The Tempest: ‘Where the bee sucks, there suck I,’

Oil on Panel, 12 x 12”, 2016

Where the bee sucks. there suck I:
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

 -William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Published in: on June 19, 2019 at 5:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

Fanfare in Purple and Gold


Oil on Canvas, 24 x 30”, 2015

Art is a goddess of dainty thought, reticent of habit, abjuring all obtrusiveness, purposing in no way to better others. She is, withal selfishly occupied with her own perfection only – having no desire to teach.

 -James Abbott McNeill Whistler, ‘Ten O’Clock Lecture’

 

Published in: on June 19, 2019 at 5:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

Lady Slane: All Passion Spent

Oil on Canvas, 36 x 48”, 2016

Sitting there in the sun at Hampstead, in the late summer, under the south wall and the ripened peaches, doing nothing with her hands, she remembered the day she had become engaged to Henry. She had plenty of leisure now, day in, day out, to survey her life as a tract of country traversed, ….And what, precisely, had been herself, she wondered—an old woman looking back on the girl she had once been? This wondering was the softest, most wistful, of occupations; yet it was not melancholy; it was, rather, the last, supreme luxury; a luxury she had waited all her life to indulge. There was just time, in this reprieve before death, to indulge herself to the full. She had, after all, nothing else to do. For the first time in all her life—no, for the first time since her marriage—she had nothing else to do. She could lie back against death and examine life. Meanwhile, the air was full of the sound of bees.

-Vita Sackville-West, All Passion Spent

Published in: on June 19, 2019 at 5:23 pm  Leave a Comment  

Lawrence Seldon: House of Mirth

Oil on Canvas, 36 x 48, 2016

He had seated himself on an arm of the chair near which she was standing, and she continued to question him…

‘Don’t you ever mind,’ she asked suddenly, ‘not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?’

He followed her glance about the room, with its worn furniture and shabby walls.

‘Don’t I just? Do you take me for a saint on a pillar?’

‘And having to work—do you mind that?’

‘Oh, the work itself is not so bad—I’m rather fond of the law.’

‘No; but the being tied down: the routine—don’t you ever want to get away, to see new places and people?’

‘Horribly—especially when I see all my friends rushing to the steamer.’

She drew a sympathetic breath. ‘But do you mind enough—to marry to get out of it?’

Selden broke into a laugh. ‘God forbid!’ he declared.

 -Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth

Published in: on June 19, 2019 at 5:19 pm  Leave a Comment  

Athena

Athena, 2016, Oil on Canvas, 36 x 48

O, warlike Pallas…
Gymnastic virgin of terrific mind,
Dire Gorgon’s bane, unmarried, blessed, kind:
Mother of arts, impetuous; understood,
Rage to the wicked, wisdom to the good:
Female and male, the arts of war are thine…

Hear me, O Goddess, when to thee I pray,
With supplicating voice both night and day,
And in my latest hour, give peace and health,
Propitious times, and necessary wealth,
And, ever present, be thy votaries aid,
O, much implored, art’s parent, blue-eyed maid.

-Orphic Hymn to Athena

Published in: on June 19, 2019 at 5:17 pm  Leave a Comment