Jo Jones  HERE

Grand Canal, Amsterdam; Nocturne, 1883-84, Watercolor on paper, The Smithsonian
James McNeill Whistler
 
 

Grand Canal, Amsterdam; Nocturne, 1883-84, Watercolor on paper, The Smithsonian

James McNeill Whistler

 
 

The Fortune Teller, 1633-39, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Georges de La Tour

Large image: HERE

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Artemis: Attribution to de La Tour has been questioned. The Met is attributing it to La tour based on the inscription on the top right - “G. de La Tour Fecit Luneuilla Lothar” (“G de La Tour made this, Lunéville, Lorraine”).  Lunéville in Lorraine is the name of the town that de La Tour lived. The painting may be based on The Prodigal Son parable.

Cranes
Zhao Ji
Detail

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Bio from Wiki: “Emperor Huizong (2 November 1082 – 4 June 1135) was the eighth and one of the most famous emperors of the Song Dynasty of China, with a personal life spent amidst luxury, sophistication and art but ending in tragedy.
Born Zhao Ji, he was the 11th son of Emperor Shenzong. In February 1100 his older half-brother Emperor Zhezong (哲宗) died without a surviving son, and Huizong succeeded him the next day as emperor. He reigned from 1100 to 1126.
Huizong was famed for his promotion of Taoism. He was also a skilled poet, painter, calligrapher, and musician. He sponsored numerous artists at his court, and the catalogue of his imperial painting collection lists over 6,000 known paintings.
His temple name means “Honorary Ancestor.”… read more from wiki: HERE
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Emperor Huizong of Song, emperor of China from 1100-1126 AD

Cranes

Zhao Ji

Detail

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Bio from Wiki: “Emperor Huizong (2 November 1082 – 4 June 1135) was the eighth and one of the most famous emperors of the Song Dynasty of China, with a personal life spent amidst luxury, sophistication and art but ending in tragedy.

Born Zhao Ji, he was the 11th son of Emperor Shenzong. In February 1100 his older half-brother Emperor Zhezong (哲宗) died without a surviving son, and Huizong succeeded him the next day as emperor. He reigned from 1100 to 1126.

Huizong was famed for his promotion of Taoism. He was also a skilled poet, painter, calligrapher, and musician. He sponsored numerous artists at his court, and the catalogue of his imperial painting collection lists over 6,000 known paintings.

His temple name means “Honorary Ancestor.”… read more from wiki: HERE

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Emperor Huizong of Song, emperor of China from 1100-1126 AD

Listening to the Qin (聽琴圖) 
Attributed to Attributed to Zhao Ji (趙佶), Song Dynasty (960-1279)Hanging scroll, ink and color on silk, 147.2 x 51.3 cm, Palace Museum, Beijing
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Listening to the Qin (聽琴圖)

Attributed to Attributed to Zhao Ji (趙佶), Song Dynasty (960-1279)

Hanging scroll, ink and color on silk, 147.2 x 51.3 cm, Palace Museum, Beijing

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Eyes Embroidered with Plums (梅花繡眼圖)
Attributed to Zhao Ji (趙佶), Song Dynasty (960-1279)Album leaf, ink and color on silk, 24.5 x 24.8 cm, Palace Museum, Beijing
 

Eyes Embroidered with Plums (梅花繡眼圖)

Attributed to Zhao Ji (趙佶), Song Dynasty (960-1279)

Album leaf, ink and color on silk, 24.5 x 24.8 cm, Palace Museum, Beijing

 

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Above: Samuel Beckett outside a Parisian café, 1988 via: weekenderonline.net
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I don’t know: perhaps it’s a dream, all a dream. (That would surprise me.) I’ll wake, in the silence, and never sleep again. (It will be I?) Or dream (dream again), dream of a silence, a dream silence, full of murmurs (I don’t know, that’s all words), never wake (all words, there’s nothing else).
You must go on, that’s all I know.
They’re going to stop, I know that well: I can feel it. They’re going to abandon me. It will be the silence, for a moment (a good few moments). Or it will be mine? The lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts? It will be I?
You must go on.
I can’t go on.
You must go on.
I’ll go on. You must say words, as long as there are any - until they find me, until they say me. (Strange pain, strange sin!) You must go on. Perhaps it’s done already. Perhaps they have said me already. Perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story. (That would surprise me, if it opens.)
It will be I? It will be the silence, where I am? I don’t know, I’ll never know: in the silence you don’t know.
You must go on.
I can’t go on.
I’ll go on.
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~Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable, 1953

Above: Samuel Beckett outside a Parisian café, 1988 via: weekenderonline.net

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I don’t know: perhaps it’s a dream, all a dream. (That would surprise me.) I’ll wake, in the silence, and never sleep again. (It will be I?) Or dream (dream again), dream of a silence, a dream silence, full of murmurs (I don’t know, that’s all words), never wake (all words, there’s nothing else).

You must go on, that’s all I know.


They’re going to stop, I know that well: I can feel it. They’re going to abandon me. It will be the silence, for a moment (a good few moments). Or it will be mine? The lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts? It will be I?


You must go on.


I can’t go on.


You must go on.


I’ll go on. You must say words, as long as there are any - until they find me, until they say me. (Strange pain, strange sin!) You must go on. Perhaps it’s done already. Perhaps they have said me already. Perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story. (That would surprise me, if it opens.)


It will be I? It will be the silence, where I am? I don’t know, I’ll never know: in the silence you don’t know.


You must go on.


I can’t go on.


I’ll go on.

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~Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable, 1953

Above: Samuel Beckett In Cafe Francais, Boulevard St. Jacques, Paris, December 1985
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No need of a mouth: the words are everywhere, inside me, outside me. (Well, well! A minute ago I had no thickness!) I hear them? No need to hear them, no need of a head. Impossible to stop them, impossible to stop. I’m in words, made of words, others’ words. (What others?) The place too - the air, the walls, the floor, the ceiling: all words. The whole world is here with me. I’m the air, the walls, the walled-in one. Everything yields, opens, ebbs, flows. Like flakes. I’m all these flakes, meeting, mingling, falling asunder. Wherever I go I find me, leave me, go towards me, come from me: nothing ever but me, a particle of me, retrieved, lost, gone astray. I’m all these words, all these strangers: this dust of words (with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing) coming together to say (fleeing one another to say) that I am they, all of them: those that merge, those that part, those that never meet. And nothing else.
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~Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable, 1953

Above: Samuel Beckett In Cafe Francais, Boulevard St. Jacques, Paris, December 1985

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No need of a mouth: the words are everywhere, inside me, outside me. (Well, well! A minute ago I had no thickness!) I hear them? No need to hear them, no need of a head. Impossible to stop them, impossible to stop. I’m in words, made of words, others’ words. (What others?) The place too - the air, the walls, the floor, the ceiling: all words. The whole world is here with me. I’m the air, the walls, the walled-in one. Everything yields, opens, ebbs, flows. Like flakes. I’m all these flakes, meeting, mingling, falling asunder. Wherever I go I find me, leave me, go towards me, come from me: nothing ever but me, a particle of me, retrieved, lost, gone astray. I’m all these words, all these strangers: this dust of words (with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing) coming together to say (fleeing one another to say) that I am they, all of them: those that merge, those that part, those that never meet. And nothing else.

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~Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable, 1953

White Bud (via: placespill.blogspot)

White Bud (via: placespill.blogspot)

Textile art by Melanie Ciccone  HERE
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Artemis: Found on pinterest (D. Cooper) with no source info. :( I couldn’t find a personal website but the link above is a gallery that represented her.

Textile art by Melanie Ciccone  HERE

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Artemis: Found on pinterest (D. Cooper) with no source info. :( I couldn’t find a personal website but the link above is a gallery that represented her.

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
Robert Frost
A long tailed macaque holds a Buddha’s hand, temple caves of  Wat Suwan Kuha
Ryan Learoyd HERE

A long tailed macaque holds a Buddha’s hand, temple caves of  Wat Suwan Kuha

Ryan Learoyd HERE

The Door ~ Leeds
Ryan Learoyd HERE

The Door ~ Leeds

Ryan Learoyd HERE

Black Hole Sun
Ryan Learoyd HERE

Black Hole Sun

Ryan Learoyd HERE

 
Thank you for sharing, afortunateson2.  It’s wonderful  :)

 

Thank you for sharing, afortunateson2.  It’s wonderful  :)