Simeon Solomon
British, 1840–1905
Sleeper with Opium Poppies
Pencil on paper
7 1/2 x 9 1/4 in.
Acquired through the Ernest I. White, Class of 1893, Endowment Fund and the Herbert F. Johnson, Class of 1922, Endowment, with additional support from the Marcia Jacobson and Daniel R. Schwarz Johnson Museum Purchase Fund
2013.005, Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art, Cornell University

Simeon Solomon

British, 1840–1905

Sleeper with Opium Poppies

Pencil on paper

7 1/2 x 9 1/4 in.

Acquired through the Ernest I. White, Class of 1893, Endowment Fund and the Herbert F. Johnson, Class of 1922, Endowment, with additional support from the Marcia Jacobson and Daniel R. Schwarz Johnson Museum Purchase Fund

2013.005, Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art, Cornell University


Portrait
Julia Santa-Olalla  HERE

Portrait

Julia Santa-Olalla  HERE


Indian ink portraits 

Julia Santa-Olalla HERE



On the Beach, 1868
Édouard Manet

On the Beach, 1868

Édouard Manet


The Railroad detail, 1873, National Gallery of Art 
Édouard Manet

The Railroad detail, 1873, National Gallery of Art 

Édouard Manet


Pierre Bonnard
French, 1867–1947
La Revue Blanche, 1894
Color lithograph
29 1/4 x 22 7/8 in. (74.3 x 58.1 cm)
Museum Associates Purchase Fund
64.0986
© 2011 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris
Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art, Cornell University

Pierre Bonnard

French, 1867–1947

La Revue Blanche, 1894

Color lithograph

29 1/4 x 22 7/8 in. (74.3 x 58.1 cm)

Museum Associates Purchase Fund

64.0986

© 2011 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris

Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art, Cornell University


iamadamstanley:

Starry Night @ 3am

The stars were so bright, it could have been day. Woken again by their light, no matter how long you waited, or how far you went, you could never reach what it was you saw through that window, the only way out of the world you knew. Again, it was on fire, as if the sky were torn, and what ever it was that made them shine, was flowing out into your veins, where it moved through your body like blood, waking you once again.

No one understood just how much they meant, the colors you saw. The doctors, cold and mathematical as stick-figures, jotted notes about madness, and latter the experts would theorize it was the side affects of some toxic substance, that made your world so beautiful. And they were right, you were poisoned by the indifference of the world, and you were freed from its ironclad reality, hiding in the safety of your four-chambered cell, which was no longer large enough to hold your soul as it grew and grew, until it was too big to be contained, and there were no more windows, no more walls, so you painted the sky; the moon, curved and delicate as blown-glass, the distant hills, blue as your own eyes, and you raised your brush like a wand and stilled the invisible wind that swirled like falling angels above the violent cypress, that was crooked and gnarled as an arthritic finger, an old finger, one who remembered what the light had once meant, that pointed to a place too faraway for anyone to touch, or even see. And so you reached for it, beyond the dim, golden windows where insomniacs burned candelabra like witches, and you waited and waited for all of it to fall; but it never did, and so you took what you could find and brought back a beauty that did not belong to anyone; and a truth, that no one would ever believe.                           

                                          ~~adam stanley

iamadamstanley


artemisdreaming:
 

Above:  Anna Karina, Alphaville

Your voice, your eyes, your hands, your lips 
Our silences, our words 
Light that goes 
light that returns
A single smile between us both
In quest of knowledge
I watched night create day
while we seemed unchanged
beloved of all, beloved of one alone
your mouth silently promised to be happy
Away, away, says hate
never, never, says love
A caress leads us from our infancy
Increasingly I see the human form
as a lover’s dialogue
The heart has but one mouth
Everything ordered by chance
All words without aforethought
Sentiments adrift
Men roam the city
A glance, a word
Because I love you
Everything moves
To live, only advance!
Aim straight for those you love
I went towards you, endlessly towards the light
If you smile, it is to enfold me all the better
The rays of your arms pierce the mist

Paul Éluard, from:  Capitale de la douleur

In 1965, Jean-Luc Godard adapted several of the concepts in Éluard’s poetry in his film Alphaville and quoted from it throughout.
Dashboard:  Click box below for video
Alphaville 1965 by le-pere-de-colombe
See archive for more Karina and Godard or Paul Éluard
 Anna Karina - born: 22 September 1940 

artemisdreaming:

 


Above:  Anna Karina, Alphaville


Your voice, your eyes, your hands, your lips 

Our silences, our words 

Light that goes 

light that returns

A single smile between us both

In quest of knowledge

I watched night create day

while we seemed unchanged

beloved of all, beloved of one alone

your mouth silently promised to be happy

Away, away, says hate

never, never, says love

A caress leads us from our infancy

Increasingly I see the human form

as a lover’s dialogue

The heart has but one mouth

Everything ordered by chance

All words without aforethought

Sentiments adrift

Men roam the city

A glance, a word

Because I love you

Everything moves

To live, only advance!

Aim straight for those you love

I went towards you, endlessly towards the light

If you smile, it is to enfold me all the better

The rays of your arms pierce the mist


Paul Éluard, from:  Capitale de la douleur


In 1965, Jean-Luc Godard adapted several of the concepts in Éluard’s poetry in his film Alphaville and quoted from it throughout.

Dashboard:  Click box below for video


Alphaville 1965 by le-pere-de-colombe

See archive for more Karina and Godard or Paul Éluard



Anna Karina - born: 22 September 1940 

…for there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.
“

Milan Kundera


dominikmerschgallery:

Anton Pulvirenti - The Opening, 2014, charcoal on paper, 60 x 50 cm (top); Dissonant Excursion, 2014, charcoal on paper, 60 x 50 cm (bottom)

Anton Pulvirenti is an Australian artist who work in a representational vein, exploring issues of memory and narrative across the disciplines of drawing, painting and photography.

Pulvirenti refined his skills as an illustrator with David Paulson for seven years in the 90’s. His work draws on his Italian heritage and he is one of the last practioners of the Sicilian art of Carriage painting. Since completing his PHD in painting at the Sydney College of the Arts Pulvirenti’s work has dealt with the unique Italian-Australian experience of interment during World War II and it’s intergenerational transmission to the current day.

The Mirror" exhibition featuring Anton Pulvirenti at Dominik Mersch Gallery, 19 Sept - 11 Oct, 2014


gacougnol:
Kansuke Yamamoto
Moonlight Stroll 1954

gacougnol:

Kansuke Yamamoto

Moonlight Stroll
1954


artemisdreaming:
Above: The Weary Moon - Edward Robert Hughes

Art Thou Pale For Weariness
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,Wandering companionlessAmong the stars that have a different birth,And ever changing, like a joyless eyeThat finds no object worth its constancy?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

artemisdreaming:

Above: The Weary Moon - Edward Robert Hughes


Art Thou Pale For Weariness

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?


Percy Bysshe Shelley


artemisdreaming:

Twilight

The soft voluptuous opiate shades,
The sun just gone, the eager light dispell’d – (I too will soon be 
gone, dispell’d)
A haze – nirwana – rest and night – oblivion.

~Walt Whitman
Image: James Abbott McNeill Whistler, Nocturne: Blue and Silver, Cremorne Lights, 1872

artemisdreaming:


Twilight


The soft voluptuous opiate shades,

The sun just gone, the eager light dispell’d – (I too will soon be 

gone, dispell’d)

A haze – nirwana – rest and night – oblivion.


~Walt Whitman

Image: James Abbott McNeill Whistler, Nocturne: Blue and Silver, Cremorne Lights, 1872


Unknown (India - via:pinkpagodastdio.blogspot)

Unknown (India - via:pinkpagodastdio.blogspot)



You cried for night - it falls. 

Now cry in darkness.

~Samuel Beckett


You cried for night - it falls.

Now cry in darkness.


~Samuel Beckett