“Joseph Hirsch painted Lynch Family as a response to racial disturbances in the South in 1946. That year the number of lynchings rose from an all-time low in January to a fevered pitch by August. Citizens across the country urged President Truman and Congress to end the horrors. To capture the tragedy of Lynch Family, Hirsch presented a mother with her baby, presumably survivors of a lynching victim, in abstracted surroundings. The painting focuses on the mother’s intense yet restrained hold on her defiant child while she turns to hide her anguish. The blue background floats around the figures. It both highlights their pain and contrasts with the sheer beauty of Hirsch’s painterly technique.” — From the collection of The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art
Art
All posts tagged Art
“All the sculptures of today, like those of the past, will end one day in pieces... So it is important to fashion ones work carefully in its smallest recess and charge every particle of matter with life.”
— Alberto Giacometti
"A work of art is a world in itself reflecting
senses and emotions of the artist's world." — Hans Hofmann
Dream tonight of peacock tails, Diamond fields and spouter whales.
Ills are many, blessing few, But dreams tonight will shelter you. Herman Melville
One Art
Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Among silent breakers, the tremors of the shining surface, in the swift flux and reflux martyrizing the patches of light, in the rendings of luminous loops and arcs, and lines, in the occultations and reappearances of dancing bursts of light being decomposed, recomposed, contracted, spread out, only to be re-distributed once more before me, with me, within me, drowned, and unendurably buffeted, my calm violated a thousand times by the tongues of infinity, oscillating, sinusoidally overrun by the multitude of liquid lines. enormous with a thousand folds, I was and I was not, I was caught, I was lost, I was in a state of complete ubiquity. The thousands upon thousands of rustlings were my own thousand shatterings.” ― Henri Michaux, Miserable Miracle
“A work of arte; and yet no arte of man,
Can worke, this worke, these little creatures can”
– Geffrey Whitney, 1586.
‘Healing,’ Papa would tell me, ‘is not a science,
but the intuitive art of wooing nature.’
— W. H. Auden
“When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for the moment.
I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so,
they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not.”
Georgia O’Keeffe
“Life is painful.
It has thorns, like the stem of a rose.
Culture and art are the roses that bloom on the stem.
The flower is yourself, your humanity.
Art is the liberation of the humanity inside yourself.”
― Daisaku Ikeda