No.32

THE CARD-SHARPERS
A selection of paintings

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The Cardsharps, by Carravagio

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The Cheat with the Ace of Clubs, by Georges de la Tour

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The Card Players, by Jan Steen

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The Card Sharps. by Matthew William Peters

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Cardsharpers and Fortuneteller, by Nicolas Regnier

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A Sly Game, by Ivan Philipovich Tupylev

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Cardsharpers, by Jacob van Oost

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Today's Touch of Culture brings to an end the present series

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No.31

Christina Rossetti 1830-1894

Born in London to Italian parents, Christina Rossetti was a devout High Anglican whose verses often expressed frustrated love and unfulfilled spiritual desire.

Dante Gabriel the painter-poet was her brother, and her other siblings William and Maria were writers.

Christina was engaged for a short time to the painter James Collinson, who, along with Dante and William, were three of the founding members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.

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HOPE IS LIKE A HAREBELL

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth;
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world's delight;
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

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WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND?

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

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IN AN ARTIST’S STUDIO

One face looks out from all his canvasses,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans;
We found her hidden just behind those screens,
That mirror gave back all her loveliness.
A queen in opal or in ruby dress,
A nameless girl in freshest summer greens,
A saint, an angel; - every canvass means
The same one meaning, neither more nor less.
He feeds upon her face by day and night,
And she with true kind eyes looks back on him
Fair as the moon and joyful as the light;
Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;
Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;
Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.

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A BIRTHDAY

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

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A LINNET

A linnet in a gilded cage,
A linnet on a bough,
In frosty winter one might doubt
Which bird is luckier now.
But let the trees burst out in leaf,
And nests be on the bough,
Which linnet is the luckier bird,
Oh, who could doubt it now?

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UP-HILL

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.

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THERE HAVE BEEN PROBLEMS AT BLOGGER.COM, AND THE RESULT HAS BEEN THAT EVERYTHING I HAVE POSTED TO MY BLOGS SINCE WEDNESDAY HAS BEEN LOST.

I WILL NOW PUT THEM BACK ON

No.30

I've often wondered what my choice of music would be, if I was to be cast on to a desert island.

I know I would find it difficult, for my likes and dislikes are constantly changing, and there's every chance that a favourite piece today wouldn't appear in my best loved list next month.

There are however three pieces of music which I'm sure would always figure in my desert island selection. They're all well-known, very popular and I'm confidant you'll like the You Tube performances I've chosen.

I begin with the Prelude to Act 1 of La Traviata by Verdi, played by André Rieu and the Johann Strauss Orchestra. The video uploaded by "mychoicealfred4"



This is Kiri te Kanawa singing "O MyBeloved Father" from Gianna Schicchi by Puccini, with the London Philhatmonic orchestra conducted by Sir John Pritchard. The video uploaded by "napat14"



Finally, Puccini again, this time the Humming Chorus from Madame Butterfly, performed by the Hungarian State Opera . The video uploaded by "RoLorenz"



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No.29

Max Ehrmann 1872-1945
American writer, poet and attorney

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Desiderata (Latin for "desired things") is probably the piece of literature for which Max Ehrmann is most famous. Published in 1927, it has been described as an inspirational guide to a positive way of life.

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Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly,
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings;
many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labours and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

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No.28

It seems to me that it was only in the last few years that the practice of sending Easter Cards came to Scotland, but the idea doesn’t seem to have caught on.

To take my own family as an example, each year we exchange 80-90 Christmas cards but receive just 4 or 5 Easter cards.

And so it was a surprise to learn that their history goes back to Victorian England, when a stationer added a greeting to a drawing of a rabbit!

In Wikipedia the free encyclopedia, I found a good number of Easter Cards from the first decade of the 20th century, many of them from Eastern Europe, and I’m showing here my favourites.

A Card from Russia


This one dates from 1900


This is also 1900


A 1915 card


The caption says "Christ is Risen."

A Russian Empire card


First World War - Germany


This one is Ukranian

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BLOG NEWS

Since more and more folk have been visiting JOHN’S GALLERY lately, I’ve decided to add more paintings to the site. This will begin tomorrow with 5 paintings by Sir Edwin Landseer. http://johnsgallery.blogspot.com

I’ve been planning 2 new blogs and the first of those starts on Tuesday next week - “Let’s hear that song again!” which features dance band music of the 1930s.
http://letshearthatsongagain.blogspot.com

And the other is “That was another good read!” which begins on Wednesday 4th May. I’ve subtitled it - Great moments from Classic Fiction.
http://thatwasanothergoodread.blogspot.com

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No.27

JOHN FIELD 1782-1837

Virtuoso pianist and composer

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Born in Dublin, he made his concert debut at the age of nine, and two years later became a pupil of Clementi in London. The teacher used him to demonstrate Clementi pianos in his showrooms, and took him touring abroad.

When they arrived at St.Petersburg, Field decided to stay on there, and soon became the idol of Russian society.

His fame in the 19th century as a composer gradually waned, and we have to be reminded that it was he and not Chopin who invented the piano pieces known as Nocturnes.

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I’ve chosen two of Field's Nocturnes - first of all, No.2 in C minor, played by Dave Bartram.

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This is No.12 in G major. The pianist is not named.

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And finishing with one of Chopin’s masterpieces - Op.15 No.2, played by the Polish pianist Krystian Zimmerman.

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No.26

LOOKING AT TAPESTRIES

The following introduction is taken from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

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TAPESTRY is a form of textile art, woven on a vertical loom. It is composed of two sets of interlaced threads, those running parallel to the length (called the warp) and those parallel to the width (called the weft); the warp threads are set up under tension on a loom, and the weft thread is passed back and forth across part or all of the warps. Tapestry is weft-faced weaving, in which all the warp threads are hidden in the completed work, unlike cloth weaving where both the warp and the weft threads may be visible. In tapestry weaving, weft yarns are typically discontinuous; the artisan interlaces each coloured weft back and forth in its own small pattern area. It is a plain weft-faced weave having weft threads of different colours worked over portions of the warp to form the design.
Most weavers use a naturally based warp thread such as linen or cotton. The weft threads are usually wool or cotton, but may include silk, gold, silver, or other alternatives.

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From the many examples available on the internet,
I've selected just a few. Click on the images to enlarge.

Unicorn in Captivity - 15th Century

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Queen Semiramis with her Servants - 15th Century

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Love Tapestry Basel - 15th Century

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The Winged Deer - 15th Century

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Charlemagne - 15th Century

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Wild Woman with Unicorn - 16th Century

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The Triumph of Death or The Three Fates - 16th Century

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Madonna and Child with Saints Barbara and Catherine of Alexandria - 17th Century

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No.25

Paul Robeson 1898-1976
American athlete, singer, actor and civil rights activist

While a student at university, he experienced a great deal prejudice and even violence because of his colour. He excelled in basketball, baseball and track events, and he was twice named to the All-American Football Team.

In 1923 he left with a lawyer’s degree, but the problem about not being white was always present. When a secretary refused to take dictation from him, he gave up his job with a legal firm and went on the stage.

He appeared in 11 films including “Showboat” (1936).

Paul Robeson and Uta Hagen in "Othello"

In 1944 following his success in “Othello” he won the Donaldson Award for Best Acting performance.

Outside the USA Paul Robeson was welcomed warmly everywhere he went, but at home life was very different for him and all coloured people.

In 1950 he appeared before the All-American Activities Committee and from that year till 1958 his passport was denied him.

I’ve chosen two of his songs to listen to, and then finally a short clip from “Showboat” where he sings “Old Man River.”

Interestingly, after he became involved in the struggle for racial equality, he changed a line in the song. Instead of the sad “I’m tired of livin’ and feared of dyin’” he substituted the confident declaration “I must keep fightin’ until I’m dyin’!”

I love this song "When you come to the End of a Perfect Day."

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It's been a long time since I last heard "Shortnin’ Bread."

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And this is the film clip -

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Finally some interesting statistics about my blogs -

So far, during the month of March, the number of visits to each site has been -

Pre-Raphaelite blog... 578
Wise Men Say..............416
John’s Gallery..............230
Touch of Culture.........193
80 plus......................... 184
Quiet Corner............... 162
Come surf the net........ 35 (This new blog began on Saturday)

In view of the increased interest shown in the Pre-Raphaelite site, I’m beginning a fourth series on Wednesday 6th April.

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No.24

Rabindranath Tagore 1861-1941
Bengali poet

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I want to give you something, my child,
for we are drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart,
and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that
I could buy your heart with my gifts.
Young is your life, your path long, and
you drink the love we bring you at one draught
and turn and run away from us.
You have your play and your playmates.
What harm is there if you have no time
or thought for us.
We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age
to count the days that are past,
to cherish in our hearts what our
hands have lost for ever.
The river runs swift with a song,
breaking through all barriers.
But the mountain stays and remembers,
and follows her with his love.

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A Moment’s Indulgence

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side.
The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.

Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.

Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.

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Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.

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Do not say “It is morning” and dismiss it with a name of yesterday. See it for the first time as a newborn child that has no name.

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I have become my own version of an optimist. If I can't make it through one door, I'll go through another door - or I'll make a door. Something terrific will come no matter how dark the present.

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I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy.

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“Hi, there! Just to remind you that COME SURF THE NET begins tomorrow 26th March.
Hope you’ll have a look.”
http://comesurfthenet.blogspot.com

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Thanks to http://www.graphicshunt.com for the Cartoon Image

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No.23

UNDER A SPREADING CHESTNUT TREE
by
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807-1882

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Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

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I couldn't resist looking out the words of that old action song which was so popular when I was a boy. There are quite a number of different versions on the internet, but the words I show here are those that I remember.

UNDERNEATH THE SPREADING CHESTNUT TREE

Underneath the spreading chestnut tree,
I loved her and she loved me,
There she used to sit upon my knee
‘Neath the spreading chestnut tree.

There beneath the boughs we used to meet,
All her kisses were so sweet,
All the little birds went “tweet, tweet, tweet,”
‘Neath the spreading chestnut tree.

I said, “I love you, and there ain’t no ifs or buts,”
She said, ”I love you,” and the blacksmith shouted “Chestnuts!”

Underneath the spreading chestnut tree,
There she said she’d marry me,
Now you ought to see our family
‘Neath the spreading chestnut tree.

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“Hallo again! I’ll bet you didn’t know that there are 1.97 billion internet users worldwide.”

Norman the Nerd will probably have a lot more useless information when COME SURF THE NET begins on 26th March.
http://comesurfthenet.blogspot.com

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Thanks to http://www.graphicshunt.com for the cartoon image

No.22

Myles Birket Foster 1825-1899

English watercolour artist and illustrator

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The name of this artist will be unfamiliar to most people. Yet for many years he was highly regarded and around 400 of his paintings were exhibited at the Royal Academy. Also known as an illustrator, he worked for a time for Punch magazine and the Illustrated London News.

Later he was criticised for his idealised pictures of country life. He was one of a number of artists whose works were used by Cadbury to decorate their boxes of chocolates.

The paintings I’ve chosen are just crammed with detail, and I find that each time I look at them I see something I hadn’t noticed before.

The Country Inn

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Landscape with Figures

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A Peep at the Hounds

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At the Cottage Door

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The China Peddlar

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The Farm Cart

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The Milkmaid

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The Itinerant Fiddler

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“Hi there! Excuse me butting in to A TOUCH OF CULTURE. I’m Norman the Nerd from COME SURF THE NET which begins on 26th March. More details next week. Bye just now!”

Norman appears thanks to http://www.graphicshunt.com

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No.21

Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up
by
James Matthew Barrie 1860-1937

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This is a short excerpt from the first chapter

Of all delectable islands the Neverland is the snuggest and most compact, not large and sprawly, you know, with tedious distances between one adventure and another, but nicely crammed. When you play at it by day with the chairs and table-cloth, it is not in the least alarming, but in the two minutes before you go to sleep it becomes very real. That is why there are night-lights.

Occasionally in her travels through her children's minds Mrs. Darling found things she could not understand, and of these quite the most perplexing was the word Peter. She knew of no Peter, and yet he was here and there in John and Michael's minds, while Wendy's began to be scrawled all over with him. The name stood out in bolder letters than any of the other words, and as Mrs. Darling gazed she felt that it had an oddly cocky appearance.

"Yes, he is rather cocky," Wendy admitted with regret. Her mother had been questioning her.

"But who is he, my pet?"

"He is Peter Pan, you know, mother."

At first Mrs. Darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a Peter Pan who was said to live with the fairies. There were odd stories about him, as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so that they should not be frightened. She had believed in him at the time, but now that she was married and full of sense she quite doubted whether there was any such person.

"Besides," she said to Wendy, "he would be grown up by this time."

"Oh no, he isn't grown up," Wendy assured her confidently, "and he is just my size." She meant that he was her size in both mind and body; she didn't know how she knew, she just knew it.

Mrs. Darling consulted Mr. Darling, but he smiled pooh-pooh. "Mark my words," he said, "it is some nonsense Nana has been putting into their heads; just the sort of idea a dog would have. Leave it alone, and it will blow over."

But it would not blow over and soon the troublesome boy gave Mrs. Darling quite a shock.

One morning Wendy made a disquieting revelation. Some leaves of a tree had been found on the nursery floor, which certainly were not there when the children went to bed, and Mrs. Darling was puzzling over them when Wendy said with a tolerant smile:

"I do believe it is that Peter again!"

"Whatever do you mean, Wendy?"

"It is so naughty of him not to wipe his feet," Wendy said, sighing. She was a tidy child.

She explained in quite a matter-of-fact way that she thought Peter sometimes came to the nursery in the night and sat on the foot of her bed and played on his pipes to her. Unfortunately she never woke, so she didn't know how she knew, she just knew.

"What nonsense you talk, precious. No one can get into the house without knocking."

"I think he comes in by the window," Wendy said.

"My love, it is three floors up."

"Were not the leaves at the foot of the window, mother?"

It was quite true; the leaves had been found very near the window.

Mrs. Darling did not know what to think, for it all seemed so natural to Wendy that you could not dismiss it by saying she had been dreaming.

"My child," the mother cried, "why did you not tell me of this before?"

"I forgot," said Wendy lightly. She was in a hurry to get her breakfast.

Oh, surely she must have been dreaming.

But, on the other hand, there were the leaves. Mrs. Darling examined them very carefully; they were skeleton leaves, but she was sure they did not come from any tree that grew in England. She crawled about the floor, peering at it with a candle for marks of a strange foot. She rattled the poker up the chimney and tapped the walls. She let down a tape from the window to the pavement, and it was a sheer drop of thirty feet, without so much as a spout to climb up by.

Certainly Wendy had been dreaming.

But Wendy had not been dreaming, as the very next night showed, the night on which the extraordinary adventures of these children may be said to have begun.

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The complete story can be read at -
http://www.online-literature.com/barrie/peterpan/

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No.20

Edward Lear 1812-1888

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Famous for his limericks, it’s often forgotten that he had other strings to his bow - he was author, poet, artist and illustrator.

By the time he was 16, he was already earning money by drawing, and very soon was employed by the Zoological Society as an illustrator. Aged 19 he published his first book which consisted of illustrations of parrots.

He spent 3 years travelling and painting in Italy, and later toured the Mediterranean coasts. His trips abroad also took him to Greece and India.

Here are just a few examples of his work . . .

The Vini Kuhlii are native to Rimatara in the Tubuai Islands.

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The Ara Macao which is found in the evergreen forests of the American tropics.

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This is the Maguari Stork from Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil and Colombia.

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This painting Civita Castellano is a scene in the province of Virterbo, Italy.

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A view of the pyramid road at Gizah.

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And one in Britain - at Nuneham near Oxford.

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This is his famous drawing of the owl and the pussy cat.

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From his illustrations of imaginary plants, Manypeeplia Upsidownia,

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And his drawing of himself and his cat Foss

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Yes, he was certainly an eccentric gentleman!

Apparently he would sometimes introduce himself as Mr. Abebika
Kratoponoko Prizzikalo Kattefello Ablegorobalus Ableborinto Phashyph!!!

So it won’t surprise you to learn that when he gave some drawing lessons to Queen Victoria, there was quite a fuss over his failure to observe the proper court protocol.

Finally, a portrait of Lear as a young man by Wilhelm Marstrand

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