The Lovers’ Chronicle 17 July – again – Balzac’s Beloved Angel – art by Paul Delaroche – photography by Berenice Abbott

Dear Zazie,   Here is today’s Lover’s’ Chronicle from Mac Tag to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Who is your beloved angel?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

not much i can do here
without thoughts of you
weavin’ in and out
imagination carries us
moved by each moment
to say, ‘this, we want’
never before like this
risin’ up from fears
and disappointments
an orison
we find each other
again and again

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

as near as i can be
not much i can do here
without thoughts of you
weavin’ in and out
imagination carries us
we will be moved by
senses, each moment
to say, ‘this, we want’
life never before like
this, overcome with
feelin’s, livin’
only for this
consumed

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

hard to bring together
two thoughts without you

always carried along
by dreams and imagination
and only ever worth a damn
when fired by inspiration

again and again return
to the one who matters

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

slippin’ out of clothes
leavin’ a trail to the bed
risin’ up from fears
and disappointments

a dance, barefoot
in the livin’ room
a long drive
in the country
stoppin’ to eat
at our favorite place

night again, we lie down
eyes connect, eager
for what we have to offer

a prayer…
we find each other
again and again

© copyright 2017 Mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

honoredebalzacHanska_Holz_Sowgen_1825Today for you muse, a love letter from French novelist and playwright Honoré de Balzac to his love and future wife Countess Ewelina Hańska.  Their correspondence, an endearin’ and endurin’ homage to love and patience, is gathered in The Letters Of Honore De Balzac To Madame Hanska and in The 50 Greatest Love Letters of All Time.  Here is a small but exquisite excerpt:

June 1835

MY BELOVED ANGEL,

I am nearly mad about you, as much as one can be mad: I cannot bring together two ideas that you do not interpose yourself between them. I can no longer think of nothing but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you. I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me. As for my heart, there you will always be — very much so. I have a delicious sense of you there. But my God, what is to become of me, if you have deprived me of my reason? This is a monomania which, this morning, terrifies me. I rise up every moment say to myself, ‘Come, I am going there!’ Then I sit down again, moved by the sense of my obligations. There is a frightful conflict. This is not a life. I have never before been like that. You have devoured everything. I feel foolish and happy as soon as I let myself think of you. I whirl round in a delicious dream in which in one instant I live a thousand years. What a horrible situation! Overcome with love, feeling love in every pore, living only for love, and seeing oneself consumed by griefs, and caught in a thousand spiders’ threads. O, my darling Eva, you did not know it. I picked up your card. It is there before me, and I talked to you as if you were here. I see you, as I did yesterday, beautiful, astonishingly beautiful. Yesterday, during the whole evening, I said to myself ‘She is mine!’ Ah! The angels are not as happy in Paradise as I was yesterday!

 

Today is the birthday of Paul Delaroche (Hippolyte-Paul DelarocheParis 17 July 1797 – 4 November 1856 Paris); painter.  He was trained by Antoine-Jean, Baron Gros, a painter of life-size historical subjects who had many students.

Delaroche’s love for Horace Vernet’s daughter Louise was the absorbing passion of his life.  He married Louise in 1835, in which year he also exhibited Head of an Angel, which was based on a study of her.  It is said that Delaroche never recovered from the shock of her death in 1845 at the age of 31.  After her loss he produced a sequence of small elaborate pictures of incidents in Jesus’ Passion.  He focused attention on the human drama of the Passion, as in a painting where Mary and the apostles hear the crowd cheering Jesus on the Via Dolorosa, and another where St. John escorts Mary home after her son’s death.

Gallery

portrait by Eugène-Ferdinand Buttura

portrait by Eugène-Ferdinand Buttura

section 2 of the Hémicycle, 1841–1842

Central section of the Hémicycle, 1841–1842

section 3 of the Hémicycle, 1841–1842

 

Today is the bithday of Berenice Abbott (Springfield, Ohio; July 17, 1898 – December 9, 1991 Monson, Maine), née Bernice Alice Abbott; poet and photographer perhaps best known for her portraits of 20th century cultural figures, New York City photographs of architecture of the 1930s, and science interpretation in the 1940s to 1960s.

Abbott’s subjects were people in the artistic and literary worlds, including French nationals (Jean Cocteau), expatriates (James Joyce), and others just passing through the city. According to Sylvia Beach, “To be ‘done’ by Man Ray or Berenice Abbott meant you rated as somebody”. Abbott’s work was exhibited with that of Man Ray, André Kertész, and others in Paris, in the “Salon de l’Escalier” (more formally, the Premier Salon Indépendant de la Photographie), and on the staircase of the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. Her portraiture was unusual within exhibitions of modernist photography held in 1928–1929 in Brussels and Germany.

In 1935, Abbott moved into a Greenwich Village loft with the art critic Elizabeth McCausland, with whom she lived until McCausland’s death in 1965. McCausland was an ardent supporter of Abbott, writing several articles for the Springfield Daily Republican, as well as for Trend and New Masses (the latter under the pseudonym Elizabeth Noble). In addition, McCausland contributed the captions for the book of Abbott’s photographs entitled Changing New York which was published in 1939. In 1949, her photography book Greenwich Village Today and Yesterday was published by Harper & Brothers.

In 1935, Abbott moved into a Greenwich Village loft with the art critic Elizabeth McCausland, with whom she lived until McCausland’s death in 1965. McCausland was an ardent supporter of Abbott, writing several articles for the Springfield Daily Republican, as well as for Trend and New Masses (the latter under the pseudonym Elizabeth Noble). In addition, McCausland contributed the captions for the book of Abbott’s photographs entitled Changing New York which was published in 1939. In 1949, her photography book Greenwich Village Today and Yesterday was published by Harper & Brothers.

The film Berenice Abbott: A View of the 20th Century, which showed 200 of her black and white photographs, suggests that she was a “proud proto-feminist”; someone who was ahead of her time in feminist theory. Before the film was completed she questioned, “The world doesn’t like independent women, why, I don’t know, but I don’t care.” Abbott’s life and work are the subject of the 2017 novel The Realist: A Novel of Berenice Abbott, by Sarah Coleman.

Gallery

Berenice_Abbott

 

Photograph by Abbott of her friend Margarett Sargent taken in Paris in

20220717_171724

Janet Flanner in 1925

 

 Bowery restaurant photograph for Changing New York, 1935.

 Manhattan skyline in 1936

 

 Encampment of the unemployed, New York City, 1935

The film Berenice Abbott: A View of the 20th Century, which showed 200 of her black and white photographs, suggests that she was a “proud proto-feminist”; someone who was ahead of her time in feminist theory. Before the film was completed she questioned, “The world doesn’t like independent women, why, I don’t know, but I don’t care.” Abbott’s life and work are the subject of the 2017 novel The Realist: A Novel of Berenice Abbott, by Sarah Coleman.

 

The song of the day has it’s inspiration from two sources.  Below, Walt Whitman says, “I have embraced you…”.  And today marks the anniversary of the death, in 1959, of the incomparable Billie Holiday.  So that could only mean that the song of the day is George and Ira Gershwin’s “Embraceable You” as sung by Holiday.

Still missin’, still lovin’ you,

Mac Tag

For both our sakes, I would that word were true. – Shakespeare

Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious; both are disappointed. – Oscar Wilde

Sleep! I and they keep guard all night;Walt Whitman

I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myselfWalt Whitman

And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is soWalt Whitman

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me – Shakespeare

I thought that I could not be hurt; I thought that I must surely be impervious to suffering – immune to mental pain or agony. – Sylvia Plath

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 16 July – impression – art by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot

Dear Zazie,  Here is Mac Tag‘s Lovers’ Chronicle to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

a tremblin’ woman’s falsetto,
comes out of the silence
it produces
in my half
awakened brain,
impressions of you
it is an affirmation
to seek the origins
and inspirations
behind what drives
two to become one
a firm resolution,
and independent nature,
hold fast to this need

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

learned from experience
to begin by drawin’ on
a virgin canvas, knowin’
the desired effect, then,
as immediately finished
as one can, so that when
it has all been covered
there is little to retouch
wherever these dreams
and memories of you take me,
this is how they shall be taken

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

“Are you ok?”
never otherwise…

not only the arid air,
the wide open spaces,
and of course, the light,
seized the attention
another entrancement
began that day

their hair, their skin,
their eyes, their hands
surpass all others

despite this strong attraction,
there can be but one purpose
to pursue relentlessly…
to seek the origins
and inspirations
behind what drives
two to become one

a firm resolution,
and independent nature,
holds fast to this one need

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

a tremblin’ woman’s falsetto,
comes out of the silence
it always produces
in my half-awakened brain,
an impression of you

© copyright 2017 Mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

 

Today is the birthday of Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (Paris; July 16, 1796 – February 22, 1875 Paris); landscape and portrait painter. He is a pivotal figure in landscape painting and his vast output simultaneously references the Neo-Classical tradition and anticipates the plein-air innovations of Impressionism.

With his parents’ support, Corot followed the well-established pattern of French painters who went to Italy to study the masters of the Italian Renaissance and to draw the crumbling monuments of Roman antiquity.  It was not only Italian architecture and light which captured Corot’s attention. The late-blooming Corot was entranced with Italian females as well: “They still have the most beautiful women in the world that I have met….their eyes, their shoulders, their hands are spectacular. In that, they surpass our women, but on the other hand, they are not their equals in grace and kindness…Myself, as a painter I prefer the Italian woman, but I lean toward the French woman when it comes to emotion.”  In spite of his strong attraction to women, he wrote of his commitment to painting: “I have only one goal in life that I want to pursue faithfully: to make landscapes. This firm resolution keeps me from a serious attachment. That is to say, in marriage…but my independent nature and my great need for serious study make me take the matter lightly.”

Gallery 

Portrait circa 1850

Portrait circa 1850

Une matinée ~ Danse des Muses

Une matinée ~ Danse des Muses

 Woman with a Pearl, 1868–70, Paris: Musée du Louvre

A Woman Reading, 1869/1870, Metropolitan Museum of Art

 

 La Trinité-des-Monts, seen from the Villa Medici, 1825–1828, oil on canvas. Paris: Musée du Louvre.

 

The Bridge at Narni, 1826, oil on paper. Paris: Musée du Louvre. A product of one of the artist’s sojourns to Italy

 

 View of the Forest of Fontainebleau (1830)

 

Venise, La Piazzetta, 1835

 St Sebastian Succoured by Holy Women, between 1851 and 1873, oil on canvas, The Walters Art Museum

 

Ville d’Avray, ca. 1867, oil on canvas. Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art.

 

Bornova, İzmir, 1873

 

 

Monk Reading Book, 1850-1855

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 15 July – reverie – art by Rembrandt

Dear Zazie,  Here is Mac Tag‘s Lovers’ Chronicle to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

dancin’ the same dance
lookin’ out portholes
suvivin’ storms, pluggin’ holes
and catchin’ glimpses
of the sunrise
keep lookin’, keep hopin’
nothin’ more sacred,
than a woman’s heart
yours, more so than most
will you ever know again,
my wish on the wind
is that you will

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

that i am diligently
engaged in pursuin’
three passions
of the three, one
has been completed,
as a token of my readiness
to serve you with my favor,
i cannot refrain from presentin’
you, my verse, i trust that you
will accept it and my devotion

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

i shall find, day by day,
in all thoughts and things,
the heart of friendship

outside of you,
what matters

from the first glance,
remain forever

were there some way
to put into words
the essential nature
of the woven texture
of our time together

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

an uninterrupted stream of you
a flow never ceasin’,
and the quaverin’
continues

when we danced,
‘neath the High Plains stars,
i remember, i remember
how those days fleeted by

and sleep
will not come
for i fancy
those long ago
embraces

© copyright 2017 Mac tag/cowboy Coleridge

 

Today is the birthday of Rembrandt (Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn; Leiden; 15 July 1606 – 4 October 1669 Amsterdam); painter and etcher.  Generally considered one of the greatest painters and printmakers in European art and the most important in Dutch history.  His contributions to art came in a period of great wealth and cultural achievement that historians call the Dutch Golden Age when Dutch Golden Age painting was prolific and innovative, and gave rise to important new genres in painting.In 1634, Rembrandt married Saskia van Uylenburgh.  They were married in the local church of St. Annaparochie without the presence of Rembrandt’s relatives.  Saskia died in 1642 probably from tuberculosis.  Rembrandt’s drawings of her on her sick and death bed are among his most moving works.  During Saskia’s illness, Geertje Dircx was hired as caretaker and nurse and also became Rembrandt’s lover.  She would later charge Rembrandt with breach of promise (a euphemism for seduction under [breached] promise to marry) and was awarded alimony.  Rembrandt worked to have her committed for twelve years to an asylum or poorhouse (called a “bridewell”) at Gouda, after learning she had pawned jewelry that had once belonged to Saskia and that he had given to her.

In the late 1640s Rembrandt began a relationship with the much younger Hendrickje Stoffels, who had initially been his maid.  In 1654 they had a daughter.  Hendrickje received a summons from the Reformed Church to answer the charge “that she had committed the acts of a whore with Rembrandt the painter”.  She admitted this and was banned from receiving communion.  Rembrandt was not summoned to appear for the Church council because he was not a member of the Reformed Church.  The two were considered legally wed under common law.

Rembrandt was buried as a poor man in an unknown grave in the Westerkerk.  It was in a numbered ‘kerkgraf’ (grave owned by the church) somewhere under a tombstone in the church.  After twenty years, his remains were taken away and destroyed, as was customary with the remains of poor people at that time.

Gallery

Self-Portrait with Beret and Turned-Up Collar (1659), National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Self-Portrait with Beret and Turned-Up Collar (1659), National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

 The Prodigal Son in the Tavern, a self-portrait with Saskia, c. 1635

 

 Portrait of Saskia van Uylenburgh, ca. 1635

 

 Rembrandt’s son Titus, as a monk, 1660

 

The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, 1633. The painting is still missing after the robbery from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990.

 

 A Polish Nobleman, 1637

 

The Abduction of Europa, 1632. Oil on panel. The work has been described as “…a shining example of the ‘golden age’ of Baroque painting.”

 

 A typical portrait from 1634, when Rembrandt was enjoying great commercial success

 

 Self Portrait, 1658, Frick Collection, a masterpiece of the final style, “the calmest and grandest of all his portraits”

 

 The Windmill, etching

 

 The three trees, 1643, etching

 

 The Polish Rider – Possibly a Lisowczyk on horseback.

 

 The Man with the Golden Helmet, Gemäldegalerie, Berlin, once one of the most famous “Rembrandt” portraits, is no longer attributed to the master.

 

 Slaughtered Ox, (1655), Musée du Louvre, Paris

 

Saskia as Flora, 1635

 

The Girl in a Picture Frame, 1641, Royal Castle, Warsaw

 The evangelist Matthew and the angel, 1661
  • A young Rembrandt, c. 1628, when he was 22. Partly an exercise in chiaroscuro. Rijksmuseum

  • Self-portrait, c. 1629; Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg

  • Self-portrait, 1630, Nationalmuseum, Stockholm

  • Self-Portrait with Velvet Beret and Furred Mantle 1634

  • Self-portrait, 1640, at 34 years old. National Gallery, London

  • Self-Portrait, oil on canvas, 1652. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

  • Self-portrait, Vienna c. 1655, oil on walnut, cut down in size. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

  • Self-Portrait, 1660

  • Self-Portrait as Zeuxis, c. 1662. One of 2 painted self-portraits in which Rembrandt is turned to the left. Wallraf-Richartz Museum, Cologne

  • Self-portrait, 1669.

  • Self-portrait, dated 1669, the year he died, though he looks much older in other portraits. National Gallery, London

 

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 14 July – comin’ due – art by Gustav Klimt & Juliette Wytsman

Dear Zazie,  Here is Mac Tag‘s Lovers’ Chronicle to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

i hid to my despite
till i could not bear it
leavin’ memories in each place
where eer i saw beauty lie
for i could not allow
myself more
but it seems only time
can keep me down
and een silence found a voice,
to haunt me all the night through
the beginnin’, lingerin’, lifelong

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

so this makes
perfect sense

“She said I should
look after you,
that you suffered
from a deep sadness.”

two things, first
well no shit
she knew why
but she never did
a damn thing about it

second,
bein’ looked after…
not hardly
not ever

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

as i stumble around
inside my head
a reckonin’ awaits
all i have done
all i have said
comes due
tell the Revelator
i am ready

the sufferin’ is just
swear, She said
no more delayin’
swarmin’ t’ward adharma

was the vow worth upholdin’
and what of holdin’ out
but that is what She said

never meant no harm

© copyright 2017 Mac tag/cowboy coleridge

Gratitude
For the smart, vibrant
Dark-haired beauty
Tryin’ to help me
Mend my broken heart

© copyright 2016 Mac tag all rights reserved

 

Today is the birthday of Gustav Klimt (Baumgarten, Austrian Empire; July 14, 1862 – February 6, 1918 Vienna); symbolist painter and one of the most prominent members of the Vienna Secession movement.  Klimt is noted for his paintings, murals, sketches, and other objets d’art.  His primary subject was the female body.  In addition to his figurative works, which include allegories and portraits, he painted landscapes.

In the early 1890s Klimt met Emilie Louise Flöge (a sibling of his sister-in-law) who was to be his companion until the end of his life. His painting, The Kiss (1907–08), is thought to be an image of them as lovers. He designed many costumes she created and modeled in his works.

Gallery

Photographic portrait from 1914

Photographic portrait from 1914

Klimt in a light Blue Smock by Egon Schiele, 1913

 

A section of the Beethoven Frieze, at Secession Building, Vienna (1902)

 

 Judith II (1909)

 

The Kiss 1907–08, oil on canvas, Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, Vienna

 

Adele Bloch-Bauer I (1907),

 

 The Sunflower, c. 1906

 

Die Umarmung (“The Embrace”) – detail from the Palais Stoclet in Brussels.

 

 

 

 Rosebushes under the Trees

 Oberösterreichisches Bauernhaus

Sonja Knips
 

Beech Grove I

 

And today is the birthday of Juliette Wytsman (née Trullemans; Brussels; 14 July 1866 – 8 March 1925 Ixelles); impressionist painter.  She was married to painter Rodolphe Wytsman.  Her paintings are in the collections of several museums in Belgium.

Gallery

portrayed by Lucien Wollès in 1897

portrayed
by Lucien Wollès in 1897

Arbres dans un pré avec coquelicots en fleurs, vers 1905

Arbres dans un pré avec coquelicots en fleurs, vers 1905

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 13 July – a difference – verse by John Clare – art by Mordecai Ardon

Dear Zazie,  Here is Mac Tag‘s Lovers’ Chronicle to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle 

Dear Muse,

weary, i haste to bed,
the dear repose for limbs
tired and worn, so to begin
the journeys in my dreams
not sure i can learn how to compromise
the wild dream ideals and the necessary
realities without comin’ apart at the seams
my only interest, lies here with you

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

the blankets closer about
passin’ out of shadows into
the wan moonlight

glancin’ at the face
upturned, the eyes
wide, lookin’ back

would that the thievin’ minutes
fold up that we might never part

i think that we most
need to talk and grieve
for that is the best music

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

i hid most of the time
till i could not bear it
i hid to my despite

along the way,
a memory left in each place
wherever need arose

pause and gaze
in wide wonder

a kiss and bid good bye

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Oh, would that I were able to kiss you now…

Wrappin’ the blankets closer
about her, he carried her
From time to time, passin’
out of the black shadows
into the wan moonlight,
he glanced at the white face
of the girl lyin’ in his arms

He laid her down in the shallow
hollow of a little ridge
With her face upturned,
she opened her eyes,
wide, starin’ black
“Is— it— you?”
Yes
“Where— are we?”
In a safe place
Do not be afraid
“Are we— in a cave?”
Yes
“Oh, listen!… The waterfall!…
I hear it! You’ve brought me back!”
Rest came that night
But no sleep
They did not want sleep
Above them, over the dark rim
of the cliff , shone the stars
Tonight they were different

As they lay there
with the sighin’ cliff winds
in there ears, the stars above,
they felt the difference

© Mac tag copyright 2016 all rights reserved

John Clare
John Clare.jpg

by William Hilton,
oil on canvas, 1820

Today is the birthday of John Clare (Helpston, Soke of Peterborough 13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864 Northampton General Lunatic Asylum); poet, the son of a farm labourer, who came to be known for his celebratory representations of the English countryside and his lamentation of its disruption.

  • I hid my love when young till I
    Couldn’t bear the buzzing of a fly;
    I hid my love to my despite
    Till I could not bear to look at light:
    I dare not gaze upon her face
    But left her memory in each place;
    Where eer I saw a wild flower lie
    I kissed and bade my love good bye.

    • “Secret Love”
  • I hid my love in field and town
    Till een the breeze would knock me down,
    The bees seemed singing ballads oer,
    The fly’s bass turned a lion’s roar;
    And even silence found a tongue,
    To haunt me all the summer long;
    The riddle nature could not prove
    Was nothing else but secret love.

    • “Secret Love”

Today is the birthday of Mordecai Ardon (Hebrew: מרדכי ארדון‎, July 13, 1896 – June 18, 1992) painter. Ardon was seen as the father of the regional approach in Israeli art.

Gallery

Mordecai_Ardon

 

20220713_193353

tammuz 1962

tammuz 1962

Girl, 1950

Girl, 1950

Eve

Eve

Mac Tag

Song of the day Sixpence None the Richer – “Kiss Me”

Thou art supreme Love–kiss me–I am thine!Emma Lazarus

So you must go; kiss me before you go. 

Oh, would the busy minutes might fold up 

Their thieving wings that we might never part.

– W.B. Yeats

I often think that what we most need now is a great humorist.Isak Dinesen

 To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance. – Oscar Wilde

It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all. – Sylvia Plath

Let’s talk and grieve,

For that’s the sweetest music for sad souls.

W.B. Yeats

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 12 July – full woman – art by Eugène Boudin, Max Jacob & Modigliani – verse by Jacob & Pablo Neruda

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Almanac from Mac Tag to his muse.  Be sure and read the Modigliani-Hébuterne love story below.  It is literally, to die for.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Best, Rhett

The Lover’s Almanac

Dear Muse,

this should be easy
i just need to read the title
and ride the inspiration
for you are that and more
everything i have written
over the past ten years
has come from you
the level of devotion
i espouse is well considered
and i will not take for granted
that which you have allowed

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

after, long months later,
the beauty and sorrow
of havin’ (do i still)

after you in me
and me in you

hold your arms between
mine and my body
on your body

you are even
more than before

i see how much
without knowin’
i am there

here i am,
and you

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

what brilliance
between two as one
this full woman
and this lucky man

on a journey
not taken lightly
a journey charged
with findin’
and followin’
and exceedin’
their dreams

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

The followin’ poem was inspired by Pablo Neruda’s “Full Woman, Fleshy Apple, Hot Moon”:

Full Woman

Full woman, supple flesh, hot moon
Thick smell of pine trees down by the river
What obscure brilliance opens between two lovers
What ancient need does a woman touch with her senses

Lovin’ this full woman is a journey not taken lightly
A journey frought with charged passion and sudden storms
With clashes of dreams and desires and lightnin’ strikes
That can leave you defeated with a single touch of her lips

© Cowboy Coleridge mac tag copyright 2012 all rights reserved

 

Today is the birthday of Eugène Boudin (Eugène Louis Boudin; Honfleur 12 July 1824 – 8 August 1898 Deauville); painter and one of the first French landscape painters to paint outdoors.  Boudin was a marine painter, rendering of all that goes upon the sea and along its shores.  His pastels, garnered the eulogy of Baudelaire.  Corot called him the “king of the skies”.

Gallery

Boudin, c. 1890s

Boudin, c. 1890s

Honfleur, la plage

Honfleur, la plage

 One of Boudin’s “Brittany” paintings

 Le Havre, The Port (1884) Brooklyn Museum

Sailboats at Trouville, 1884, Yale University Art Gallery, Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Paul Mellon.

Venice-Seascape at the Giudecca, 1895, Princeton University Art Museum

Today is the birthday of Max Jacob (Quimper, Finistère, Brittany 12 July 1876 – 5 March 1944 Drancy Deportation Camp); poet, painter, writer, and critic.  Max Jacob is regarded as an important link between the symbolists and the surrealists, as can be seen in his prose poems Le cornet à dés (The Dice Box, 1917 – the 1948 Gallimard edition was illustrated by Jean Hugo) and in his paintings.  His writings include the novel Saint Matorel (1911), the verses Le laboratoire central (1921), and Le défense de Tartuffe (1919), which expounds his philosophical and religious attitudes.

Having moved outside of Paris in May, 1936, to settle in Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire, Loiret, Max Jacob was arrested on 24 February 1944 by the Gestapo, and interned at Orléans prison.  Jewish by birth, Jacob’s brother Gaston had been previously arrested in January, 1944, deported to Auschwitz concentration camp, and gassed upon arrival with his sister Myrthe-Lea.  Following his incarceration at Orléans, Max was then transferred to Drancy internment camp from where he was to be transported in the next convoy to Auschwitz in Poland.  However, said to be suffering from bronchial pneumonia, Max Jacob died in the infirmary.  First interred in Ivry, after the war ended in 1949 his remains were transferred by his artist friends Jean Cassou and René Iché (who sculpted the tomb of the poet) to the cemetery at Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire in the Loiret department.

Après la mort de mon amour, oh ! de longs mois après, la douleur et la joie d’avoir aimé (t’aimè-je encore ?) après l’obscur charnier des ruptures sanglantes, et morte et mort et toi en moi et moi en toi, et morte et mort, moi que voici et toi là-bas, je te parlai, ô l’angélique, je te parlai de cette visite dans la neige à la porte de ta maison en ce Paris de velours blanc, pierre de lune, ombre et lumière en chaque rue.
« Je savais que vous êtes fou, car tous les médecins vous le diront, les plus vrais fous sont les plus calmes. »
Et morte et mort, et toi en moi et moi en toi, et morte et mort, moi que voici, et toi là-bas
Ballade de la visite nocturne,
un des plus célèbres poèmes de Max Jacob.
La « femme » en question est René Dulsou.
[…] mon Dieu joli. Je tiens tes bras entre mes bras et mon corps sur ton corps. […] Tu es encore plus beau qu’auparavant, chéri […]. J’aime à sentir ton corps dans mes bras […]. Ton ventre est dur aussi. […] Je suis amoureux de ton cadavre et je vois combien je t’aimais sans le savoir […] jeune homme plus que charmant, plus que séduisant […].
Mise au tombeau,
hymne amoureux de Max Jacob
au corps du Christ descendu de la croix.
Ah! L’envie me démange
De te faire un ange,
De te faire un ange
En fourrageant ton sein,
Marie Laurencin,
Marie Laurencin!
Chansonnette galante
de Max Jacob, vers 1908.
Marianne avait un cheval blanc
Rouge par derrière noir par devant
Il avait une crinière
Comme une crémaillère
Il avait une étoile au front
Du crin sur les boulons
Il avait des sabots grenats
De la même couleur que vos bas
Où allez vous Marianne
Avec votre alezane
(…)
La Chanson de Marianne, mise en musique et chantée après guerre par Jacques Douai, est un des dix huit poèmes publiés en 1925
A Paris
Sur un cheval gris
A Nevers
Sur un cheval vert
A Issoire
Sur un cheval noir
Ah! Qu’il est beau, qu’il est beau!
Ah! Qu’il est beau, qu’il est beau!
Tiou!
(…)
« Pour les enfants et les raffinés »,
Œuvres Burlesques et Mystiques
de Frère Matorel
1912

Gallery 

photographed by Carl van Vechten

photographed by Carl van Vechten

Today is the birthday of Amedeo Modigliani (Amedeo Clemente Modigliani; Livorno, Tuscany 12 July 1884 – 24 January 1920 Paris); painter and sculptor who worked mainly in France.  He is known for portraits and nudes in a modern style characterized by elongation of faces and figures, that were not received well during his lifetime, but later found acceptance.  Modigliani spent his youth in Italy, where he studied the art of antiquity and the Renaissance, until he moved to Paris in 1906.  Modigliani’s œuvre includes paintings and drawings.  From 1909 to 1914, however, he devoted himself mainly to sculpture.  During his life, Amedeo Modigliani had little success, but after his death he achieved greater popularity.  He died at age 35 in Paris of tubercular meningitis.

He met the first serious love of his life, Russian poet Anna Akhmatova, in 1910, when he was 26.  They had studios in the same building, and although 21-year-old Anna was recently married, they began an affair.  Anna was tall (as Modigliani was only 5 foot 5 inches) with dark hair (like Modigliani’s), pale skin and grey-green eyes, she embodied Modigliani’s aesthetic ideal and the pair became engrossed in each other.  After a year, however, Anna returned to her husband.

In the spring of 1917, the Russian sculptor Chana Orloff introduced him to a beautiful 19-year-old art student named Jeanne Hébuterne.  From a conservative bourgeois background, Hébuterne was renounced by her devout Roman Catholic family for her liaison with Modigliani, whom they saw as little more than a debauched derelict.  Despite her family’s objections, soon they were living together.  Modigliani ended his relationship with the English poet and art critic Beatrice Hastings and a short time later Hebuterne and Modigliani moved together into a studio on the Rue de la Grande Chaumière. Jeanne began to pose for him and appears in several of his paintings.  Hébuterne became a principal subject for Modigliani’s art.  Towards the end of the First World War, early in 1918, Modigliani left Paris with Hébuterne to escape from the war and travelled to Nice and Cagnes-sur-Mer.  They would spend a year in France.  In May 1919 they returned to Paris with their infant daughter and moved into an apartment on the rue de la Grande Chaumière.  After Hébuterne became pregnant again, Modigliani got engaged to her, but Jeanne’s parents were against the marriage, especially because of Modigliani’s reputation as an alcoholic and drug user.  The wedding plans were shattered independently of Jeanne’s parents’ resistance when Modigliani discovered he had a severe form of tuberculosis.

After not hearing from him for several days, a neighbour checked on the family and found Modigliani in bed delirious and holding onto Hébuterne. A doctor was summoned, but little could be done because Modigliani was in the final stage of his disease.  He died at the Hôpital de la Charité.  There was an enormous funeral, attended by many from the artistic communities in Montmartre and Montparnasse.  When Modigliani died, twenty-one-year-old Hébuterne was eight months pregnant with their second child.  A day later, Hébuterne was taken to her parents’ home.  There, inconsolable, she threw herself out of a fifth-floor window, a day after Modigliani’s death, killing herself and her unborn child.  Modigliani was buried in Père Lachaise Cemetery.  Hébuterne was buried at the Cimetière de Bagneux near Paris, and it was not until 1930 that her embittered family allowed her body to be moved to rest beside Modigliani.  A single tombstone honors them both.  His epitaph reads: “Struck down by Death at the moment of glory”.  Hers reads: “Devoted companion to the extreme sacrifice”.  Managing only one solo exhibition in his life and giving his work away in exchange for meals in restaurants, Modigliani died destitute.

Gallery

Amedeo_Modigliani_Photo

Portrait of Pablo Picasso, 1915

Portrait of Chaim Soutine, 1916

Caryatid, now at The New Art Gallery Walsall

 

Portrait of Juan Gris, 1915

 

Nu Couché au coussin Bleu, one of the finest examples of reclining nudes by Modigliani, 1916

 

Modigliani, Pablo Picasso and André Salmon, 1916

 

Portrait of Léopold Zborowski, 1918

 

Jeanne Hébuterne

Portrait of Jeanne Hébuterne, 1918

 

 in 1919, near the end of his life

Grave of Modigliani and Hébuterne in Père Lachaise Cemetery

 

Nude

Pablo Neruda
Pablo Neruda 1963.jpg

Pablo Neruda in 1963

Today is the birthday of Pablo Neruda (the pen name and, later, legal name of the Chilean poet-diplomat and politician Ricardo Eliécer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto (JParral, Maule Region; July 12, 1904 – September 23, 1973Santiago).  He derived his pen name from the Czech poet Jan Neruda.  Neruda won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971.  He wrote in a variety of styles, including surrealist poems, historical epics, overtly political manifestos, a prose autobiography, and passionate love poems.  He often wrote in green ink, which was his personal symbol for desire and hope.  The Colombian novelist Gabriel García Márquez once called Neruda “the greatest poet of the 20th century in any language.”  I highly recommend his erotically-charged love poems such as the ones in his 1924 collection Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada (Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair).

  • Debajo de tu piel vive la luna.
    • The moon lives in the lining of your skin.
    • Oda a la Bella Desnuda (Ode to a Beautiful Nude), from Nuevas Odas Elementales (1956), trans. Nathaniel Tarn in Selected Poems by Pablo Neruda [Houghton Mifflin, 1990, ISBN 0-395-54418-1] (p. 349).
  • Mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada
    • My love feeds on your love, beloved
      • From “Si Tu Me Olvidas” (If You Forget Me)

Es la hora, amor mío, de apartar esta rosa sombría,
cerrar las estrellas, enterrar la ceniza en la tierra:
y, en la insurrección de la luz, despertar con los que despertaron
o seguir en el sueño alcanzando la otra orilla del mar que no tiene otra orilla.

  • It is time, love, to break off that sombre rose,
    shut up the stars and bury the ash in the earth;
    and, in the rising of the light, wake with those who awoke
    or go on in the dream, reaching the other shore of the sea which has no other shore.
  • La Barcarola Termina (The Watersong Ends) (1967), trans. Anthony Kerrigan in Selected Poems by Pablo Neruda [Houghton Mifflin, 1990, ISBN 0-395-54418-1] (p. 500).

Veinte Poemas de Amor y una Canción Desesperada (Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair) (1924)

trans. William S. Merwin [Penguin Classics, 1993, ISBN 0-140-18648-4]

  • ¿Quién escribe tu nombre con letras de humo entre las estrellas del sur?
    Ah déjame recordarte cómo eras entonces, cuando aún no existías.

    • Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
      Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
    • “Every Day You Play” (Juegas Todos los Días), XIV, p. 35.
  • Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.
    • I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees.
    • “Every Day You Play” (Juegas Todos las Días), XIV, p. 35.
  • Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
    y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.

    • I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
      and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
    • “I Like for You to be Still” (Me Gustas Cuando Callas), p. 37.
  • Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
    • Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
    • “Tonight I Can Write” (Puedo Escribir), XX, p. 49.
  • Es tan corto el amor y tan largo el olvido.
    • Love is so short and forgetting is so long.
    • “Tonight I Can Write” (Puedo Escribir), XX, p. 51.

Mac Tag

The song of the day goes out to The Rolling Stones who played their first gig on this day in 1962: “Angie” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rXRExocnpUw

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head. – Shakespeare

Having inherited a vigorous mind / From my old fathers, I must nourish dreams / And leave a woman and a man behind / As vigorous of mind… – W.B. Yeats

I am learning how to compromise the wild dream ideals and the necessary realities without such screaming pain. – Sylvia Plath

I was just interested, endlessly interested, foolishly, unadulteratedly, with unparalleled vigor. – Gay Talese

Tonight I can write the saddest lines…Pablo Neruda

I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. – Sylvia Plath

 

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 11 July – cling – art by James Abbot McNeill Whistler – Boris Grigoriev

Dear Zazie,  Been readin’ some of Ernest Hemingway‘s short stories.  I return to read his stories every July.  He was born in July and he died in July.  Probably my favorite author.  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag to his muse.  Follow us of twitter, @cowboycoleridge.  Who do you cling to?  Rhett

Dear Muse,

thus to cling
you, this vision
old verse, stories
beauty and sorrow
of with and without
cultivated over
a lifetime and shared
now for the first time
of dreams and thoughts
and solitude and the pull,
so much pain and loss,
and never imaginin’ this,
could ever happen

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

from somethin’ deeper
meant to be
first and last
for that lingerin’ hand
come from a more
dream-heavy hour
do not be afraid to go too far,
for the answers lie beyond
begin to live
to be deeply,
richly alone
you that have wandered
can ravel out what is here

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

from somethin’ deeper
beyond, always want to be
for that pale and lingerin’ hand

come dream-heavy you may
your mouth, your thoughts
i am the vessel

we must never
be afraid
to go too far
only then
can we begin

a need to be
more and more
deeply, with you

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

somethin’ deeper
beyond

a lingerin’ hand

a dream heavy hour

do not be afraid
to go too far

there can only be
two trails forward…
either with you
or evermore
deeply alone

a wanderer
can unravel
what is inside

who wakes first
and from which dream

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

This came to me while listenin’ to the song of the day:

This To Cling To

This to cling to:
We are together
Now, years later
In a dream-heavy place

We are in Paris
We are happy
We are in love
You are divine

This springs from somethin’ deeper
Beyond a dream-heavy hour
Beyond desire
Beyond my control

This dream
This thought
This memory
This to cling to

© Cowboy Coleridge mac tag copyright 2012 all rights reserved

 

Arrangement in Gray: Portrait of the Painter (self portrait, c. 1872), Detroit Institute of Arts

Arrangement in Gray: Portrait of the Painter
(self portrait, c. 1872), Detroit Institute of Arts

Today is the birthday of James Abbott McNeill Whistler (Lowell, Massuchusetts July 11, 1834 – July 17, 1903 London); artist, active during the American Gilded Age and based primarily in the United Kingdom.  He was averse to sentimentality and moral allusion in painting, and was a leading proponent of the credo “art for art’s sake”.  His famous signature for his paintings was in the shape of a stylized butterfly possessing a long stinger for a tail.  Finding a parallel between painting and music, Whistler entitled many of his paintings “arrangements”, “harmonies”, and “nocturnes”, emphasizing the primacy of tonal harmony.  His most famous painting is “Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1” (1871), commonly known as Whistler’s Mother, the revered and oft-parodied portrait of motherhood.  Whistler influenced the art world and the broader culture of his time with his artistic theories and his friendships with leading artists and writers.

Whistler’s lover and model for The White Girl, Joanna Hiffernan, also posed for Gustave Courbet.  Historians speculate that Courbet’s erotic painting of her as L’Origine du monde led to the breakup of the friendship between Whistler and Courbet.  During the 1870s and much of the 1880s, he lived with his model-mistress Maud Franklin.  Her ability to endure his long, repetitive sittings helped Whistler develop his portrait skills.  He not only made several excellent portraits of her but she was also a helpful stand-in for other sitters.

In 1888, Whistler married Beatrice Godwin, (who was called ‘Beatrix’ or ‘Trixie’ by Whistler).  She was the widow of the architect E. W. Godwin, who had designed Whistler’s White House.  Beatrix was the daughter of the sculptor John Birnie Philip and his wife Frances Black.  Beatrix and her sisters Rosalind Birnie Philip and Ethel Whibley posed for many of Whistler’s paintings and drawings; with Ethel Whibley being the model for Mother of pearl and silver: The Andalusian (1888–1900).  The first five years of their marriage were very happy but her later life was a time of misery for the couple, because of her illness and eventual death from cancer.  Near the end, she lay comatose much of the time, completely subdued by morphine, given for pain relief.  Her death was a strong blow Whistler never quite overcame.

Gallery

Venus Rising from the sea

Venus Rising from the sea

 Whistler circa 1847–49

 

Portrait of Whistler with Hat (1858), Freer Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

 

Symphony in White, No. 1: The White Girl (1862), The National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

 

Nocturne: Blue and Gold – Old Battersea Bridge (1872), Tate Britain, London, England

 

Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1 (1871), popularly known as Whistler’s Mother, Musée d’Orsay, Paris

 

Whistler’s mother, Anna Whistler circa 1850s.
 

Whistler in his Studio 1865, self-portrait

 

Zaandam, the Netherlands, c. 1889

 The Princess from the Land of Porcelain, in situ in the Peacock Room, Freer Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

 

Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket (1874), Detroit Institute of Arts

 

Mother of Pearl and Silver: The Andalusian (1888–1900), National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (Model: Ethel Whibley)

 

The Barrow, Brussels, 1887, etching and drypoint

 

Arrangement in Pink, Red and Purple, 1883–1884, Cincinnati Art Museum, Cincinnati, Ohio.

 

Symphony in White no 2 (The Little White Girl), full version

 Etching of Whistler’s model, Joanna Hiffernan (c. 1860)

 

Whistler by William Merritt Chase, 1885

Today is the birthday of Boris Grigoriev (Rybinsk 11 July 1886 – 7 February 1939 Cagnes-sur-Mer, France); painter and graphic artist.

Gallery

Self portrait

Self portrait

Au cirque

Au cirque

Woman in Top Hat 1919

Woman in Top Hat 1919

Mac Tag

The song of the day is “I Love Paris” written by Cole Porter and sung by Ella Fitzgerald – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHITC70Jyh4

Poetry springs from something deeper; it’s beyond intelligence. – Jorge Luis Borges

Men always want to be a woman’s first love – women like to be a man’s last romance. – Oscar Wilde

For that pale breast and lingering hand

Come from a more dream-heavy land, 

A more dream-heavy hour than this.

–  W.B. Yeats

You may nail your mouth shut, cut out your tongue, keep yourself from existing? Will you stop your thoughts?  –  Jean-Paul Sartre

I myself am the vessel of tragic experience.Sylvia Plath

We must never be afraid to go too far, for truth lies beyond. – Marcel Proust

We begin to live when we have conceived life as tragedy. – W. B. Yeats

One of the lessons of history is that nothing is often a good thing to do and always a clever thing to say. – Will Durant

I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. – Sylvia Plath

Writers and politicians share an embarrassed moment when they are sure all problems will disappear if you get the language right. – Jim Harrison

Anyone who seeks to destroy the passions instead of controlling them is trying to play the angel. – Voltaire

The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us. – Voltaire

You that have wandered far and wide

Can ravel out what’s in my head.

Do men who least desire get most,

Or get the most who most desire?

W.B. Yeats

Well, we all dream a lot unless we’re dead. – Reynolds Price

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 10 July – unchained – art by Camille Pissarro – birth of Proust

Dear Zazie,  The usual goin’ on here.  Beautiful evenin’ here last night.  Sat on the porch and watched a thunderstorm roll in.  Got some rain, but need some more.  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

thunder rumbles, lightnin’ flashes closer
if there is a guidin’
principle behind this verse
it may be this; what the hell
let us see what happens
what rattles the heart
feelin’s closin’ in
kiddin’ myself sayin’,
it could have been
otherwise
this is the way
it had to be

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

time expandin’
with inspiration

breathin’ new life
into what was left

the truths you reveal
by causin’ me to think

i could lie and say
it could be otherwise

i would rather never be
than wave farewell

stretched out
in the dream
makes our reality

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

in the rearview,
dreams of havin’
ever after

now content
with dreamin’
of those feelin’s

the time we had
expanded
with inspiration

chosen for you
how else could it be

nothin’ as precious
as that unchained

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Unchained Desire

Thunder rumbles, lightnin’ flashes closer
Wind picks up bringin’ cooler air
Porch swing sways back and forth
Unchained Melody plays on the radio

Unchained desire rattles the heart
Wistful feelin’ closes in
No one to sway with
No one to play with

Lyin’ to myself sayin’
It could never have been otherwise
This is the way it had to be
This is not a dream

Wavin’ me farewell
Crushin’ out my life
Stretchin’ out in despair
It is not a dream

The reality makes me tremble
As a shadow of what was
Passes over my thoughts
Passes me by

© Cowboy Coleridge mac tag copyright 2012 all rights reserved

c. 1900

c. 1900

Today is the birthday of Camille Pissarro (Charlotte Amalie, Saint Thomas, Danish West Indies (now US Virgin Islands) 10 July 1830 – 13 November 1903 Paris); Impressionist and Neo-Impressionist painter.  His importance resides in his contributions to both Impressionism and Post-Impressionism.  Pissarro studied from forerunners, including Gustave Courbet and Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot and later studied and worked alongside Georges Seurat and Paul Signac when he took on the Neo-Impressionist style at the age of 54.  Pissarro is the only artist to have shown his work at all eight Paris Impressionist exhibitions, from 1874 to 1886.

In 1871 he married his mother’s maid, Julie Vellay, a vineyard grower’s daughter, with whom he would later have seven children.  They lived outside of Paris in Pontoise and later in Louveciennes, both of which places inspired many of his paintings including scenes of village life, along with rivers, woods, and people at work.

Gallery

Jeune Fille lavant ses pieds 1885

Jeune Fille lavant ses pieds 1885

 Two Women Chatting by the Sea, St. Thomas, (1856), (private collection)

 

 Jalais Hill, Pontoise, Metropolitan Museum of Art 1867

 

 Entrée du village de Voisins (1872)

 

In 1869 Pissarro settled in Louveciennes and would often paint the road to Versailles in various seasons. The Walters Art Museum.

 

With his wife, Julie Vellay, 1877, Pontoise

 

 Bath Road, Chiswick, 1897 (oil on canvas)

 

Landscape at Pontoise, 1874

 

Le grand noyer à l’Hermitage, 1875, – the new manner of painting was too sketchy and looked incomplete.

 

 Orchard in Bloom, Louveciennes (1872)

 The Hay Cart, Montfoucault (1879)

 

 Hay Harvest at Éragny, 1901, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa

 

La Récolte des Foins, Eragny (1887)

 

Pont Boieldieu in Rouen, Rainy Weather, (1896), Art Gallery of Ontario

 

 Two Young Peasant Women (1891 and 1892), Metropolitan Museum of Art

 

  c. 1900

 

 Self-portrait, 1903, Tate Gallery, London

 

The Artist’s Palette with a Landscape c. 1878, Clark Art Institute

 

Marcel_Proust_vers_1895Today is the birthday of Marcel Proust (Valentin Louis Georges Eugène Marcel Proust; Auteuil; 10 July 1871 – 18 November 1922 Paris); novelist, critic, and essayist best known for his monumental novel À la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time; earlier interpreted as Remembrance of Things Past), published in seven parts between 1913 and 1927.

Autrefois on rêvait de posséder le cœur de la femme dont on était amoureux; plus tard sentir qu’on possède le cœur d’une femme peut suffire à vous en rendre amoureux.

  • In his younger days a man dreams of possessing the heart of the woman whom he loves; later, the feeling that he possesses the heart of a woman may be enough to make him fall in love with her.

Le temps dont nous disposons chaque jour est élastique; les passions que nous ressentons le dilatent, celles que nous inspirons le rétrécissent et l’habitude le remplit.

  • The time which we have at our disposal every day is elastic; the passions that we feel expand it, those that we inspire contract it; and habit fills up what remains

[Le bonheur] est, dans l’amour, un état anormal.

  • In love, happiness is an abnormal state.

Comme tous les gens qui ne sont pas amoureux, il s’imaginait qu’on choisit la personne qu’on aime après mille délibérations et d’après des qualités et convenances diverses.

  • Like everybody who is not in love, he imagined that one chose the person whom one loved after endless deliberations and on the strength of various qualities and advantages.

L’amour, c’est l’espace et le temps rendus sensibles au coeur.

  • Love is space and time made tender to the heart.

L’adultère introduit l’esprit dans la lettre que bien souvent le mariage eût laissée morte.

  • Adultery breathes new life into marriages which have been left for dead.

Une femme est d’une plus grande utilité pour notre vie si elle y est, au lieu d’un élément de bonheur, un instrument de chagrin, et il n’y en a pas une seule dont la possession soit aussi précieuse que celle des vérités qu’elle nous découvre en nous faisant souffrir.

  • A woman is of greater service to our life if she is in it, instead of being an element of happiness, an instrument of sorrow, and there is not a woman in the world the possession of whom is as precious as that of the truths which she reveals to us by causing us to suffer.

 

Mac Tag

The Song of the Day is “Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers

Let’s lie and say it could never have been otherwise. – Jim Harrison

I would have rather felt you round my throat, Crushing out life, than waving me farewell. – Marcel Proust

Bad luck was my god. I stretched out in the muck.Arthur Rimbaud

It’s not a dream, / But the reality that makes our passion / As a lamp shadow… – W.B. Yeats

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 9 July – desire – art by William Turner Dannat & Saturnino Herrán

Dear ZazieAnother beautiful day in paradise.  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag to his muse.  Visit us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Always, Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

hurt, broken, sure
all of it self inflicted
but you did not come
to hear about that
how ’bout this one
lookin’ into your eyes
feelin’ you turn to me
pullin’ you close
as we waltz across
the kitchen floor
just one of the moments
i hold onto as i struggle
through wonderin’ why

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

dreams of possessin’
rather than bein’

time is elastic
and inspiration
expands it

like those who have only
imagined and never been,
believin’ that one gets to chose

but ok with the refrain,
fought the wrong fight
and found out too late

now just tryin’ to leave
somethin’ behind

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

the vision inside
will not be still

i thought i learned
a laugh in the twilight
a sigh in the mornin’
hum the tune
sing the blues

underneath
peel away the layers

you are gone
but everything remains

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Loner’s Mornin’

I write this…

Because the voice inside me
Will not be still
I loved a woman
I gave a lot to her
I thought I learned what love was

I laughed in the lover’s twilight
Now I sigh in the loner’s mornin’
I hummed the lover’s tune
Now I sing the loner’s blues

She got under my desire
She peeled away the layers
Now she is gone
But the desire remains

© Cowboy Coleridge mac tag copyright 2012 all rights reserved

 

Today is the birthday of William Turner Dannat (Hempstead, New York; July 9, 1853 – March 12, 1929 Monte Carlo); artist.

Though at one time his name was mentioned alongside other great American painters such as Sargent and Whistler, Dannat’s popularity was more in Europe than his homeland. As he approached middle age, the financially secure artist began to devote more and more of his time to other interests: fencing, boxing and later automobile racing. For nearly twenty years, Dannat ceased painting and when he resumed around 1913, his art had adopted a more surrealistic style with illusionary landscapes and bizarre themes. During his hiatus from painting, Dannat spent much of his time touring Europe studying the techniques of the great masters while remaining active in artistic circles in Paris where he served at one time as the president of the Society of American Painters.

Gallery

250px-William_Turner_Dannat

20220709_231310

Elegant ladies in the undergrowth

Elegant ladies in the undergrowth

 Quatuor Espagno ca. 1884

 

 Contrebandier Aragonais ca. 1883

A Dancer ca. 1890s

 Femmes Espagnoles ca. 1892
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The Lovers’ Chronicle 8 July – to be – art by Artemisia Gentileschi & Käthe Kollwitz

Dear Zazie,  Hope this finds you well and happy.  The weather at the ranch has been beautiful.  Spent a lot of time on the porch.  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag to his muse.  Visit us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Yours, Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

i learned this; it goes on
desire, denied or delayed
everything was laid on my path
but rather than nurture
what was given,
i threw it all away
i now believe it had to happen
to get to the thoughts, the dreams
to see the vision
to show you
take my hand
that you can understand

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

“Why?”

to give my thoughts,
my mind, my dreams

that must come
before anything else
can be given

or to riff on Rilke,
to be with those
who know
or be alone

which suits just fine
for i have found
that i much prefer
to write about it
than live it

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

 

feelin’, oh, you know…
why denied for so long
only to find and not have

your thoughts,
your dreams,
your secrets

to be with one
who understands
or to be without

a long open road
‘neath the moonlight

the look on your face

the unforgettable
everything
of bein’ with you

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Since You’ve Been Gone

I learned this; it goes on
This irresistible desire
Why was love denied to me
Beauty stood on my path
But though nurtured carefully
She walked away
And I brood in moods most foul
I wanted her thoughts, her dreams
But you cannot have
That which cannot be given
I wanted to know her secrets
But you cannot know
That which cannot be known
I wanted her to come away
And take my hand
But now I am alone
And my world is more full of weepin’
Than you can understand

© Cowboy Coleridge mac tag copyright 2016 all rights reserved

 

 

Today is the birthday of Artemisia Gentileschi (Rome; July 8, 1593 – c. 1656); Baroque painter, one of the most accomplished painters in the generation following that of Caravaggio.  In an era when women painters were not easily accepted by the artistic community or patrons, she was the first woman to become a member of the Accademia di Arte del Disegno in Florence.  She painted many pictures of strong and suffering women from myth and the Bible – victims, suicides, warriors.  Her best-known work is Judith Slaying Holofernes, which “shows the decapitation of Holofernes.

Gallery

Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting, 1638–9, Royal Collection

Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting, 1638–9, Royal Collection

 Susanna and the Elders, her first work 1610 – Schönborn Collection, Pommersfelden

 

 Self-Portrait as a Lute Player, 1615–1617

Judith Slaying Holofernes (1614–20) Oil on canvas 199 x 162 cm Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence

 

 Sleeping Venus

 

Judith and her Maidservant (1613–14) Oil on canvas Palazzo Pitti, Florence

 

Mary Magdalene

 

Today is the birthday of Käthe Kollwitz (Käthe Schmidt KollwitzKönigsberg, Prussia (now Kaliningrad, Russia) 8 July 1867 – 22 April 1945 Moritzburg, Saxony); artist, who worked with drawing, etching, lithography, woodcuts, painting, printmaking, and sculpture.  Her most famous art cycles, including The Weavers and The Peasant War, depict the effects of poverty, hunger, and war on the working class.  Despite the realism of her early works, her art is now more closely associated with Expressionism.  Kollwitz was the first woman elected to the Prussian Academy of Arts.

Gallery

Woman with Dead Child, 1903 etching
direction.
 

Mac Tag

The song of the day is Bill WithersAin’t No Sunshinehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tIdIqbv7SPo

It is what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will be when you can’t help it. – Oscar Wilde

In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on. – Robert Frost

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired. ~ Robert Frost

Why was I made for Love and Love denied to me?Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Though nurtured like the sailing moon

In beauty’s murderous brood,

She walked awhile and blushed awhile

And on my pathway stood…

W.B. Yeats

Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those. – Sylvia Plath

If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I’m neurotic as hell. – Sylvia Plath

I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone. — Rainer Maria Rilke

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand

For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

W.B. Yeats

but there is, in consolation, the beauty of music. – Rainer Maria Rilke

Writing is a religious act: it is an ordering, a reforming, a relearning and reloving of people & the world as they are & as they might be. – Sylvia Plath

I think I just prefer to have sex than write about itUmberto Eco

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