Posts Tagged ‘Sackler Museum’

The Fire of Hephaistos

Wednesday, May 1st, 1996

These ancient bronzes, which have long since lost their golden gleam, are still numi­nous frag­ments of a vanished world. One statue of young man was recently pulled out of a river; his pale sea-green body is scratched and scarred; but he is still a lovely appari­tion, reminding me of some lines from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”:
“Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea change
Into some­thing rich and strange.”

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Fragments of Antiquity

Friday, June 21st, 1991

All that we know of Greece has come to us in ruins – armless, head­less, faded, fallen, broken, battered, lost in trans­la­tion. What we have are frag­ments, frag­ments that have lost almost every­thing – except their poetry. But, gener­a­tion after gener­a­tion, that poetry has never lost its thrilling, visionary gleam.

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Guercino

Thursday, March 14th, 1991

GUERCINO drew like an angel — his gorgeous line curls across the page; his brush forms shadows that suggest a sense of the round­ness and full­ness of life. His best draw­ings are more than draw­ings — they are bless­ings, exquisite expres­sions of those moments when Art and Faith are one.

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Barbizon

Monday, October 1st, 1990

Barbizon was a place and a style — and also a feeling — a mood — a time of day — dusk, when the forms of things soften and the edges blur, and a kind of hush falls over the world. The earth is solemn, soft, and tender, like a bed — and some­times like a grave.

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Images of the Mind

Monday, May 19th, 1986

Tao Chi was a prince who became a wandering Buddhist monk. His “Melan­choly Thoughts on the Hsiao and Hsiang Rivers,” captures the mood of the end of autumn. A lonely fishing hut is half-hidden by a few sparse trees; a flock of wild geese flies over a river. The callig­raphy echoes the flight of the birds and the quiver of the leaves. Without under­standing a word, we can feel the poetry.

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Claude Le Lorrain

Tuesday, April 1st, 1980

CLAUDE LE LORRAIN depicts the moment just before trans­fig­u­ra­tion — the moment just before women turn into goddesses, or girls turn into swans, or life turns into art. His light is dusk and twilight — the dark­ling light that washes the phys­ical world in unearthly beauty and fills the heart with an intox­i­cating sense of possi­bility.

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