July 22, 2014

It’s the birthday of Edward Hopper

Hopper had only sold one painting by the time he was 40 years old, but his first major exhibition — in 1933 at the Museum of Modern Art — made him famous. His pieces in that show had titles like Houses by the Railroad, Manhattan Bridge Loop, Room in Brooklyn, Roofs of Washington Square, Cold Storage Plant, Lonely House, and Girl on Bridge. Though his work was more realistic and less experimental than most other painters at the time, he painted his scenes in a way that made them seem especially lonely and eerie.

July 22, 2014
"If you could say it in words, there would be no reason to paint."

—    Edward Hopper

July 22, 2014
"Maybe I am slightly inhuman… All I ever wanted to do was to paint sunlight on the side of a house."

—    Edward Hopper

July 22, 2014
Genetics

Genetics http://wp.me/s4ctFT-genetics

Mid-1800s Czechoslovakia: My ancestors are still considering

birthing my grandparents; Friar Johann Gregor Mendel

experiments on his 28,000 edible pea plants.

Each develops their own theory of inheritance.

People, plants and the recombination of genes.

View On WordPress

July 22, 2014
"Maybe one day it will be cheering even to remember these things."

— Virgil, Aeneid, Book 1

3:00pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zv4pby1MCf2FI
Filed under: virgil aeneid 
July 22, 2014

12:00pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zv4pby1MBqz-B
Filed under: shakespeare 
July 22, 2014

11:00am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zv4pby1MBblMh
Filed under: shakespeare 
July 21, 2014
The Sun Also Rises & A Farewell to Arms

Today is the 115th birthday of writer Ernest Hemingway, born in Oak Park, Illinois (1899).

On his 26th birthday, he began his first novel. He said, “Everybody my age had written a novel and I was still having a difficult time writing a paragraph.” He wrote in hotels and bars in Madrid and the French town of Hendaye, and in an apartment in Paris. He finished the first draft just two months after he had begun writing. He told a friend years later: “Toward the last it was like a fever. Toward the last I was sprinting, like in a bicycle race, and I did not want to lose my speed making love or anything else.”

This novel, titled Fiesta, then revised to The Lost Generation, and finally to The Sun Also Riseswas published in 1926.

His mother wrote to him: “It is a doubtful honor to produce one of the filthiest books of the year. […] Every page fills me with a sick loathing — if I should pick up a book by any other writer with such words in it, I should read no more — but pitch it in the fire.”

For Hemingway’s second novel, A Farewell To Arms (1929), his editor had a conference with Scribner to discuss Hemingway’s use of four-letter words. In the end, three words were not included in A Farewell to Arms, but replaced by dashes.

Hemingway wrote those words back in by hand on a couple of copies, including one that he gave to James Joyce.

A Farewell to Arms became a best-seller, selling 100,000 copies in its first year, and Hemingway was able to make a living writing fiction.

Ernest Hemingway, Paris, 1924.jpg
Ernest Hemingway, Paris, 1924" by Not specified, owned by John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum, Boston - John F. Kennedy Library, Ernest Hemingway Collection, direct link to photo here. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

July 21, 2014
The Tragedy of Errors

The Tragedy of Errors

A day full of my stupid errors.

Wrong turns, forgotten items, an appointment missed.

Senior moments tick tocking into minutes, hours.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy?

No comedy, no humor, no happy ending.

View On WordPress

July 21, 2014
Food and Mood Connection
see, doctors suggest links between our moods and what we eat –– so, next time, grab a couple pieces of dark chocolate instead.

Food and Mood Connection

see, doctors suggest links between our moods and what we eat –– so, next time, grab a couple pieces of dark chocolate instead.

(Source: npr)

3:00pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zv4pby1M6dkQs
  
Filed under: food mood stress 
July 21, 2014
When from the distant past nothing remains, after the beings have died, after the things are destroyed and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, yet more vital, more insubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of everything else; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the immense architecture of memory.
Yet again I had recalled the taste of a bit of madeleine dunked in a linden-flower tea which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long await the discovery of why this memory made me so happy), immediately the old gray house on the street where her room was found, arose like a theatrical tableau…
Mais, quand d’un passé ancien rien ne subsiste, après la mort des êtres, après la destruction des choses, seules, plus frêles mais plus vivaces, plus immatérielles, plus persistantes, plus fidèles, l’odeur et la saveur restent encore longtemps, comme des âmes, à se rappeler, à attendre, à espérer, sur la ruine de tout le reste, à porter sans fléchir, sur leur gouttelette presque impalpable, l’édifice immense du souvenir.
Et dès que j’eus reconnu le goût du morceau de madeleine trempé dans le tilleul que me donnait ma tante (quoique je ne susse pas encore et dusse remettre à bien plus tard de découvrir pourquoi ce souvenir me rendait si heureux), aussitôt la vieille maison grise sur la rue, où était sa chambre, vint comme un décor de théâtre…

 
–Marcel Proust, Du côté de chez Swann (1913) in: À la recherche du temps perdu vol. 1, p. 47

When from the distant past nothing remains, after the beings have died, after the things are destroyed and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, yet more vital, more insubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of everything else; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the immense architecture of memory.

Yet again I had recalled the taste of a bit of madeleine dunked in a linden-flower tea which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long await the discovery of why this memory made me so happy), immediately the old gray house on the street where her room was found, arose like a theatrical tableau…

Mais, quand d’un passé ancien rien ne subsiste, après la mort des êtres, après la destruction des choses, seules, plus frêles mais plus vivaces, plus immatérielles, plus persistantes, plus fidèles, l’odeur et la saveur restent encore longtemps, comme des âmes, à se rappeler, à attendre, à espérer, sur la ruine de tout le reste, à porter sans fléchir, sur leur gouttelette presque impalpable, l’édifice immense du souvenir.

Et dès que j’eus reconnu le goût du morceau de madeleine trempé dans le tilleul que me donnait ma tante (quoique je ne susse pas encore et dusse remettre à bien plus tard de découvrir pourquoi ce souvenir me rendait si heureux), aussitôt la vieille maison grise sur la rue, où était sa chambre, vint comme un décor de théâtre…

Marcel Proust, Du côté de chez Swann (1913) in: À la recherche du temps perdu vol. 1, p. 47

July 21, 2014
"Best of all he loved the fall
The leaves yellow on the cottonwoods
Leaves floating on the trout streams
And above the hills
The high blue windless skies
Now he will be a part of them forever"

Ernest Hemingway - born July 21, 1899, in Oak Park, IL

Ernest Hemingway is buried in Ketchum, Idaho, but on a memorial outside town overlooking Trail Creek is this eulogy that he wrote in 1939 for a friend (Gene Van Guilder) - but it applies pretty well to his own life.

July 20, 2014
and Mona Lisa behind the scenes

and Mona Lisa behind the scenes

July 20, 2014
Guarding Mona

Guarding Mona

July 20, 2014
Fairy glow

Fairy glow

Liked posts on Tumblr: More liked posts »