The Benton Farm (1973)
Thomas Hart Benton
Oil on canvas
"Painted two years before Thomas Hart Benton’s death, The Benton Farm highlights the artist’s signature use of layered curves and bold contours. Benton had been working in this style for many years, creating a consistent vision of American life despite the advent of significant new art movements. Benton’s unwavering style and accessible subject matter continued to find eager audiences, including a local businessman who purchased The Benton Farm for his Plaza office. The painting resonated with his own work to create a business and his upbringing on a dairy farm."
“The downfall of the attempts of governments and leaders to unite mankind is found in this — in the wrong message that we should see everyone as the same. This is the root of the failure of harmony. Because the truth is, we should not all see everyone
as the same! We are not the same! We are made of different colours and we have different cultures. We are all different! But the key to this door is to look at these differences, respect these differences, learn from and about these differences, and grow in and with these differences. We are all different. We are not the same. But that’s beautiful. And that’s okay. In the quest for unity and peace, we cannot blind ourselves and expect to be all the same. Because in this, we all have an underlying belief that everyone should be the same as us at some point. We are not on a journey to become the same or to be the same. But we are on a journey to see that in all of
our differences, that is what makes us beautiful as a human race, and if we are
ever to grow, we ought to learn and always learn some more.” ― C. JoyBell C.
By W.D. Ehrhart
Each day I go into the fields
to see what is growing
and what remains to be done.
It is always the same thing: nothing
is growing, everything needs to be done.
Plow, harrow, disc, water, pray
till my bones ache and hands rub
blood-raw with honest labor—
all that grows is the slow
intransigent intensity of need.
I have sown my seed on soil
guaranteed by poverty to fail.
But I don’t complain—except
to passersby who ask me why
I work such barren earth.
They would not understand me
if I stooped to lift a rock
and hold it like a child, or laughed,
or told them it is their poverty
I labor to relieve. For them,
I complain. A farmer of dreams
knows how to pretend. A farmer of dreams
knows what it means to be patient.
Each day I go into the fields.