Silver Coffin of King Psusennes the First (1st image via: egyking.com | 2nd image via: thecultureconcept.com )
From Wiki: Psusennes I, or [Greek Ψουσέννης], Pasibkhanu or Hor-Pasebakhaenniut I [Egyptian ḥor-p3-sib3-ḫˁỉ-<n>-niwt] was the third king of the Twenty-first dynasty of Egypt who ruled from Tanis (Greek name for Dzann, Biblical Zoan) between 1047 – 1001 BC. Psusennes is the Greek version of his original name Pasebakhaenniut which means “The Star Appearing in the City” while his throne name, Akheperre Setepenamun, translates as “Great are the Manifestations of Ra, chosen of Amun.” He was the son of Pinedjem I and Henuttawy, Rameses XI’s daughter by Tentamun. He married his sister Mutnedjmet…
… Psusennes I, himself, was interred in an “inner silver coffin” which was inlaid with gold. Since “silver was considerably rarer in Egypt than gold,” Psusennes I’s silver “coffin represents a sumptuous burial of great wealth during Egypt’s declining years.”
It is this admirable, this immortal, instinctive sense of beauty that leads us to look upon the spectacle of this world as a glimpse, a correspondence with heaven. Our unquenchable thirst for all that lies beyond, and that life reveals, is the liveliest proof of our immortality. It is both by poetry and through poetry, by music and through music, that the soul dimly descries the splendours beyond the tomb; and when an exquisite poem brings tears to our eyes, those tears are not a proof of overabundant joy: they bear witness rather to an impatient melancholy, a clamant demand by our nerves, our nature, exiled in imperfection, which would fain enter into immediate possession, while still on this earth, of a revealed paradise.
|—||Charles Baudelaire, Selected Writings on Art and Literature|
Allegorical Figure of Painting, Metropolitan Museum of Art
Charles-Antoine Coypel IV
From Wiki: “Charles-Antoine Coypel (11 July 1694 – 15 June 1752) was a French painter, art commentator, and playwright. He lived in Paris. He was the son of the artist Antoine Coypel and grandson of Noël Coypel. Charles-Antoine inherited his father’s design and painting duties as premier peintre du roi (First Painter to the King) at the French court when his father died in 1722. He became premier peintre du roi and director of the Académie Royale in 1747. He received a number of commissions for paintings for the Palais de Versailles, and worked for Madame de Pompadour, the king’s mistress.”
River-landscape: village and tall trees
City Walls. 1921-22, Museum of Modern Art, New York (via: arttattler)
Niles Spencer (American, 1893-1952)
Octo Ahadi HERE (via: thecreativephotography.com)
Artemis: Creative Photography has Octo Jalek as the photographer with a facebook link but the image is on Art Limited with Octo Ahadi as the photographer. There is a porfolio on Art Limited as opposed to the single image found on Creative Photo.
Books help to form us. If you cut me open, you will find volume after volume, page after page, the contents of every one I have ever read, somehow transmuted and transformed into me. Alice in Wonderland. the Magic Faraway Tree. The Hound of the Baskervilles. The Book of Job. Bleak House. Wuthering Heights. The Complete Poems of W.H. Auden. The Tale of Mr Toad. Howard’s End. What a strange person I must be. But if the books I have read have helped to form me, then probably nobody else who ever lived has read exactly the same books, all the same books and only the same books as me. So just as my genes and the soul within me make me uniquely me, so I am the unique sum of the books I have read. I am my literary DNA.
~Susan Hill, Howards End Is on the Landing: A Year of Reading from Home
Image: Reader, Ryan Holloway, 2008 (via: ocaocomeuolivr.blogspot)
Walking on these streets, until the night falls, my life feels to me like the life they have. By day they’re full of meaningless activity; by night, they’re full of meaningless lack of it. By day I am nothing, and by night I am I. There is no difference between me and these streets, save they being streets and I a soul, which perhaps is irrelevant when we consider the essence of things
~Fernando Pessoa, from “A Factless Autobiography”, The Book of Disquiet, tr. by Richard Zenith — Image: Fernando Pessoa on the streets of Lisbon,1920-35. From Círculo de Leitores, Fernando Pessoa - Obra Poética, Vol. I