Chagall Four Seasons Mosaic

Dagmar, Kitti, and Cathy in February 2009
at the Chagall Four Seasons Mosaic
First National Plaza
Corner South Dearborn & West Monroe Streets


"The stars were my best friends.
The air was full of legends and phantoms,
full of mythical and fair-tale creatures,
which suddenly flew away over the roof,
so that one was at one with the firmament."
Marc Chagall

Read more:
Dagmar's Birthday
The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker
Previous Four Seasons post: "Life and Good"

Ben's Chagall Mural Photo, Summer 2011

Our Birthright: The Bright Wild Circus Flesh

Happy 449th Birthday to William Shakespeare!
b. 23 April 1564
d. 23 April 1616

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind."
~ Shakespeare ~
A Midsummer Night's Dream ~ Act I, scene i, 231 - 32

The Circus Rider ~ Marc Chagall

Chagall & Shakespeare just seem to go hand in hand!
[see also last year's post: "Happy 448th"]

*****************

A birthday poem . . . for Shakespeare . . . and for all of us!
When I Went to the Circus

When I went to the circus that had pitched on the waste lot
it was full of uneasy people
frightened of the bare earth and the temporary canvas
and the smell of horses and other beasts
instead of merely the smell of man.

Monkeys rode rather grey and wizened
on curly piebald ponies
and the children uttered a little cry--
and dogs jumped through hoops and turned somersaults
and then geese scuttled in in a little flock
and round the ring they went to the sound of the whip
then doubled, and back, with a funny up-flutter of wings—
and the children suddenly shouted out.

Then came the hush again, like a hush of fear.

The tight-rope lady, pink and blonde and nude-looking,
with a few gold spangles
footed cautiously out on the rope, turned prettily spun round
bowed, and lifted her foot in her hand, smiled, swung her parasol
to another balance, tripped round, poised, and slowly sank
her handsome thighs down, down, till she slept her splendid body on the rope.
when she rose, tilting her parasol, and smiled at the cautious people
they cheered, but nervously.

The trapeze man, slim and beautiful and like a fish in the air
swung great curves through the upper space, and came down like a star
--And the people applauded, with hollow, frightened applause.

The elephants, huge and grey, loomed their curved bulk through the dusk
and sat up, taking strange postures, showing the pink soles of their feet
and curling their precious live trunks like ammonites
and moving always with a soft slow precision
as when a great ship moves to anchor.
The people watched and wondered, and seemed to resent the mystery
that lies in the beasts.

Horses, gay horses, swirling round and plaiting
in a long line, their heads laid over each other’s necks;
they were happy, they enjoyed it;
all the creatures seemed to enjoy the gameiIn the circus, with their circus people.

But the audience, compelled to wonder
compelled to admire the bright rhythms of moving bodies
compelled to see the delicate skill of flickering human bodies
flesh flamey and a little heroic, even in a tumbling clown,
They were not really happy.
There was no gushing response, as there is at the film.

When modern people see the carnal body dauntless and flickering gay
playing among the elements neatly, beyond competition
and displaying no personality,
modern people are depressed.

Modern people feel themselves at a disadvantage.
They know they have no bodies that could play among the elements.
They have only their personalities, that are best seen flat, on the film,
flat personalities in two dimensions, imponderable and touchless.

And they grudge the circus people the swooping gay weight of limbs
that flower in mere movement, and they grudge them the immediate,
physical understanding they have with their circus beasts,
and they grudge them their circus-life altogether.

Yet the strange, almost frightened shout of delight
that comes now and then from the children
shows that the children vaguely know how cheated they are of their birthright
in the bright wild circus flesh.

~ D. H. Lawrence

P.S.
Added on Len's birthday ~ 30 June 2015

Chagall's Homage to Gogol

Cry of the Masses ~ D. H. Lawrence

Give us back, Oh give us back
our bodies before we die!

Trot, trot, trot, corpse-body, to work.
Chew, chew, chew, corpse-body, at the meal.
Sit, sit, sit, corpse-body, at the film.
Listen, listen, listen, corpse-body, to the wireless.
Talk, talk, talk, corpse-body, newspaper talk.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, corpse-body, factory-hand sleep.
Die, die, die, corpse-body, doesn't matter!

Must we die, must we die
bodiless, as we lived?
Corpse-anatomies with ready-made sensations!
Corpse-anatomies, that can work.
Work, work, work,
rattle, rattle, rattle,
sit, sit, sit,
finished, finished, finished--
Ah no, Ah no! before we finally die
or see ourselves as we are, and go mad,
give us back our bodies, for a day, for a single day
to stamp the earth and feel the wind, like wakeful men again.

Oh, even to know the last wild wincing of despair,
aware at last that our manhood is utterly lost,
give us back our bodies for one day.

In Just Sweet Spontaneous Spring

I couldn't resist these springtime
pairings of Marc Chagall's paintings
with the poetry of E. E. Cummings:

Peasant Life

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and

the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
Ida at the Window

o sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked

thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

beauty, how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

thou answerest

them only with

spring)
Here's another picture of Ida at the window,
when she was a tiny baby:

Bella and Ida by the Window

For a more springtime poetry from Cummings & paintings by Chagall
see my new post:
"Arranging a Window"
on the
The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker
A fortnightly [every 14th & 28th]
literary blog of connection & coincidence; custom & ceremony

Nativities ~ Chagall

Madonna of the Village (1988 - 1942)
&
Maternity (1954)

both by Marc Chagall (1887 - 1985)
[also FN & QK]

For more Nativities
see my recent post

Setting Up the Nativities

@The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker
A literary blog of connection & coincidence;
custom & ceremony

And for the upcoming
195th birthday
of Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson, Writer

@Kitti's List

A Samurai or the Son of God

Le Cirque Bleu ~ The Blue Circus
By Marc Chagall (1887 - 1985)

Many more Chagalls: QK & FN

An Ekphrastic Poem for Easter

A Chagall (#1)

A Blue Circus,
a spotlight, and a red girl
swinging in the air,
illuminated, twisting,
face and breasts and buttocks
all facing you, you'd
really find it hard
to believe, except
it's supernormal compared
to the floating green donkey
she's facing, and the blue carp
who holds a bouquet,
floating above her, and
a blue chicken
with a yellow bill
resting upon her leg.
There's a radiant yellow sun
which contains a white crescent
moon with an eye, and a violin,
the moon may be playing it,
you can't be sure,
and other people, dancing,
hanging, twirling, spinning
hoops and playing violins,
and a green beautiful boy
who could be a Samurai
or the son of God,
vague among green leaves.

7 / 2 / 68

by Dan Propper (1937 - 2003)
[See also UN & Gulf]

To complement Propper's poem,
check out this one by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

More exphrasis on my blog:
Brueghel's Icarus & American Gothic

Five examples, six examples, ten examples,
with some duplication.

I'm just wondering if there is a name for the reverse:
when a poem inspires a painting,
such as these watercolors by Gerry McCartney,
and these selections from The Guardian?

If there is, I can't find it. Help?
Pehaps ut pictura poesis
********************

Music for Maundy Thursday & Good Friday:
Mozart's "Confutatis and Lacrimosa"

&

Some thoughts about Jesus
from The Rev. Sarah Condon
from her book Churchy
"Jesus was terrible at encouraging equitable relationships with good boundaries. Just ask those people who worked all day in the vineyard. Or the ninety-nine lambs that got left behind while he searched for the lost one. Or even the disciples who felt they had rightfully earned their place at the front of the heavenly queue.

. . . Whether we like it or not, a low anthropology exemplifies the reality of human nature juxtaposed with the perfection of Christ. If he did not come to save us from ourselves, then what did he come for? To be a teacher? A prophet? A community organizer? He was an elusive teacher at best, a failed and crucified prophet, and the world's least organized community organizer" (12, 19).

See also Imbolc Angel & Small Sweet Tangible Things

Except Thou Bless Be

Jacob Wrestling with the Angel, 1963
by Marc Chagall, 1887 - 1985
And Jacob said to the angel,
"I will not let thee go, except thou bless me."
Genesis 32:26
Art
In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
But form to lend, pulsed life create,
What unlike things must meet and mate:
A flame to melt--a wind to freeze;
Sad patience--joyous energies;
Humility--yet pride and scorn;
Instinct and study; love and hate;
Audacity--reverence. These must mate,
And fuse with Jacob's mystic heart,
To wrestle with the angel--Art.

Herman Melville, 1819 - 1891
American novelist, essayist, poet

I first came across this mystical wrestling poem in the most interesting way: I saw it inscribed around a circular ceiling mural in the lobby of an apartment highrise in Chicago. I was in that vestibule a few times many years ago but am now not even entirely sure what building it was. How I would love to see it again! The question is, do I have the courage to approach the door-keeper and say, "Excuse me, I don't live here or know anyone who lives here, but could I please step inside and glance at your ceiling?!" A few friends have suggested that such a request might not be ill - received. Audacity -- reverence. Right? But where to start? I've actually thought of asking a realtor to help me, since agents probably have access to such buildings that are otherwise closed to the general public.

Could it be one of these?

For Melville's poem and more on Jacob and the Angel,
see my new post

"Except Thou Bless Me"

on THE FORTNIGHTLY KITTI CARRIKER
my fortnightly literary blog [every 14th & 28th]
of connection and coincidence

Life and Good

Awhile back, I received the following note from my friend Cate -- remember, the one who reads and knits:

"This was in my mail today from my weekly Torah readings. I like the rhythm of it . . . I consider the most beautiful passage in the Torah to be found in Parashat Nitzavim (Deut. 30:11-14)":

"Surely, this mitzvah that I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, 'Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?' Neither is it beyond the sea . . . No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it."

Upon reading this, I felt sure that it was one of the passages I had been required to memorize years ago in school, so I ran to my old paper (yes!) files and pulled out a couple of archived folders: "Bible as Literature (Fall 1973)" & "English Bible (Spring 1982)" and sure enough, there it was:

11: For this commandment which I command thee this day, it is not hidden from thee, neither is it far off.

12: It is not in heaven, that thou shouldest say, Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it unto us, that we may hear it, and do it?

13: Neither is it beyond the sea, that thou shouldest say, Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it unto us, that we may hear it, and do it?

14: But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart, that thou mayest do it.

15: See, I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil;

16: In that I command thee this day to love the LORD thy God, to walk in his ways, and to keep his commandments and his statutes and his judgments, that thou mayest live and multiply: and the LORD thy God shall bless thee in the land whither thou goest to possess it.

Deuteronomy 30: 11 - 17

Detail from
Four Seasons Mosaic Mural by Marc Chagall
First National Plaza in downtown Chicago
Corner of Monroe & Dearborn

For Us To Remember

On Memorial Day

Lilies of the Valley, 1916 ~ Marc Chagall
Opening the Envelope of the World
When it is dark, we return
to our young streets; birds
sleep in the branches
of our years; we follow

the road past our house;
the light is on; a dog
sleeps on the porch;
music plays inside us;

we pursue it across
summer and the the long
winter. The road is
there for us to follow,

and the light on
for us to remember.

In the next poem, when I read Price's description
of the escape through air, sun, cloud . . .
on toward the "lost island" and the "prairie sea"
I hear in my mind that tender tune sung by Peter, Paul, and Mary
(listen here, complete with Monet slideshow):

Somos el barco, somos el mar,
Yo navego en ti, tu navegas en mi
We are the boat, we are the sea,
I sail in you, you sail in me

The stream sings it to the river,
the river sings it to the sea
The sea sings it to the boat
that carries you and me

Chorus

The boat we are sailing in
was built by many hands
And the sea we are sailing on,
it touches every land

Chorus

So with our hopes we set the sails
And face the winds once more
And with our hearts we chart the waters
never sailed before

Somos el barco, somos el mar,
Yo navego en ti, tu navegas en mi
We are the boat, we are the sea,
I sail in you, you sail in me

Words & music by Lorre Wyatt
A Fable Bursts Free
We return to our house; the Indian
sleeps in his grandfather's cradle;
there is the cadence of rock
rolling over the long hill;

a dog barks beneath the willow.
We unravel into a skein of geese
weaving above the land's parabola
of shore. Without artifice, our words

come, legacies of the South and North,
a construct of our generation.
We escape through a portal of air,
a gate of the sun. We go without

hesitation through brazen clouds
forming seasons; we sail, once
and for all, toward
the lost island and the prairie sea.

"Opening the Envelope" & "Fable" by Alice Price, 1927 - 2009
from her book Our Dismembered Shadow

Charlotte Stewart, Germaine Greer, Alice Price, Susan Hastings
~ eating cake and reading manuscripts ~
at the Tulsa Center for Women's Studies, 1982

Too Soon to Undecorate!

Cat Under Tree ~ Roger Duvoisin (1904 – 1980)

When you're finally ready to face the task,
here's some music by Mannheim Steamroller
to make it more bearable:
"Traditions of Christmas" & "Christmas Lullaby"

Last month, I sent this card to my friend
and fellow cat lover Cate as a Solstice Greeting.
See the tiny Christmas tree outside, in the distance?

At the Window (1927-28) ~ Marc Chagall (1897 - 1985)

P.S.
On facebook

Fall Dance ~ by Jamie Sherman

Kalman & Stettheimer

Christmas (1930 - 1940)
by Florine Stettheimer, 1871 – 1944

Holiday card featuring a painting of New York City
by one of my new favorite artists.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Woman Wearing an Easter Bunny Bonnet
(filled with tiny Chagall - like figures)
Maira Kalman (b 1949)

From a box of New Yorker Cover Note Cards
by another new favorite artist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For further discussion of these two artistic designers
see my recent post

"So Many Synchronicities"
@ The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker
A literary blog of connection & coincidence; custom & ceremony

Sit A Spell

The Small Drawing Room


"I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude,
two for friendship, three for society."

Henry David Thoreau, 1817-1862
American author and naturalist
(from Walden)
It's true, I posted this quotation only a couple of months ago, but while reviewing all my favorite Chagalls, in preparation for today's new Fortnightly, I spent some time looking closely at the chairs in Chagall's "Small Drawing Room" and just had to pair it with Thoreau's observation on seating arrangements.

Our dining room wall covered with favorites,
including "The Small Drawing Room," near top left

Jacob's Ladder

My current Fortnightly Blog Post revolves around the theme of Jacob wrestling with the Angel. As I was inserting Marc Chagall's painting on this subject, I saw that he had also painted the equally popular theme of Jacob's Ladder at least half a dozen times. Which one to include was an easy choice:

the one with a house in it!
Still, I couldn't leave the others without a second look. It's easy to spend an hour comparing and contrasting the various renditions:

See my post

"Except Thou Bless Me"

on THE FORTNIGHTLY KITTI CARRIKER
my fortnightly literary blog [every 14th & 28th]
of connection and coincidence

Vienna Waits

"Whoever wants to know something about me
- as an artist which alone is significant -
they should look attentively at my pictures
and there seek to recognise
what I am and what I want."
Gustav Klimt
This past week, I was lucky enough to spend 2 1/2 days in Vienna, arriving on Tuesday afternoon and staying 'til dawn on Friday. Gerry was busy working, except for dinner one night, so I tried to see as much as I could, keeping in mind that I had "so much to do and and only / So many hours in a day"!
Click here for my tourist photos in the facebook album:

~ A Couple of Days in Vienna ~
Thanks to my brother Bruce for posting the link to this old favorite -- now with new meaning:

Vienna Waits For You
[Click for slideshow & following]

Slow down you crazy child
You're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart tell me,
Why are you still so afraid? (mmmmm)

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You better cool it off before you burn it out
You got so much to do and only
So many hours in a day (ay)

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want
Or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through (oooh)
When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

Slow down you're doing fine
You can't be everything you want to be before your time
Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight (tonight)

Too bad, but it's the life you lead
You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong
You know you can't always see when you're right (you're right)

You got your passion, you got your pride
But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true (oooh)
When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

Slow down you crazy child
Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while
It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two (oooh)
When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through (oooh)
Why don't you realize... Vienna waits for you?

When will you realize... Vienna waits for you?

Music and lyrics by Billy Joel

Bearing witness at the art museums . . .
so much to choose from . . .
but I couldn't miss these classic treasures:

The Kiss
Gustav Klimt, 1862 - 1918

The Art of Painting
Jan Vermeer, 1632 - 1675

Sleeping Woman With Flowers
Marc Chagall, 1887 - 1985

***************************
Of the three museums I visited ~ Albertina, Belvedere, Kunsthistorisches ~ I enjoyed the Belvedere most and wish I had spent more time there. It consists of two Palaces, both filled with art, and I only took time to do one -- the Upper Belvedere, where the Klimts are. If it's a nice day, you can spend an hour walking around outside, taking photos, and enjoying the walk down to the Lower Belvedere (or vice versa, depending on which end you enter).

My problem was that after doing the Upper, I walked briskly through the garden and didn't stay to visit the Lower. I also noticed a really cute local color restaurant / pub near the Lower entrance / exit, called the Salm Brau, that I wish I could have gone back to later with Gerry, but we didn't have time.

All three museums are within walking distance of each other if you don't mind a long walk (though for the hardy, this may even seem like a short walk)!

Kunsthistorisches = #20
Albertina = #23
Belvedere = lower right corner
The Lower Belvedere and the Albertina are both open late on Wednesdays, so if you are in Vienna on a Wednesday and your day is full, you could save one of these locations until evening. A user friendly tip about the Albertina is that you can ride up the outdoor escalator to the foyer and have access to the very safe and tidy public restrooms in the basement before going thru the official entrance and purchasing your ticket. Needless to say, after discovering this, I availed myself of the facilities several times, whenever I found myself in the vicinity! The posters (see photos) of all the previous Albertina exhibits are displayed on the stairwell walls leading down to the restrooms (I think they might actually be there for students, but no one questioned).

Gerry and I did the Albertina on Wednesday evening -- it's a smaller museum, so I don't think we missed much. We peeked in at the restaurant, but it looked very modern, New York - style, which is nice, but seemed like something we could more easily find in the USA, so we wandered out onto the street and picked a touristy outdoor cafe instead.

This is also the best area for walking / wandering around randomly, if you like doing that -- starting at the Albertina / Opera House area and heading inward toward St. Stephen's Church & St. Peter's Church. The streets seem to have everything -- from tiny quaint shops to large world department stores, and buidlings from every decade / century, so you can get a real sense of the city. And even if you feel lost, you eventually end up back on the main ring road.

All the large public buildings are a bit further away, but the first ones you come to are the Art History Museum (Kunsthistorisches) and Natural History Museum. So I walked that far, but no farther. I spent a couple of hours doing one floor of the Kunsthistorisches -- where the Vermeer was, and some Brueghels. There was so much more -- ancient artifacts and coins (kind of British - museum style) in the basement, but I just ran out of steam.

The Kunsthistorisches is open late on Thursday, so if your stay includes a Thursday night, you can visit this museum in the late afternoon and then stay on for dinner. The restaurant was very ornate and fabulous - looking, right in the center rotunda! This would have been my and Gerry's choice, except that the conference dinner was on Thursday night, so we weren't free. I also noticed that the Kunsthistorisches had nice big couches all around, in sunny spots, so if you allowed yourself to visit at a more leisurely pace, you could do one floor then sit and relax, then do another exhibit, then sit in a different spot, and so forth. That's what I would have done if I had not been rushing myself.

Our hotel was right near the Stadtpark, also a very pretty place just to walk around and take pictures. We weren't in Vienna long enough to look into musical events, but there seems to be one every night at the Stadtpark in the Kursalon (see photos). The Thursday night conference dinner was held in the Stadtpark at the Restaurant Steirereck. From the outside, where the back of the restaurant faces the park (in my photos) it looks very quaint. From the front & inside & on the menu it is very contemporary. Elegant and highly rated, but wouldn't have been my first choice for local color.

Still, no complaints! You can only do so much in 2 or 3 days, so have fun picking and choosing! Whatever you do will be great, and you'll surely return home thinking of all the things you'll do next time, if you ever make it back again!

Previous Travels
Berlin
Berlin vs Philly
Hanover
Paris

Happy 448th to William Shakespeare!

A Midsummer Night's Dream, 1939 ~ by Marc Chagall
A happy memory from my Senior year in highschool was celebrating Shakespeare's 411th birthday with my good friends Etta and Marilyn. We checked out the book Dining With William Shakespeare from the library. We baked Cornish Pasties and Shrewsbury Cakes. We drove downtown (St. Louis) to see a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream by The New Shakespeare Company of San Francisco (on tour). We spent hours making these buttons for everyone in our Shakespeare class to wear:

Since that festive occasion when we went all out, I have tried to honor Shakespeare's birthday in my heart and keep it in at least some small way every year.

Today, I share with you the words of another great English poet, John Dryden:

Shakespeare [1564 - 1616] . . . was the man who of all Modern, and perhaps Ancient Poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the Images of Nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily: when he describes any thing, you more than see it, you feel it too. . . . he was naturally learn'd; he needed not the spectacles of Books to read Nature; he look'd inwards, and found her there. . . . he is always great, when some great occasion is presented to him: no man can say he ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did not then raise himself as high above the rest of the Poets, "As cypresses usually do among supple trees."

The consideration of this made Mr. Hales of Eaton say, That there was no subject of which any Poet ever writ, but he would produce it much better treated of in Shakespeare; and however others are now generally prefer'd before him, yet the Age wherein he liv'd, which had contemporaries with him, Fletcher and Johnson never equall'd them to him in their esteem: And in the last Kings Court, when Ben's reputation was at highest, Sir John Suckling, and with him the greater part of the Courtiers, set our Shakespeare far above him.

. . . If I would compare him [Ben Jonson] with Shakespeare, I must acknowledge him the more correct Poet, but Shakespeare the greater wit. Shakespeare was the Homer, or Father of our Dramatick Poets; Johnson was the Virgil, the pattern of elaborate writing; I admire him, but I love Shakespeare.

by John Dryden (1631 - 1700)
English Poet and Literary Critic

from his Essay of Dramatick Poesie, 1668
as edited by Jack Lynch

Thanks to my brother Dave for the cool button!

And to conclude:
Maybe not "the most unkindest cut of all,"
but a taunt, a jest from my brother Bruce:

Dear Bill,
For your birthday,
I relinquish to you the right to use
any of my material and claim it as your own.
With warmest personal regards,
Sir Francis Bacon

Rejoinder:

Dear Frank,
If in the years to come,
they should ascribe my works to you,
well, no hard feelings!
Yours by the pen,
Will