 x 89 cm, National Museum of Art, Architecture and Design, Norway

Tightrope walker, 1913

mac tag

No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;

The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams

W. B. Yeats

Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.Sylvia Plath

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 2 January – clearly comin’ – art by Piero di Cosimo

Dear Zazie,

Could not be more pleased to be beginning this year with the one I have longed for. Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Are you askin’ yourself if there can really be a mornin’?  Are you askin’ yourself where lies forgiveness?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

yes, with you by my side
always there
we just had to find
what we were lookin’ for
see it clearly now
feelin’s and thoughts
reach for it
never turned out
to not be that far
we chose to believe
light comin’ on
there we are

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

too imperceptible
lapsin’ away
quietness distills
as twilight long spent
dusk drawn down
mornin’ shone away
a harrowin’ grace
good mornin’ forever comin’
i can long can i not
when the West is red
from the settin’ sun,
has a way of pullin’
this heart across the plains

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

it will dissolve

a touch
the feelin’s
dispersin’
what once was

will others emerge, renew
broken hopes, extinguish
perpetuatin’ flames,
in dream ages

feelin’s form a chain
of what could be
quick take the truth
and make it so

this wanderin’ light
swear at night
where fate plunges
always keep: your dyin’ pleasure
she escapes already

at least you have seen

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

see it comin’
clearly
the mornin’
eyes and thoughts
reach for it

a gift of expression
or maybe just
for longin’

above the plain
light comin’ on
there, close
but is there ever
any goin’ back

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

This one can be attributed to riffin’ on some poems by Emily Dickinson.  The SOD is set to a poem by Dickinson.  One of my favorite ED poems is Wild Nights (249).  So here is her poem followed by the POD:

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury
 
Futile – the winds –
To a heart in port –
Done with the compass –
Done with the chart!
 
Rowing in Eden –
Ah, the sea!
Might I moor – Tonight –
In thee!

Can There Really be a Mornin’

Too imperceptible at first
Your love lapsed away
A quietness distilled in you
As twilight long spent

Gone our sequestered afternoons
The dusk drawn down on what we had
The mornin’ shone away
A harrowin’ Grace took its place
And thus, your light escaped
Into the beyond

Good mornin’ forever comin’
You got tired of me
How could I of you
But love did not want me
So goodnight love
Can forever last that long

I can look can I not
I can long can I not
When the West is red
From the settin’ sun
These mountains have a way
That pulls the heart across the plains

You are not so far forever,
I chose love, love chose me not
So please take a Cowboy she spurned
Are you not so fair forever

Can there really be a mornin’
Is there such a thing
As forgiveness
Can I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they
Can I get there by horseback
Can I take a direct flight
Or must I change planes in Denver

Can it be in some distant land
Or some Renaissance Man, or
Some philosopher from beyond
Please to tell a Cowboy

Where the place called forgiveness lies
Can there really be a mornin’

© copyright 2013 mac tag/Cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

The Song of the Day is Will There Really be a Morning Conspirare written by Craig Hella Johnson

Today is the birthday of Piero di Cosimo (Florence 2 January 1462 – 12 April 1522 Florence), also known as Piero di Lorenzo; painter of the Renaissance.

Perhaps best known for the mythological and allegorical subjects he painted in the late Quattrocento. He is said to have abandoned these to return to religious subjects under the influence of Savonarola, the preacher who exercised influence in Florence in the 1490s. The High Renaissance style of the new century had little influence on him, and he retained the straightforward realism of his figures, which combines with an often whimsical treatment of his subjects to create the distinctive mood of his works.

He trained under Cosimo Rosselli, whose daughter he married, and assisted him in his Sistine Chapel frescos. He was also influenced by Early Netherlandish painting, and busy landscapes feature in many works, often forests seen close at hand. Several of his most striking secular works are in the long “landscape” format used for paintings inset into cassone wedding chests or spalliera headboards or panelling. He was apparently famous for designing the temporary decorations for Carnival and other festivities.

Gallery

20230102_181214

 The Death of Procris, c. 1495

Perseus Rescuing Andromeda, oil on canvas, 1510 or 1513, Uffizi.

Tritons and Nereids (1500), oil on panel, 37 x158 cm, Milano, Altomani collection.

 

Young St John the Baptist, 1490s

 

 Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 1 January – Happy New Year Y’all – impetus – photography by Alfred Stieglitz – birth of E. M. Forster

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

a moment before ever

words, hear pronounced,
repeat on lips quenched
from needed attention

now this impetus of hope

no more trouble within,
needs be faced
in the bosom of with
as is, and nothin’ else

everything done for beauty,
the dream carries desire,
under your kiss

© copyright 2022 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

new beginnin’
the means and the end
sent to save each other
for verse is the bond
that wound us together
not dead, only dormant
for nothin’ could ever
pull it out of us
and such delight
in discovery
of the unexpected
a touch loosens,
and soon it gets
even better

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

a moment,
before never
words, hear pronounced,
repeat on lips parched
from lack thereof
why this impetus of hope
trouble within, needs be faced
in the bosom of solitude
as is, or no more
was everything done for beauty,
the dream carries desire,
under the memory
of her kiss

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

holdin’ you here
suspended
prone spread open
through you, all things
on this that will soon happen

another point of view,
feel you, helpless,
in your arms

these feelin’s without measure
comin’ on, an ardent swarm
such transport is the future
that stirs in you

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

this vision
in the arms of another,
a moment, before forever

words, hear pronounced,
dare repeat on lips parched
from lack thereof

live so little, why this promise
impetus of hope in the heart
a vain challenge to hereafter
or happiness after the fall

an unyieldin’ voice
implacable
no escapin’

trouble within, needs be faced
in the bosom of solitude
as is, or no more

was everything said for beauty,
the dream carries the desire,
under the memory
of her kiss

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge

a loose decision
of the unforgiven

do not deny me
this abode of woe…

watch this vision
in the arms of the Other,
a moment all before forever
“Make the same oath.”

always bold words,
hear pronounced,
that dare repeat
on parched lips

live so little, why this promise
impetus of hope in the heart
a vain challenge to hereafter
for a moment of happiness

a loud unyieldin’ voice
cry to everything “Choose!”
implacable and insensitive
no escapin’

necessary, trouble within,
that which was had and lost
in the bosom of the immense,
like so, and no more

everything was not said, fragile beauty,
invincible dream carries the desire,
under the memory
of her kiss

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

Alfred Stieglitz
Alfred Stieglitz.jpg

Stieglitz in 1902 by Gertrude Käsebier

Today is the birthday of Alfred Stieglitz (Hoboken, New Jersey; January 1, 1864 – July 13, 1946 New York City); photographer and modern art promoter who was instrumental over his fifty-year career in making photography an accepted art form.  In addition to his photography, Stieglitz was known for the New York art galleries that he ran in the early part of the 20th century, where he introduced many avant-garde European artists to the U.S.

For several years he had known Emmeline Obermeyer, who was the sister of his close friend and business associate Joe Obermeyer.  On 16 November 1893, when she turned twenty and Stieglitz was twenty-nine, they married in New York City.  Stieglitz later wrote that he did not love Emmy, as she was known, when they were first married and that their marriage was not consummated for at least a year.  He indicated that their marriage was one of financial advantage for him (she had inherited money from her father, a wealthy brewery owner) at a time when his own father had lost a great deal of money in the stock market.  He quickly regretted his brash decision to marry as he found out that Emmy could not begin to match his own artistic and cultural interests.

In January 1916, Stieglitz was shown a portfolio of drawings by a young artist named Georgia O’Keeffe.  Stieglitz was so taken by her art that without meeting O’Keeffe or even getting her permission to show her works he made plans to exhibit her work at 291.  The first that O’Keeffe heard about any of this was from another friend who saw her drawings in the gallery in late May of that year.  She finally met Stieglitz after going to 291 and chastising him for showing her work without her permission.  Stieglitz was immediately attracted to her both physically and artistically.  O’Keeffe did not immediately return the interest.

Soon thereafter O’Keeffe met Paul Strand, and her physical and artistic attraction focused on him.  She then returned to her home in Texas, and for several months she and Strand exchanged increasingly romantic letters.  When Strand told his friend Stieglitz about his new yearning, Stieglitz responded by telling Strand about his own infatuation with O’Keeffe. Gradually Strand’s interest waned, and Stieglitz’s escalated.  By the summer of 1917 he and O’Keeffe were writing each other “their most private and complicated thoughts”, and it was clear that something very intense was developing.

The year 1917 marked the end of an era in Stieglitz’s life and the beginning of another.  It was also clear to him that his marriage to Emmy was over. He had finally found “his twin”, and nothing would stand in his way of the relationship he had wanted all of his life.

During the previous eighteen months Stieglitz and O’Keeffe had been writing to each other with increasing passion and seeing each other whenever possible.  In early June, O’Keeffe moved to New York after Stieglitz promised he would provide her with a quiet studio where she could paint.  They were inseparable from the moment she arrived, and within a month he took the first of many nude photographs of her.  He chose to do this at his family’s apartment while his wife Emmy was away, but she returned while their session was still in progress.  Emmy told him to stop seeing her or get out.  Stieglitz did not hesitate; he left and immediately found a place in the city where he and O’Keeffe could live together.  By mid-August when they visited Oaklawn “they were like two teenagers in love.  Several times a day they would run up the stairs to their bedroom, so eager to make love that they would start taking their clothes off as they ran.”

Stieglitz filed for divorce almost immediately.  Due to legal delays caused by Emmy and her brothers, it would be six more years before the divorce was finalized.  During this period Stieglitz and O’Keeffe continued to live together.  She was relatively free-spirited and out-going with Stieglitz and his friends, but she needed solitude for weeks or months at a time when she focused on painting or creating.  This arrangement worked well with Stieglitz’s own lifestyle, and he used the times when she was away to concentrate on his photography and on his continued promotion of modern art.

One of the most important things that O’Keeffe provided for Stieglitz was the muse he had always wanted.  He photographed O’Keeffe obsessively between 1918 and 1925 in what was the most prolific period in his entire life.  During this period he produced more than 350 mounted prints of O’Keeffe that portrayed a wide range of her character, moods and beauty. He shot many close-up studies of parts of her body, especially her hands either isolated by themselves or near her face or hair.  They remain one of the most dynamic and intimate records of a single individual in the history of art.

In the catalog for a 1921 show, Stieglitz made his famous declaration: “I was born in Hoboken. I am an American. Photography is my passion. The search for Truth my obsession.”  What is less known is that he conditioned this statement by following it with these words:

“PLEASE NOTE: In the above STATEMENT the following, fast becoming “obsolete”, terms do not appear: ART, SCIENCE, BEAUTY, RELIGION, every ISM, ABSTRACTION, FORM, PLASTICITY, OBJECTIVITY, SUBJECTIVITY, OLD MASTERS, MODERN ART, PSYCHOANALYSIS, AESTHETICS, PICTORIAL PHOTOGRAPHY, DEMOCRACY, CEZANNE, “291”, PROHIBITION. The term TRUTH did creep in but it may be kicked out by any one.”

In the summer of 1923, O’Keeffe once again took off for the seclusion of the Southwest, and for a while Stieglitz was alone with Beck Strand at Lake George.  He took a series of nude photos of her, and soon he became infatuated with her.  They had a brief physical affair before O’Keeffe returned in the fall.  O’Keeffe could tell what had happened, but since she did not see Stieglitz’s new lover as a serious threat to their relationship she let things pass.  Six years later she would have her own affair with Beck Strand in New Mexico.

In 1924 Stieglitz’s divorce was finally approved by a judge, and within four months he and O’Keeffe married.  It was a small, private ceremony at Marin’s house, and afterward the couple went back home.  There was no reception, festivities or honeymoon.  O’Keeffe said later that they married in order to help soothe the troubles of Stieglitz’s daughter Kitty, who at that time was being treated in a sanatorium for depression and hallucinations.  The marriage did not seem to have any immediate effect on either Stieglitz or O’Keeffe; they both continued working on their individual projects as they had before.  For the rest of their lives together, their relationship was, as biographer Benita Eisler characterized it, “a collusion … a system of deals and trade-offs, tacitly agreed to and carried out, for the most part, without the exchange of a word. Preferring avoidance to confrontation on most issues, O’Keeffe was the principal agent of collusion in their union.”

In the coming years O’Keeffe would spend much of her time painting in New Mexico, while Stieglitz rarely left New York except for summers at Lake George.  O’Keeffe later said “Stieglitz was a hypochondriac and couldn’t be more than 50 miles from a doctor.”

In 1927 a young woman named Dorothy Norman came to the gallery to look at works by Marin, and once again Stieglitz became infatuated with a much younger woman.  She began volunteering for mundane tasks at the gallery, and soon she found she was returning Stieglitz’s attention.  By the next year, when Stieglitz was sixty-four and she twenty-two, they both declared their love for each other.

For most of the past year O’Keeffe had been dealing with bouts of illness or secluded at Lake George painting, and she and Stieglitz had seen each other only intermittently.  She knew of her husband’s interest in Norman but thought it was just another of his infatuations.  Having struggled with artistic roadblocks for many months she felt she needed a major change of some sort, so when Mabel Dodge invited her to come to Santa Fe for the summer O’Keeffe told Stieglitz that she had to go in order to be able to create again.  Stieglitz took advantage of her time away to begin photographing Norman, and he began teaching her the technical aspects of printing as well.  Within a short time they became lovers, but even after their physical affair diminished a few years later they continued to work together whenever O’Keeffe was not around until Stieglitz died in 1946.

In the summer of 1946 Stieglitz suffered a fatal stroke.  He remained in a coma long enough for O’Keeffe to finally return home.  When she got to his hospital room Dorothy Norman was there with him.  She left immediately, and O’Keeffe was with him when he died.  According to his wishes, a simple funeral was held with only twenty of his closest friends and family in attendance.  Stieglitz was cremated, and O’Keeffe and his niece Elizabeth Davidson took his ashes to Lake George.  O’Keeffe never revealed exactly where she distributed them, saying only “I put him where he could hear the water.”

Gallery

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georgia o'keeffe

georgia o’keeffe

Georgia O'Keeffe

Georgia O’Keeffe

1886 Self-portrait.

Winter – Fifth Avenue (1893)

 

Venetian Canal (1894)

Spring Showers, The Coach (1902)

Going to the Start (1905)

Katherine Stieglitz, autochrome, ca. 1910

Group of artists in 1912, L to R : Paul Haviland, Abraham Walkowitz, Katharine N. Rhoades, Stieglitz’s first wife Emily, Agnes Meyer, Alfred Stieglitz, J.B. Kerfoot, John Marin

Autochrome portrait of Stieglitz and his wife Emily, ca. 1915. While attributed to Stieglitz, image may well be the work of Edward Steichen or Frank Eugene.

 

Portrait of Georgia O’Keeffe.
E. M. Forster
E. M. Forster von Dora Carrington, 1924-25.jpg

E. M. Forster, by Dora Carrington
c. 1924–1925

And today is the birthday of E. M. Forster (Edward Morgan Forster, Marylebone, Middlesex, England 1 January 1879 – 7 June 1970 Coventry, Warwickshire, England); novelist, short story writer, essayist and librettist. Many of his novels examined class difference and hypocrisy in early 20th-century British society, notably A Room with a View (1908), Howards End (1910), and A Passage to India (1924), which brought him his greatest success. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 16 different years. Forster was a lifelong bachelor.

Prose

  • I am the means and not the end. I am the food and not the life. Stand by yourself, as that boy has stood. I cannot save you. For poetry is a spirit; and they that would worship it must worship in spirit and in truth.
    • “The Celestial Omnibus” (1911)

Where Angels Fear to Tread (1905)

  • Romance only dies with life. No pair of pincers will ever pull it out of us. But there is a spurious sentiment which cannot resist the unexpected and the incongruous and the grotesque. A touch will loosen it, and the sooner it goes from us the better.
    • Ch. 2
  • A wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the children; and — by some sad, strange irony — it does not bind us children to our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not with gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos and much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy.
    • Ch. 7
  • I never expect anything to happen now, and so I am never disappointed. You would be surprised to know what my great events are. Going to the theatre yesterday, talking to you now — I don’t suppose I shall ever meet anything greater. I seem fated to pass through the world without colliding with it or moving it — and I’m sure I can’t tell you whether the fate’s good or evil. I don’t die — I don’t fall in love. And if other people die or fall in love they always do it when I’m just not there. You are quite right; life to me is just a spectacle, which — thank God, and thank Italy, and thank you — is now more beautiful and heartening than it has ever been before.
    • Ch. 8
  • This woman was a goddess to the end. For her no love could be degrading: she stood outside all degradation. This episode, which she thought so sordid, and which was so tragic for him, remained supremely beautiful. To such a height was he lifted, that without regret he could now have told her that he was her worshipper too. But what was the use of telling her? For all the wonderful things had happened.
    “Thank you,” was all that he permitted himself. “Thank you for everything.”

    • Ch. 10

A Room with a View (1908)

  • It is so difficult – at least, I find it difficult – to understand people who speak the truth.
    • Ch.1
  • There’s enough sorrow in the world, isn’t there, without trying to invent it.
    • Ch. 2
  • The kingdom of music is not the kingdom of this world; it will accept those whom breeding and intellect and culture have alike rejected. The commonplace person begins to play, and shoots into the empyrean without effort, whilst we look up, marvelling how he has escaped us, and thinking how we could worship him and love him, would he but transalate his visions into human words, and his experiences into human actions.
    • Ch. 3
  • Life is easy to chronicle, but bewildering to practice.
    • Ch. 14
  • It isn’t possible to love and to part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know from experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.
    • Ch. 19

Howards End (1910)

  • He remembered his wife’s even goodness during thirty years. Not anything in detail — not courtship or early raptures —but just the unvarying virtue, that seemed to him a woman’s noblest quality. So many women are capricious, breaking into odd flaws of passion or frivolity. Not so his wife. Year after year, summer and winter, as bride and mother, she had been the same, he had always trusted her. Her tenderness! Her innocence! The wonderful innocence that was hers by the gift of God. Ruth knew no more of worldly wickedness and wisdom than did the flowers in her garden, or the grass in her field. Her idea of business — “Henry, why do people who have enough money try to get more money?” Her idea of politics — “I am sure that if the mothers of various nations could meet, there would be no more wars,” Her idea of religion — ah, this had been a cloud, but a cloud that passed. She came of Quaker stock, and he and his family, formerly Dissenters, were now members of the Church of England. The rector’s sermons had at first repelled her, and she had expressed a desire for “a more inward light,” adding, “not so much for myself as for baby” (Charles). Inward light must have been granted, for he heard no complaints in later years. They brought up their three children without dispute. They had never disputed.
    She lay under the earth now. She had gone, and as if to make her going the more bitter, had gone with a touch of mystery that was all unlike her.

    • Ch. 11
  • There’s nothing like a debate to teach one quickness. I often wish I had gone in for them when I was a youngster. It would have helped me no end.
    • Ch. 15
  • Personal relations are the important thing for ever and ever and not this outer life of telegrams and anger.
    • Ch. 19
  • She might yet be able to help him to the building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion. Without it we are meaningless fragments, half monks, half beasts, unconnected arches that have never joined into a man. With it love is born, and alights on the highest curve, glowing against the grey, sober against the fire. Happy the man who sees from either aspect the glory of these outspread wings. The roads of his soul lie clear, and he and his friends shall find easy-going.
    • Ch. 22
  • Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die.
    • Ch. 22
  • In these English farms, if anywhere, one might see life steadily and see it whole, group in one vision its transitoriness and its eternal youth, connect — connect without bitterness until all men are brothers.
    • Ch. 33
  • Death destroys a man, but the idea of death saves him.
    • Ch. 41
  • “There are moments when I feel Howards End peculiarly our own.” “All the same, London’s creeping.” She pointed over the meadow–over eight or nine meadows, but at the end of them was a red rust. “You see that in Surrey and even Hampshire now,” she continued. “I can see it from the Purbeck Downs. And London is only part of something else, I’m afraid. Life’s going to be melted down, all over the world.” Margaret knew that her sister spoke truly. Howards End, Oniton, the Purbeck Downs, the Oderberge, were all survivals, and the melting-pot was being prepared for them. Logically, they had no right to be alive. One’s hope was in the weakness of logic. Were they possibly the earth beating time?
    • Ch. 44

A Passage to India (1924)

  • Adventures do occur, but not punctually.
    • Ch. 3
  • All invitations must proceed from heaven perhaps; perhaps it is futile for men to initiate their own unity, they do but widen the gulfs between them by the attempt.
    • Ch. 4
  • Most of life is so dull that there is nothing to be said about it, and the books and talks that would describe it as interesting are obliged to exaggerate, in the hope of justifying their own existence. Inside its cocoon of work or social obligation, the human spirit slumbers for the most part, registering the distinction between pleasure and pain, but not nearly as alert as we pretend. There are periods in the most thrilling day during which nothing happens, and though we continue to exclaim, “I do enjoy myself”, or , “I am horrified,” we are insincere.
    • Ch. 14
  • Pathos, piety, courage, — they exist, but are identical, and so is filth. Everything exists, nothing has value.
    • Ch. 14
  • ‘Why can’t we be friends now?’ said the other, holding him affectionately. ‘It’s what I want. It’s what you want.’ But the horses didn’t want it — they swerved apart: the earth didn’t want it, sending up rocks through which riders must pass single file; the temple, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House, that came into view as they emerged from the gap and saw Mau beneath: they didn’t want it, they said in their hundred voices ‘No, not yet,’ and the sky said ‘No, not there.’
    • Ch. 37

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 31 December – old long since – birth of Marie d’Agoult – verse by Alexander Smith & Giovanni Pascoli – art by Giovanni Boldini & Matisse

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle™ from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

i god 2021
what a year

begun in the arms
of belongin’ with
hope ridin’ shotgun

as the year progressed,
comin’ together, came
a gift, we gave each other
that opened and bloomed
and became what matters

now look where it ended

where it was meant to

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

i god 2020
what a year
begun in the arms
of belongin’ only
to find that short
lived and how the hell
did you let that get to you
so disappointed
in myself
but learnin’ is all
and then look
where it ended
perhaps where it should
have been all along
in the end is the beginnin’

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

i god 2019
what a year

i know where it started
still tryin’ to process
where it ended

as you know,
began without
holdin’ nothin’
but verse

and now,
here with you
nine and a half
years later
holdin’ you

what i waited for,
what i wanted
for so long
with you

i am amazed

© Copyright 2019 Mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

i god, 2018
what a year
another
stressful one

it was the best
of times
it was the worst…
oh wait, that
has already
been written

it will go down,
for now anyway,
as the time
it was decided
that this
is the only
true way to be

it began
with a question
and ends
with an answer

if not you,
then this

2018
it was the best
of times
it was the worst…
oh wait, that
has already been written

helluva year
much have i told you,
much i have not
suffice to say,
i got by
thanks in part
to a lotta help
from my friends

“I get by
with a little help…”

thank you friends

may 2019
hold for you
all that you would have

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

i god, 2017
what a year
what i knew
would happen
finally did
only cost
one heart attack,
fourteen years,
and a lotta money
but it was worth it
to be where i should be

new year’s eve, alone
with the twilight zone
and champagne
Cheers, Santé,
Sláinte, Salute,
¡Salud!, Prosit,
to 2018,
to you
may the new year
be more
than we can dream

2017
ends in a better place
than it began
thanks in part
to a lotta help
from my friends,
new and old
“i git by
with a little help
from my friends”

thank you friends

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

i god, 2016
what a year
the stress finally
became too much
this cold, cold heart
tried to stop beatin’
i know, i know,
some thought
i had not a heart

thankful to still
be here, but so
is the stress
hopeful i will
be writin’ to you
this time next year

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

The letters he wrote to her,
his only remedy to keep
from goin’ mad or dyin’ of regret…

He took the course
of least resistance
Puttin’ himself in a position
where he need no longer go
without any necessities of life
Just what those necessities were
for him, no one could judge….

No one could understand
how an intimacy
could exist between him
and the woman in Wyoming
He a man of known character,
her strong in her commitment
to her way of life,
her land and livestock,
he attracted to every kind
of impermanence

But then he met Jolie
A woman of beauty,
intelligence, and culture
Of her he said,
those who believe that a woman
is incapable of makin’ a man
equally happy all the twenty-four
hours of the day have never
known a Jolie
She turned him on
to opera and French poetry
He turned her on
to campfires and first light
No woman so captivated
him as she did
Only one other obtained
so deep an understandin’ of him
She penetrated his outward
shell early on in their relationship
But Jolie resisted the temptation
to join her destiny with his
She came to discern
his wanderin’ nature,
and the precariousness
of his feelin’s

Before leavin’,
she slipped a letter into his pocket
He would not speak of what it said

Crestfallen, despondent,
he returned to Wyoming,
to the woman
who waited patiently for him
She welcomed him
knowin’ full well
he would wander again

And so it was,
after a lucky gamblin’ streak,
he recovered
and set off for a tour of France,
and Italy
Along the way,
from one town, from one heart,
to another,
he engaged in sexual escapades
resemblin’ operatic plots
He settled in Venice,
learned the language,
and wrote verse
and letters to the one
he came to understand,
he should return to

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

guinness-original-logo_svgOn this day in 1759 – Arthur Guinness signs a 9,000 year lease at £45 per annum and starts brewing Guinness.  Raise a glass to our favorite beer!

 

Marie d’Agoult (1843), painting by Henri Lehmann.

Today is the birthday of Marie Catherine Sophie, Comtesse d’Agoult (Frankfurt am Main, Germany 31 December 1805 – 5 March 1876 Paris); romantic author, known also by her pen name, Daniel Stern.

She entered into an early marriage of convenience with Charles Louis Constant d’Agoult, Comte d’Agoult (1790–1875) on 16 May 1827, thereby becoming the Comtesse d’Agoult.  They were divorced on 19 August 1835.

From 1835 to 1839, she lived with virtuoso pianist and composer Franz Liszt, who was six years younger, and was then a rising concert star.  She became close to Liszt’s circle of friends, including Frédéric Chopin, who dedicated his 12 Études, Op. 25 to her.  D’Agoult had three children with Liszt; however, she and Liszt did not marry, maintaining their independent views and other differences while Liszt was busy composing and touring throughout Europe.

Portrait de Marie d’Agoult par Théodore Chassériau (Musée du Louvre)

She died in Paris, aged 70, and was buried in Division 54 of Père Lachaise Cemetery.

She was portrayed by Geneviève Page in the 1960 film Song Without End, opposite Dirk Bogarde as Liszt; by Klara Luchko in the 1970 film Szerelmi álmok – Liszt, by Fiona Lewis; in the 1975 Ken Russell film Lisztomania, opposite Roger Daltrey as Liszt; and by Bernadette Peters in the 1991 James Lapine film Impromptu, which last dramatized encounters between d’Agoult, Liszt (Julian Sands), Chopin (Hugh Grant), and George Sand (Judy Davis).

d’Agoult in 1861. Photo by Adam-Salomon.

Her first stories (Hervé, Julien, and Valentia) were published in 1841-1845.  Perhaps her best-known work (written as “Daniel Stern”) is the Histoire de la révolution de 1848 (appearing from 1850–53, in 3 volumes).  D’Agoult’s other works include the novel Nélida (1846), Lettres Républicaines in Esquisses morales et politiques (1849, collected articles), Trois journées de la vie de Marie Stuart (1856), Florence et Turin (1862), Histoire des commencements de la république aux Pays-Bas (1872), “A Catholic Mother Speaks to Her Children” (1906, posthumously), and Mes souvenirs (1877, posthumously).

 

Portrait head of Alexander Smith on his grave, Warriston Cemetery, Edinburgh

Today is the birthday of Alexander Smith (Kilmarnock 31 December 1830 – 5 January 1867 Edinburgh); poet, labelled as one of the Spasmodic School, and essayist.

On 24 April 1857 Smith married Flora Macdonald (1829/30–1873) at Ord House on the Isle of Skye.  The couple had to return to Edinburgh soon after the wedding (via a steamer trip to Oban), but it was to Skye that they would return every August for the nine remaining years of the poet’s life.  These visits, as well as providing the raw material for his best-known work, were to prove essential to sustaining his creativity.

Verse 

  • We hear the wail of the remorseful winds
    In their strange penance. And this wretched orb
    Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world,
    Homeless and sobbing through the deep she goes.
  • Unrest and Childhood.
  • The soul of man is like the rolling world,
    One half in day, the other dipt in night;
    The one has music and the flying cloud,
    The other, silence and the wakeful stars.
  • Horton.
  • Time has fallen asleep in the afternoon sunshine.
    • Dreamthorp: Essays written in the Country (1863).
  • The man who in this world can keep the whiteness of his soul is not likely to lose it in any other.
    • Dreamthorp: Essays written in the Country (1863).

A Life Drama and other Poems (1853)

  • Like a pale martyr in his shirt of fire.
    • Scene 2.
  • In winter, when the dismal rain
    Comes down in slanting lines,
    And Wind, that grand old harper, smote
    His thunder-harp of pines.
  • Scene 2.
  • A poem round and perfect as a star.
    • Scene 2.
  • Some books are drenchèd sands
    On which a great soul’s wealth lies all in heaps,
    Like a wrecked argosy.
  • Scene 2.
  • The saddest thing that befalls a soul
    Is when it loses faith in God and woman.
  • Scene 12.
  • We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,
    Who hold an hour’s converse, so short, so sweet;
    One little hour! And then, away they speed
    On lonely paths, through mist and cloud and foam,
    To meet no more.
  • Part iv.

City Poems (1857)

  • Each time we love,
    We turn a nearer and a broader mark
    To that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.
  • “A Boy’s Dream”.
  • Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
    • “The Fear of Dying”.
  • Everything is sweetened by risk.
    • “The Fear of Dying”.
  • In life there is nothing more unexpected and surprising than the arrivals and departures of pleasure. If we find it in one place to-day, it is vain to seek it there to-morrow. You can not lay a trap for it.
    • “The Fear of Dying”.

 

Giovanni Boldini
Giovanni Boldini.jpg

Photographic portrait of Giovanni Boldini (1910)

Today is the birthday of Giovanni Boldini (Ferrara 31 December 1842 – 11 July 1931 Paris); genre and portrait painter who lived and worked in Paris for most of his career.  According to a 1933 article in Time magazine, he was known as the “Master of Swish” because of his flowing style of painting.

A Boldini portrait of his former muse Marthe de Florian, a French actress, was discovered in a Paris flat in late 2010, hidden away from view on the premises that were unvisited for 70 years.  The portrait has never been listed, exhibited or published and the flat belonged to de Florian’s granddaughter who went to live in the South of France at the outbreak of the Second World War and never returned.  A love-note and a biographical reference to the work painted in 1888, when the actress was 24, proved its authenticity.  A full-length portrait of the lady in the same clothing and accessories, but less provocative, hangs in the New Orleans Museum of Art.  The discovery of this painting forms the background to Michelle Gable’s 2014 novel A Paris Apartment.

Gallery

Self-portrait at Montorsoli, (1892), Florence, Uffizi Gallery, Vasari Corridor

 

giovanniboldini_marthe_de_florian

20230101_122100

Giovanni Pascoli
Giovanni Pascoli.jpg

Today is the birthday of Giovanni Placido Agostino Pascoli (San Mauro Pascoli; December 31, 1855 – April 6, 1912 Bologna); poet and classical scholar.

Ed ella avvolse l’uomo nella nube
dei suoi capelli; ed ululò sul flutto
sterile, dove non l’udia nessuno:
– Non esser mai! non esser mai! più nulla,
ma meno morte, che non esser più! –

Io vedo (come è questo giorno, oscuro!),
vedo nel cuore, vedo un camposanto
con un fosco cipresso alto sul muro.

E quel cipresso fumido si scaglia
allo scirocco: a ora a ora in pianto
sciogliesi l’infinita nuvolaglia.

 

Henri Matisse
Henri Matisse, 1913, photograph by Alvin Langdon Coburn.jpg

Henri Matisse, 1913, by Alvin Langdon Coburn

And today is the birthday of Henri-Émile-Benoît Matisse (Le Cateau-Cambrésis, Nord; 31 December 1869 – 3 November 1954 Nice); artist, known for both his use of colour and his fluid and original draughtsmanship.  He was a draughtsman, printmaker, and sculptor, but is known primarily as a painter.

Matisse is commonly regarded, along with Pablo Picasso and Marcel Duchamp, as one of the three artists who helped to define the revolutionary developments in the plastic arts throughout the opening decades of the twentieth century, responsible for significant developments in painting and sculpture.  Although he was initially labelled a Fauve (wild beast), by the 1920s he was increasingly hailed as an upholder of the classical tradition in French painting.  His mastery of the expressive language of colour and drawing, displayed in a body of work spanning over a half-century, won him recognition as a leading figure in modern art.

With the model Caroline Joblau, he had a daughter, born in 1894.  In 1898 he married Amélie Noellie Parayre.

Matisse’s wife Amélie, who suspected that he was having an affair with her young Russian emigre companion, Lydia Delectorskaya, ended their 41-year marriage in July, 1939, dividing their possessions equally between them.  Delectorskaya attempted suicide by shooting herself in the chest.  She survived with no serious after-effects, and instead returned to the now-single Matisse and worked with him for the rest of his life, running his household, paying the bills, typing his correspondence, keeping records, assisting in the studio and coordinating his business affairs.

In 1941, a nursing student named Monique Bourgeois responded to an ad placed by Matisse for a nurse.  A friendship developed between Matisse and Bourgeois.  He discovered that she was an amateur artist, and taught her about perspective.  After Bourgeois left the position to join a convent in 1944, Matisse sometimes contacted her to request that she model for him.  Bourgeois became a Dominican nun in 1946, and Matisse painted a chapel in Vence, a small town he moved to in 1943, in her honor.

Matisse died of a heart attack at the age of 84 on 3 November 1954. He is interred in the cemetery of the Monastère Notre Dame de Cimiez, near Nice.

Gallery

Henri and Amélie Matisse, 1898

Woman Reading, 1894, Museum of Modern Art, Paris

Fauvism

Woman with a Hat, 1905. San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Les toits de Collioure, 1905, oil on canvas, The Hermitage, St. Petersburg, Russia

Red Room (Harmony in Red) (1908)

Matisse in Paris, 13 August 1913. Photograph by Carl Van Vechten

The Moroccans, 1915-16, oil on canvas, 181.3 x 279.4 cm, Museum of Modern Art

Odalisque with Arms Raised, (of Henriette Darricarrière), 1923, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Self-portrait, 1918, Matisse Museum (Le Cateau)

Annelies, White Tulips and Anemones 1944

 

The Snail, 1953, Gouache on paper, cut and pasted, on white paper, collection Tate Modern

Cover of Jazz

The Plum Blossoms, 1948, Museum of Modern Art, NYC

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 30 December – why – art by Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée – verse by Rudyard Kipling

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

yes, a fine question
the night happenin’, cool, full moon
illumes, words all powerful i craft
hopin’ the answer lies within
to you an offerin’
i seem to possess and am possessed
of where i would be, and your curves
shall soothe and sustain me
when next i hold you

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

the night happenin’
hope illumined

why,
because
you believed

the circle
complete
we still can

“Yes,”
she smiles

what makes you

the only one

this, meant to be,
two halves of a whole

just bein’ with her is all

fulfill her wish
when breath passes
through your lips

© Copyright 2019 Mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reaerved

the night happenin’
hope illumined in the sails
of tomorrow’s stars
will glow on what remains

why

you believed
the light pressed,
reserved for you
the circle complete,
sigh,
“We still can.”

you seek out
the invisible
that fills

“Yes,”
she smiles

“What makes your happiness.”

the only one

stillness, without end,
hungry lover, why

“What makes you leave.”

her foresight is all
the rest, confusion
overwhelms
you, like you,
disappear

“Fulfill her wish.”

when breath passes
through your lips

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

you are right
a tricky trail

at times you swear,
there is no light
at times you think,
what is the point
at times you wonder,
if the night will ever end
but then…

someone tells you
they will be there
if you need to talk
you recall a smile
and you dare
believe

hell of a thing, sorrow
some say you need it
in order to appreciate
beauty
not sure about that
i would like to have tried

but if you have it
you should
ever once in awhile,
touch it, take it out
and hold it
for if you try
to ignore it
it will eat you alive

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

you wrote about hope
and that it goes on
but i god she is
a cold hearted bitch

oh i cannot deny, of her
i have caught a glimpse
in a sunrise,
‘neath a cotton dress,
in well written verse

but when you have not
been well loved nor
know how to love well
and it has been
so goddamn long since…

you tell me why hope
you tell me, why hope

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

 

Louis_Jean_Francois_Lagrenée_-_Self-portraitToday is the birthday of Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée (a.k.a. Lagrenée the elder) (Paris 30 December 1724 – 19 June 1805 Paris); rococo painter. He won the Grand Prix de Rome for painting in 1749 and was elected a member of the Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture in 1755. His younger brother Jean-Jacques Lagrenée (a.k.a. Lagrenée the younger) was also a painter.

Lagrenée’s notable career appointments included:

  • Court painter to Elizabeth, Empress of Russia.
  • Director of the Academy of Arts in Saint Petersburg.
  • Director of the French Academy in Rome.
  • Professor-rector of the Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture.
  • Honorary director-curator of the Louvre museum.

In July 1804, Napoleon I conferred upon Lagrenée the rank of chevalier (Knight) of the Legion d’Honneur.

On Monday 10 July 1758, at the age of 33, Lagrenée married 16-year-old Anne-Agathe Isnard. Fifty-five years later, on 19 June 1805, Lagrenée’s death certificate recorded that they were still married.

Gallery

Mélancolie

Mélancolie

 The Abduction of Deianeira by the Centaur Nessus, (1755).

 The love of art comforts painting, over the ridiculous and venomous writings of her enemies, (1781).

Diana and Endymion, 1776.

Venus and Nymphs Bathing (1776).

The ascent of Aurora, (1763).

 Apelles falls in love with Campaspe; beloved of Alexander the great. (1772).
Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling (portrait).jpg

Kipling in 1915

And today is the birthday of Joseph Rudyard Kipling (Bombay; 30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936 London); journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist.  Kipling’s works of fiction include The Jungle Book (1894), Kim (1901), and many short stories, including “The Man Who Would Be King” (1888).  His poems include “Mandalay” (1890), “Gunga Din” (1890), “The Gods of the Copybook Headings” (1919), “The White Man’s Burden” (1899), and “If—” (1910).

In 1907, at the age of 42, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, making him the first English-language writer to receive the prize, and its youngest recipient to date.  He was also sounded out for the British Poet Laureateship and on several occasions for a knighthood, both of which he declined.

Verse

 A fool there was and he made his prayer
(Even as you and I!)
To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair
We called her the woman who did not care),
But the fool he called her his lady fair
(Even as you and I!)

  • The Vampire, Stanza 1.

And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.

  • The Betrothed, Stanza 25.
  • And oft-times cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade,
    And tells them tales of His daily toil, of Edens newly made;
    And they rise to their feet as He passes by, gentlemen unafraid.

    • Dedication, Stanza 5.
  • I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it;
    I’ve rogued an’ I’ve ranged in my time.

    • The Ladies, Stanza I.
  • An’ I learned about women from ‘er.
    • The Ladies, ending line to Stanzas III, IV, and V.
  • I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it,
    An’ now I must pay for my fun,
    For the more you ‘ave known o’ the others
    The less will you settle to one.

    • The Ladies, Stanza VII.
  • For the colonel’s lady an’ Judy O’Grady,
    Are sisters under their skins.

    • The Ladies, Stanza VIII.

For to admire an’ for to see,
For to be’old this world so wide—
It never done no good to me,
But I can’t drop it if I tried!

  • For to Admire, Stanza 2.

Now I possess and am possessed of the land where I would be,
And the curve of half Earth’s generous breast shall soothe and ravish me!

  • The Prairie, Stanza 5.

Words are, of course, the most powerful drug…

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 29 December – revelator – art by David Alfaro Siqueiros & Candido Portinari

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle 

Dear Muse,

thoughts
changin’
these wishes,
long thought
lost ardour

these three things
need, return of feelin’s
a heart-rendin’ hello
yes, moves you

now comes this time
believin’, overflowin’
heard at last
«You can now. »

yes, your purpose,
all that is your pulse

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

would you therefore,
want to hear everything
the heart-rendin’ past,
all that stirs
your purpose,
all that is your pulse
this need of tomorrow
this flash, this spark
burnin’ in surprise
you suddenly forget
and destiny unfurls
so, reckless dreamer
future verse delivers

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

these thoughts
have changed
these wishes,
ardour comes

would you need
to hear everything
the call moves you
at this time, listen

“Return to her.”

this is your purpose,
all that is your pulse

no illusion
this want

remember
destiny awaits

verse delivers
creatin’ hope

© Copyright 2019 Mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Pale Love Pale Rider

these thoughts
change mid-spectrum
these wishes,
senseless ardour

would you therefore,
have to hear everything
that heart-rendin’ farewell
cannot move you

at this dark Time
cries are superfluous
bitterly, heard over ashes

“Return no more.”

but no
not your purpose,
all that is your pulse

illusion
chimera, lie
this ephemeral
need of tomorrow

this flash, this spark
burnin’ in surprise
you suddenly forget
and destiny unfurls

therefore, reckless dreamer
future verse delivers
by creatin’ hope
in front of nothin’

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

hey revelator
talkin’ bout faith and hope
sayin’ i  should believe
in grace and forgiveness

do not know how to feel
cuz i got no feelin’s
kept lookin’ for somethin’ real
got rid of givin’ a damn
cuz i forgot how to feel

no way out
so just keep goin’
further in

why can i not
crawl above this

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboycoleridge

David_Alfaro_Siqueiros_(El_Coronelazo)Today is the birthday of David Alfaro Siqueiros (born José de Jesús Alfaro Siqueiros, December 29, 1896, in Chihuahua – January 6, 1974, in Cuernavaca, Morelos); social realist painter, better known for his large murals in fresco. Along with Diego Rivera and José Clemente Orozco, he established “Mexican Muralism.” He was a Stalinist in support of the Soviet Union and a member of the Mexican Communist Party who participated in an unsuccessful attempt to assassinate Leon Trotsky in May 1940.

His surname would normally be Alfaro by Spanish naming customs, but Siqueiros used his mother’s surname. It was long believed that he was born in Camargo in Chihuahua state, but in 2003 it was proven that he had actually been born in the city of Chihuahua, but grew up in Irapuato, Guanajuato, at least from the age of six. Siqueiros changed his given name to “David” after his first wife called him by it in allusion to Michelangelo’s David.

Gallery

Portrait of angelica

Portrait of angelica

David Alfaro Siqueiros (December 29, 1896, in Chihuahua – January 6, 1974, in Cuernavaca, Morelos) Peasants 1913 Museo Nacional de Arte

Peasants 1913 Museo Nacional de Arte

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mexico City. Palacio de Bellas Artes: Mural "La Nueva Democracia" ( 1945 )

Mexico City. Palacio de Bellas Artes: Mural “La Nueva Democracia” ( 1945 )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cândido_Portinari_(1962)And today is the birthday of Candido Portinari (coffee plantation near Brodowski, in São Paulo; December 29, 1903 – February 6, 1962 Rio de Janeiro); painter. In my opinion, one of the most important Brazilian painters as well as a prominent and influential practitioner of the neo-realism style in painting.

Portinari painted more than five thousand canvases, from small sketches to monumental works such as the Guerra e Paz panels, which were donated to the United Nations Headquarters in 1956. Portinari developed a strong social preoccupation throughout his oeuvre and maintained an active life in the Brazilian cultural and political worlds.

Gallery

Green woman

Green woman

 

Uma pintura que não fala ao coração não é arte, porque só ele a entende. Cândido Portinari, (December 29, 1903 – February 6, 1962)

Uma pintura que não fala ao coração não é arte, porque só ele a entende.

 

Colheita do café

Colheita do café

 

Baile na Roça

Baile na Roça

Uma pintura que não fala ao coração não é arte, porque só ele a entende.

(A painting that does not speak to the heart is not art, because only he understands it.)

Mac Tag 

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 28 December – not to know – art by Félix Vallotton

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle 

Dear Muse,

grace, hope, faith
dare say, salvation
feelin’ indigenous
immersed in the verse
to feel you deserve
to be with someone
to know what it is
to love well,
to be well loved
somethin’
never understood
what time is it
to find out, to learn
to crawl above the past

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

nothin’ but sad ones
on this day
till now

i want to use the words,
joy and happiness
words i have never used
but they seem not enough
to convey where i am now

there must be better
words that can describe
these overwhelmin’ feelin’s

maybe these two
are all i need

with you

© Copyright 2019 Mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

Pale Love Pale Rider

in the arms of the moment
forever mingles

“Make the same oath.”

always bold words,
with astonishment hear
the breath of faith

live so little
why this promise
impetus of hope
a vain challenge

“It is to know.”

an unyieldin’ voice
implacable
no escapin’

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

“There is no grace,
no hope, no faith
there is no salvation
no one for you
only words,
only verse!”

finally feel indigenous
immersed in the verse

“To make you feel
you deserve
to be with someone.”

deserve has got nothin’
to do with it

“What time is love?”

there is no time

to not know
what it is to love well
or to be well loved

somethin’
you will never
understand

why can i not
crawl above this

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

 

Félix Vallotton, Mon Portrait, 1897, oil on canvas, 58 x 47 cm, private collection

Today is the birthday of Félix Edouard Vallotton (Lausanne; December 28, 1865 – December 29, 1925 Paris); painter and printmaker associated with Les Nabis. He was an important figure in the development of the modern woodcut.

In 1899 Vallotton married Gabrielle Rodrigues-Henriques, a wealthy young widow with three children, and in 1900 he attained French citizenship.

Gallery 

20221228_192051

La Paresse (1896).

La Paresse (1896).

20221228_191135

20221228_191140

La Valse (1893),

Self portrait (20 years old), 1885, oil on canvas

La raison probante (The Cogent Reason), a woodcut from the series Intimités, 1898

The Laundress, Blue Room, 1900, Dallas Museum of Art

Ker-Xavier Roussel, Édouard Vuillard, Romain Coolus, Vallotton, 1899

La plage à Honfleur, 1919

Le Bois de la Gruerie et le ravin des Meurissons, 1917

Honfleur dans la brume (Honfleur in the Mist), 1911

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 27 December – payin’ – art by Hermann-Paul – verse by Charles Olson

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

layin’ here naked with,
words not necessary
now

lost in touch
hands movin’
across the curve
of your hip
yours movin’
over my arms

the only sound,
aside from passion,
the occasional
street traffic noise
from peachtree

feelin’ right

as we do,
parallel
only to
each other

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

hey
packed and ready
to come see you
but i have not
written you yet
so here goes
fulfillment found
now that what began
years ago
has come to this,
the continuation
the beginnin’
of what has always
been there
the graspin’ of it,
together into this
the very thing we are

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

necessary, trouble within,
that which was had and lost

serenity, when all else fell
stumble against hope
struck on the way

shelter these delusions,
cover and shade the trails,
now, would you have this smile

under the veil
time to glimpse
and to exclaim

gotta pay for it

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

not so much a poet
more like an archaeologist
of moments that never were
of what could have been,
of buried emotions

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

feelin’ better now
would not so much
call it
renewed hope
more like
forced resignation

still payin’ dues
to the not so
dearly departed

coulda had it any day
only let it go
outta stubbornness
i suppose

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

 

hermannpaulRené_Georges_Hermann-Paul_(self-portrait_ca._1920)Today is the birthday of Hermann-Paul (René Georges Hermann-Paul; December 27, 1864 Paris – June 23, 1940 Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer); artist.

He was a well-known illustrator whose work appeared in numerous newspapers and periodicals. Early works were noted for their satiric characterizations of the foibles of French society. His points were made with simple caricature. His illustrations relied on blotches of pure black with minimum outline to define his animated marionettes. His exhibition pieces were carried by large splashes of color and those same fine lines of black. Hermann-Paul worked in Ripolin enamel paint, watercolors, woodcuts, lithographs, drypoint engraving, oils, and ink. In his later years, he produced many works in dry point and ink depicting his beloved Camargue.

Gallery

 à l'exposition


à l’exposition

 A Woman Sewing (ca. 1900)

Femme Espagnole (1920)

Hermann-Paul_-_Dans_la_loge

Les Danseuses

Les Danseuse.

Modistes

Modistes

 

Charles Olson
Charles Olson.jpg

And today is the birthday of Charles Olson (Worcester, Massachusetts 27 December 1910 – 10 January 1970 New York City); poet.  He described himself not so much as a poet or writer but as “an archaeologist of morning.”

In 1941, Olson moved to New York City’s Greenwich Village and began living with Constance “Connie” Wilcock in a commonlaw marriage.

In September 1948, Olson became a visiting professor at Black Mountain College in North Carolina. While there he had a child with one of his students, Betty Kaiser. Kaiser became Olson’s second common-law wife following his separation from Wilcock in 1956.

When Black Mountain College closed in 1956, Olson oversaw the resolution of the institution’s debts over the next five years and settled in Gloucester. He participated in early psilocybin experiments under the aegis of Timothy Leary in 1961 and Henry Murray and served as a distinguished professor at the State University of New York at Buffalo (1963-1965) and visiting professor at the University of Connecticut(1969).

In January 1964, Kaiser was killed by a drunk driver in a head-on automobile accident although a grieving Olson incorrectly theorized her death as a potential suicide because of her dissatisfaction with her life in the Buffalo area. Her death precipitated Olson into an existential mixture of extreme isolation, romantic longing, and frenzied work.  Much of his life was affected by his heavy smoking and drinking, which contributed to his early death from liver cancer. Following his diagnosis, he was transferred to New York Hospital for a liver operation, which never occurred.  He died there in 1970, two weeks past his fifty-ninth birthday, while in the process of completing his epic, The Maximus Poems.

Verse 

The Kingfishers (1950)

  • What does not change 
  • is the will to change
    • Part I, 1
  • When I saw him, he was at the door, but it did not matter,
    he was already sliding along the wall of the night, losing himself
    in some crack of the ruins. That it should have been he who said, “The kingfishers!
    who cares
    for their feathers
    now?”
  • His last words had been, “The pool is slime.”
    • Part I, 2
  • The legends are
    legends.
    Dead, hung up indoors, the kingfisher
    will not indicate a favoring wind,
    or avert the thunderbolt. Nor, by its nesting,
    still the waters, with the new year, for seven days.
    It is true, it does nest with the opening year, but not on the waters.

    • Part I, 2
  • And all now is war
    Where so lately there was peace,
    and the sweet brotherhood, the use
    of tilled fields.

    • Part I, 3
  • When the attentions change / the jungle
    leaps in     even the stones are split
    they rive

    • Part I, 3
  • Not one death but many,
    not accumulation but change
    , the feed-back proves, the feed-back is
    the law
Into the same river no man steps twice
When fire dies air dies
No one remains, nor is, one
Around an appearance, one common model, we grow up
many. Else how is it,
if we remain the same,
we take pleasure now
in what we did not take pleasure before? love
contrary objects? admire and / or find fault? use
other words, feel other passions, have
nor figure, appearance, disposition, tissue
the same?

To be in different states without a change
is not a possibility
  • Part I, 4
  • We can be precise. The factors are
    in the animal and / or the machine the factors are
    communication and / or control, both involve
    the message. And what is the message? The message is
    a discrete or continuous sequence of measurable events distributed in time
  • is the birth of the air, is
    the birth of water, is
    a state between
    the origin and
    the end, between
    birth and the beginning of
    another fetid nest
  • is change, presents
    no more than itself
  • And the too strong grasping of it,
    when it is pressed together and condensed,
    loses it
  • This very thing you are
    • Part I, 4
  • with what violence benevolence is bought
    what cost in gesture justice brings
    what wrongs domestic rights involve
    what stalks
    this silence

    • Part II

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 26 December – rememberin’… – art by Maurice Utrillo – birth of Henry Miller

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

an astoundin’ thing, by what miracle are thoughts
transformed into words, out of inspiration and abstract
medium shapes what is to bind us, our bodies at will
after we have embraced for we have yet to say greater
things, beyond sayin’, limitless, conceivable together

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

how could i forget
any of it
i have been writin’
of you and for you
for over ten years
a connection so strong,
the separation
of years and miles
could not extinguish it
as was proven
in the renewal,
standin’ there
in the oncomin’ twilight
holdin’ you again
back where we belong

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

all about us

we see in the world
the means to have
sumpthin’
more abundant
pointin’ the way
which most overlook

how it all began
there is no letup

to be in this place
to live this vision

and not do
anything else

a commemoration
chiseled in beauty and sorrow

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

so pretty
great eyes
jet black hair
amazin’ smile
beautiful hands
wonderful laugh
and she likes poetry
she knew d h lawrence,
“I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.”

so, basically,
the perfect woman

she asked me to read
her one of my poems
no one ever asked
me that before
i was at a loss
i had to look
one up

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

a day when…
the moon settin’ in the west
the sun risin’ in the east

all mornin’, buildin’ verse
lunch then naptime,
then sittin’ on the porch
drinkin’ coffee,
rememberin’…

rememberin’ the looks
rememberin’ in the kitchen,
osso buco with risotto alla milanese
ready to serve
at the table, conversation,
Chianti Classico Riserva wine,
tiramisu, cappuccino
afterwards, dishes done,
leanin’ against the counter,
a long slow kiss

that was a day
in the dead of winter,
the hard cold end of the year,
a day that unwrapped like a gift
like every day with you

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all

Today is the birthday of Maurice Utrillo (born Maurice Valadon (Montmartre 26 December 1883 – 5 November 1955 Dax, Aquitaine); painter who specialized in cityscapes.

Utrillo was the son of the artist Suzanne Valadon (born Marie-Clémentine Valadon), who was then an eighteen-year-old artist’s model.  She never revealed who was the father of her child; speculation exists that he was the offspring from a liaison with an equally young amateur painter named Boissy, or with the well established painter, Pierre-Cécile Puvis de Chavannes, or even with Renoir.  In 1891 a Spanish artist, Miguel Utrillo y Molins, signed a legal document acknowledging paternity, although the question remains as to whether he was in fact the child’s father.

Valadon, who became a model after a fall from a trapeze ended her chosen career as a circus acrobat, found that posing for artists provided her with an opportunity to study their techniques; in some cases, she also became their mistress.  She taught herself to paint, and when Toulouse-Lautrec introduced her to Edgar Degas, he became her mentor.  Eventually she became a peer of the artists she had posed for.

In middle age Utrillo became fervently religious and in 1935, at the age of fifty-two, he married Lucie Valore and moved to Le Vesinet, just outside Paris.  By that time, he was too ill to work in the open air and painted landscapes viewed from windows, from post cards, and from memory.  Utrillo died in Hotel Splendid in Dax of a lung disease, and was buried in the Cimetière Saint-Vincent in Montmartre.

Gallery

Maurice Utrillo - 'La Rue Norvins à Montmartre', oil on board painting, c. 1910.jpg

La Rue Norvins à Montmartre, c. 1910

Suzanne Valadon, Portrait of Maurice Utrillo

20221226_202850

Sacré-couer

Sacré-couer

 

Henry Miller
Henry Miller 1940.jpg

Miller in 1940

henry_miller_landscape_watercolor_1957Today is the birthday of Henry Valentine Miller (Yorkville, Manhattan; December 26, 1891 – June 7, 1980 Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles); writer and watercolor artist.  He was known for breaking with existing literary forms, developing a new sort of semi-autobiographical novel that blended character study, social criticism, philosophical reflection, explicit language, sex, surrealist free association and mysticism.  His most characteristic works of this kind are Tropic of Cancer (1934), Black Spring (1936), Tropic of Capricorn (1939) and The Rosy Crucifixion trilogy (1949–59), all of which are based on his experiences in New York and Paris, and all of which were banned in the United States until 1961.  He also wrote travel memoirs and literary criticism, and painted watercolors.

Miller married his first wife, Beatrice Sylvas Wickens, in 1917; their divorce was granted on December 21, 1923.  While he was still married to Beatrice, Miller met and became enamored of a mysterious dance hall dancer who was born Juliet Edith Smerth but went by the stage name June Mansfield.  They began an affair, and were married on June 1, 1924.

In 1930, Miller moved to Paris unaccompanied.  Soon after, he began work on Tropic of Cancer, writing to a friend, “I start tomorrow on the Paris book: First person, uncensored, formless – fuck everything!”  Although Miller had little or no money the first year in Paris, things began to change with the meeting of Anaïs Nin who, with Hugh Guiler, went on to pay his entire way through the 1930s including the rent for an apartment at 18 Villa Seurat.  Nin became his lover and financed the first printing of Tropic of Cancer in 1934 with money from Otto Rank.  She would write extensively in her journals about her relationship with Miller and his wife June; the first volume, covering the years 1931-34, was published in 1966.  Late in 1934, June divorced Miller by proxy in Mexico City.

Henry and June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin
Henryandjune cover.jpg

Cover
miller and anais nin by Man Ray

Miller and Anais Nin by Man Ray

Henry and June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin (full title Henry and June: From A Journal of Love: the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin (1931–1932)) is a 1986 book, based upon material excerpted from the unpublished diaries of Anaïs Nin.  It corresponds to the first volume of Nin’s published diaries, written between October 1931 and October 1932.  “Henry and June” begins with discussion of Nin’s sex life and is full of her struggles and passionate relationship with husband Hugo, and then, as the novel/memoir progresses, other lovers.  This, the first of currently five volumes of unexpurgated diaries, concentrates on her passionate involvement with Miller and his wife June.  It is noteworthy that her diaries were able to spawn two dramatically different narratives about the same time period, both widely read and praised.  The expurgated diary reveals Nin the philosopher and amateur but astute psychologist.  The unexpurgated diary reveals a woman breaking out into wild sexual discovery.  At the end of 1931, Nin found herself dissatisfied with being a timid, faithful wife to her banker husband, Hugh Parker Guiler.  Nin and her husband contemplate the possibility of opening their relationship, and determine that it would threaten their marriage.  However when Anais meets June Miller, she is drawn to her and perceives June to be the most beautiful and charismatic woman she has ever met.  Nin pursues an extremely intense, ambiguous, sexually charged friendship with her.  When June leaves, Nin becomes involved with Henry, and begins an uninhibited sexual and emotional affair with him, which prompts an intellectual and sensual awakening.  A friendship is formed between the two that was maintained throughout both artist’s lives.  The book was later filmed as Henry & June directed by Philip Kaufman, with Fred Ward as Miller, Uma Thurman as June, and Maria de Medeiros as Anaïs Nin.  The movie, released in 1990, is notable as the first film to be released in the United States with an NC-17 rating.

henrymiller

Miller and friend photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson

In 1944, Miller met and married his third wife, Janina Martha Lepska, a philosophy student who was 30 years his junior.  They divorced in 1952.  The following year, he married artist Eve McClure, who was 37 years his junior.  They divorced in 1960, and she died in 1966, likely as a result of alcoholism.  In 1961, Miller arranged a reunion in New York with his ex-wife and main subject of The Rosy Crucifixion trilogy, June.

In February 1963, Miller moved to Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles, California, where he would spend the last 17 years of his life.  In 1967, Miller married his fifth wife, Hoki Tokuda.

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 25 December – Happy/Merry/Bahumbug Y’all! – waitin’ – art by Hans von Bartels

Dear Zazie Lee,  Happy Holidays from all of us at the ranch.  Mac Tag is headed off to the mountains.  Jett is spendin’ it with his kids.  Me, I am stayin’ here at the ranch.  Hope you have a Merry Christmas!  Rhett

Dear Muse,

found what i wanted
not under the tree,
actually,
there was no tree
but i got what i wanted
no, not from Santy
and it was on
Peachtree Street,
not 34th Street,
but it damn sure
felt like a miracle
and it was not
white or blue,
it was the best
Christmas
with you

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

no more waitin’
made a choice
took a chance,
though really
not much of one
because i knew
quit relyin’ on the wind
or what the hell ever,
to make my way
“You know I always had you.
Just waiting for you to find
what you were looking for.”
no more pretendin’
all i am findin’ now is you

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

the fact that i get it
about you,
is the best thing
i have goin’ for me

no need to make
a list for Santy
no dreams
of any kinda Christmas
and no need to cue Elvis

i had my chance
at makin’ wishes
just took too long
to figure out
what i always wanted

i have all i want
here waitin’

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

cold, clear night walkin’
out to the edge of the caprock
under a star strewn sky
raked by the wind
standin’, waitin’
for somethin’, a sign
i imagine you comin’ closer,
your hair tossed by the wind
and the dark becomes desire
the nearness of you as i stand
on this lonely night waitin’
why do i believe you will come
out of nowhere
why with all that you can have
would you come only because i am here

© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

 

Hans von Bartels

Today is the birthday of Hans von Bartels (Hamburg 25 December 1856 – 5 October 1913); painter.

Gallery

20221225_172040

The Cemetery from the Basilica di San Miniato al Monte
Hans Bartels in studio.jpg

von Bartels vers 1900.

The song of the day is “Colorado Christmas” by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band Colorado Christmas Nitty Gritty Dirt Band We do not own the rights to this song.  All rights reserved by the rightful owner.  No copyright infringement intended.

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