Willem de Kooning
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Willem de Kooning
And the Spirit of God Moved on the Face of the Waters by Ivan Aivazovsky
Vase with Daisies and Anemones (1887) by Vincent van Gogh
Geese in the creek (1874) by Claude Monet
Kawanabe Kyōsai (Japanese, 1831-1889) - "Never Seen Before: True Picture of a Live Wild Tiger", 1860. Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Vincent van Gogh, “Vase with Irises”, 1890
Gustav Klimt, Bauerngarten mit Kruzifix, ca. 1911-2; burnt 1945
Odilon Redon, Apparition, ca. 1890-9
Gerald Moira, “The Silent Voice", ca 1898
Adoring Angel, Looking Left, Fra Angelico, 1430s
A Hamadryad by John William Waterhouse (1893)
Starry Night Over the Rhone, Vincent van Gogh, 1888
Claude Monet (French, 1840-1926)
Nymphéas
Dogfish
Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing kept flickering in with the tide and looking around. Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly. If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin, which was rough as a thousand sharpened nails. And you know what a smile means, don’t you? * I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while. * It was evening, and no longer summer. Three small fish, I don’t know what they were, huddled in the highest ripples as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body one gesture, one black sleeve that could fit easily around the bodies of three small fish. * Also I wanted to be able to love. And we all know how that one goes, don’t we? Slowly * the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water. * You don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen to the enormous waterfalls of the sun. And anyway it’s the same old story — a few people just trying, one way or another, to survive. Mostly, I want to be kind. And nobody, of course, is kind, or mean, for a simple reason. And nobody gets out of it, having to swim through the fires to stay in this world. * And look! look! look! I think those little fish better wake up and dash themselves away from the hopeless future that is bulging toward them. * And probably, if they don’t waste time looking for an easier world, they can do it.
Whistling Swans
Do you bow your head when you pray or do you look up into that blue space? Take your choice, prayers fly from all directions. And don’t worry about what language you use, God no doubt understands them all. Even when the swans are flying north and making such a ruckus of noise, God is surely listening and understanding. Rumi said, There is no proof of the soul. But isn’t the return of spring and how it springs up in our hearts a pretty good hint? Yes, I know, God’s silence never breaks, but is that really a problem? There are thousands of voices, after all. And furthermore, don’t you imagine (I just suggest it) that the swans know as much as we do about the whole business? So listen to them and watch them, singing as they fly. Take from it what you can.
Sky Glabush, Moth, oil and sand on canvas