Here, where the artist strives to shape, condense and order thoughts and sensations until they take on a form that communicates, is the promise of continuity as opposed to decay, of meaning as opposed to senselessness, of value as opposed to waste. Vanessa painted, not in order to forget anxiety and pain, but in order to transform them into the permanence of art.
Excerpt from the book, Vanessa Bell by Frances Spalding, 1983
city streets and secret gardens
sparkling rivers dressed in a winter sun
postcards from Chagall
at 5:30 am: the blue light of dawn, strong coffee and vanessa’s gaze
tea with friends
thoughts of miro
sunny afternoons
colored pencils tied with twine
book sale at the library
shards of distant memories
kisses from the pup
this book: The Alienist by Caleb Carr and
this movie: Loving Vincent
“Increasingly, he bunked off school to paint out of doors. Claude hated school. He resented being trapped inside a building and told what to do, even for a few hours a day.”
from the book, The Private Lives of Impressionists, by Sue Roe
“Arthur had urged her to plunge her feet in a deep, swiftly running mountain stream to feel the rhythm of the water. Something about the proper young scholar suggested that he was not the free spirit he seemed to be. Georgia had kept her stockings on.”
from the book, O’Keeffe & Stieglitz, An American Romance, by Benita Eisler
On a brilliant summer day in a beautiful and artful city, a gentleman walks along a red-bricked street. Passing a small boutique, his gaze is arrested by the most enchanting, exquisite bow made of satin ribbon. This bow would be a perfect addition to his daughter’s birthday gift. Elated at his luck in finding this intricate adornment, he walks into the small shop.
“How much is the bow in the window?” he inquires from the young man approaching.
“The bow is $50.00,” comes the reply.
“What?! I’m not going to pay $50.00 for a 10 cent ribbon!” shouts the man.
“Ah, no problem sir,” says the young clerk.
He moves toward the window and with one quick jerk of his hand and wrist grabs the satin bow and whips it once into the air. Immediately, the bow becomes undone. As he holds out the long, straight, gleaming ribbon to the gentleman, he says simply, “Now, you may have it for 10 cents.”
This story was passed on to me almost 30 years ago by my
beloved Commercial Art instructor, Ray Coia.
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