The Artist In His Studio

sitting here in my studio.. 

19th may 2012.. 

you can't see me because I am.. 

taking this picture.. 

 shooting this shot..

 

LIKE MONET

 

 sitting in his garden.. 

 in giverney.. while 20 miles away.. 

 the guns are smashing the.. 

trenches to mud.. 

he can't feel a thing.. 

 here in palookaville.. 

 the war in ukrain is further away.. 

and we can still sit here in peace.. 

for now anyway.. 

 

 THE GLASS IS FALLING HOUR BY HOUR 

the glass will fall forever.. 

but if you break the bloody glass.. 

you won't hold up the weather.. 

 

 

 

so here is this blog..

 

being written..

 

the large canvas is from..

 

1994

 

you can live a long time in hollywood..

 

and never see the part they put in movies..

WE ARE ALONE ALL TOGETHER

all together..

we are alone..

DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS

 

 

there is a painting..

 

in nottingham castle..

 

by george moreland..

 

it used to have the title..

 

'the artist in his studio, his man gibbs frying up'.. 

they have shortened it now..

it was always a favourite of mine..

 

 

 

IN COMMON BUT ALONE

 

 

Chingachgook became once more the object of the common attention. 

He had not yet spoken, and something consolatory and instructive was expected from so renowned a chief on an occasion of such interest...

"Why do my brothers mourn?" he said, regarding the dark race of dejected warriors by whom he was environed; "why do my daughters weep? that a young man has gone to the happy hunting-grounds; that a chief has filled his time with honor? 

He was good; he was dutiful; he was brave. 

Who can deny it? 

The Manitou had need of such a warrior, and He has called him away. 

As for me, the son and the father of Uncas, 

I am a blazed pine, in a clearing of the pale faces. 

My race has gone from the shores of the salt lake and the hills of the Delawares. 

But who can say that the serpent of his tribe has forgotten his wisdom? I am alone--"

"No, no," cried Hawkeye, who had been gazing with a yearning look at the rigid features of his friend, with something like his own self-command, but whose philosophy could endure no longer; "no, Sagamore, not alone. 

The gifts of our colors may be different, but God has so placed us as to journey in the same path. I have no kin, and I may also say, like you, no people. He was your son, and a red-skin by nature; and it may be that your blood was nearer--but, if ever I forget the lad who has so often fou't at my side in war, and slept at my side in peace, may He who made us all, whatever may be our color or our gifts, forget me!

 The boy has left us for a time; but, Sagamore, you are not alone."

Chingachgook grasped the hand that, in the warmth of feeling, the scout had stretched across the fresh earth, and in an attitude of friendship these two sturdy and intrepid woodsmen bowed their heads together, while scalding tears fell to their feet, watering the grave of Uncas like drops of falling rain.

In the midst of the awful stillness with which such a burst of feeling, coming as it did, from the two most renowned warriors of that region, was received, Tamenund lifted his voice to disperse the multitude.

"It is enough," he said.

 "Go, children of the Lenape, 

the anger of the Manitou is not done. 

Why should Tamenund stay? 

The pale faces are masters of the earth, 

and the time of the red men has not yet come again. 

My day has been too long. 

In the morning I saw the sons of Unamis happy and strong; 

and yet, 

before the night has come, 

have I lived to see the last warrior of the wise race of the Mohicans."

 

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Native-american-Figure/31203/1246684/view

 

IN VINCENT'S CHAIR

so we beat on..

boats against the current..

borne back ceaselessly..

into the past.. 

figuresinasouk.com