My Inspiration for April 2024

This April will stay in my memory as a month of beautiful walks and dreamy melodies. Konstantin Somov’s painting “Repose at Sunset”, shown bellow, perfectly illustrates the mood of April for me; the blooming lilacs, softness, dreaminess, yes that was April for me! I found the poetic and whimsical in places and things I thought were well-known and familiar to me. The freshly sprung new leaves, the blooming tulips, roses and wisteria have enchanted me like never before. Dandelions turning silver before my eyes, bamboo swaying in the wind, full of raindrops, old unused water wells overgrown with moss, sunsets above the river, reflections of trees and houses in the river… this April was full of such beautiful scenes.

“People aren’t homes, they never will be. People are rivers, always changing, forever flowing. They will disappear with everything you put inside them.”

(Nikita Gill)

“Self-display: no way to shine
Self-assertion: no way to suceed
Self-praise: no way to flourish

(Tao Te Ching)

“We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.”

(Carson McCullers)

By Konstantin Somov

Picture found here.

Mukteshvara Temple is a 10th-century Hindu temple dedicated to Shiva located in Bhubaneswar, Odisha, India. (via Instagram: Jagadeesh Taluri)

Picture found here.

peach blossom in 阐福寺 chanfu temple, beihai park by 張萌Moe23 | gaogewf.

Picture by Bruce Lewis.

Instagram: elise.buch

Dolo, Veneto, Italy by Eleonora Boiserie

Nihonbashi – Tokyo, Japan. Picture found here.

Pink Night, Watercolor on Black Cotton Paper.

Han Lei :: Yellow Mountain 02, 2002-2008. | src Lumas

 

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The model is styled as figures from the famous Tang dynasty painting “The Eighty-seven Immortals”.

My Inspiration for March 2024

A book that touched me deeply this March was Balzac’s “Eugenie Grandet” as you could have read about in my previous post. I also enjoyed Mason Currey’s book “Daily Rituals – How Artists Work” which I might write about on some other occassion… I am nearly finished with two other interesting books; Ernest Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast” and a book which I have been wanting to read for years and it is Jean Nathan’s “The Secret Life of the Lonely Doll” which is a biography on Dare Wright, a strange and whimsical photographer, model and children’s book author famous for her 1957 children’s book “The Lonely Doll” and I have included some of her doll-photography in the post. The theme of indolence and the joy of the arrival of spring were my main themes for March.

“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.”

(Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast)

“And now it’s spring, so my ideas are always so nice, sharp, inventive, and the dreams I have are tender; everything is rose-coloured.”

(Fyodor Dostoevsky, Poor People)

“In the life of the soul, as in the physical life, there is an inspiration and a respiration; the soul needs to absorb the sentiments of another soul and assimilate them, that it may render them back enriched. Were it not for this glorious human phenomenon, there would be no life for the heart…”

(Balzac, Eugenie Grandet)

“She was a pixie, a fairy, full of imagination and in another world.”

(Jean Nathan – The Secret Life of the Lonely Doll)

March 1997. ‘Romantic dresses, cute guys in tuxes and a walk through the city at dusk. Does it get any more glam than this?’

Night Fragments by Jana Sojka.

by teresacfreitas.

by teresacfreitas.

Moon Landscapes, Spring, by Jana Sojka.

Misty mountain, Mount Yoshino, Nara, Japan. Picture found here.

Japan: Cherry blossoms in full bloom at Mount Yoshino, Nara. Picture found here.

Picture found here.

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My Inspiration for February 2024

This February I really enjoyed the paintings of lovers by Konstantin Somov, William Morris’s prints of roses and other prints, watercolours of Venice by John Ruskin, everything flowery and pink and romantic; from eyeshadows to interiors to dresses and paintings, unicorns in Medieval tapestries, Rococo gowns… I read quite a few poems from Louise Glück’s poetry collection “A Village Life”, Anne Rice’s second part of the Sleeping Beauty trilogy; “Beauty’s Punishment” and Linda Lappin’s fascinating novel “Signatures in Stone: A Bomarzo Mystery” which made me reflect on a lot of things but mainly it made me daydream about Italy and gardens, not just their beauty but deeper, hidden meanings.

“Once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue to exist, an wonderful living side by side can grow up, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole and against a wide sky.”

(Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet)

“My concept of love clashed with my desire to create. Everyone’s life and love were more important than my own. Creation I considered a danger to my loves, my human relationships. In creation I would reveal what I was, in opposition to the roles I played to be whatever anyone needed.”

(Anais Nin, Diary 1939-44)

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Picture by everlinet.

Picture by elise.buch on Instagram.

Pictures above by Kim Petras.

Picture found here.

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Picture by elise.buch on Instagram.

roniy1983 on Instagram..

My Inspiration for January 2024

I have enjoyed January more than I had imagined I would. It is usually a cold, drab, boring month for me, but like a person starved for beauty, lightness, and love, I had taken in all the charms that these winter days could offer; the warmth of the fireplace, the vast blue skies, the purring cat in my lap, the frozen rosebuds, the coziness and comfort of staying at home while snow is falling. The candles and fairylights and hot fragrant tea. I almost feel like a girl from some children’s book, surrounded by my pets, or from some illustration by Hollie Hobby, which I do love a lot. Tender, whimsical, magical moments. Listening to The Smiths’ first album in dusk, nurturing myself and remembering the person I used to be and want to be again.

“Like all dreamers, I confused disenchantment with truth.”

(Jean-Paul Sartre, The Words)

“And what a terrible mess I’ve made of my life
Oh, what a mess I’ve made of my life

No, I’ve never had a job
Because I’ve never wanted one

I’ve seen you smile
But I’ve never really heard you laugh

So who is rich and who is poor?
I cannot say…

Oh…

But I don’t want a lover
I just want to be seen…”

(The Smiths, You’ve Got Everything Now)

Picture found here.

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Hebers Ghyll wood, Yorkshire, England by @markwadd

The Tower at Lake Vyrnwy  |  by Trevor Green

 

 

Poppies 2021. Johann Besse.

 

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Ph. by Adina Voicu.

Bettina Rheims, Serge Bramly – Rose, c’est Paris

My Inspiration for December 2023

This December has been a bittersweet, wistful month for me; a month of a poetic parting and a month of hope for the beautiful days ahead; days of poetry, flowers and love. Poetic images of these December days and nights are still floating in my mind like scenes from a dream, too pure and too beautiful to possibly be real and yet they are; romantic walks at dusk, birds and bats flying aimlessly above the lake, the moon’s reflection in the dark waters, lonely parks and blooming marigolds, December air tinged with melancholy, December air with its scent of winter, endings and farewells…  And still, after a crazy rollercoaster year full of excitement and disappointments, adventures and broken illusions, full of ups and downs in short, December finally brought me calmness, hope and a restored faith in many things.

“My heart
Unable to leave my beloved or my homeland.”

(Qahar Aasi)

“And I’m not happy
And I’m not sad.”

(The Smiths, This Night Has Opened My Eyes)

Krishna and Radha Gambling with Stick Dice by Candlelight, Kartika (October-November); Folio from a Baramasa Series, 1780

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Unknown, Women before a linga altar (Bhairavi ragini), 1770 – 1780

Deer Park, New Delhi, India. Picture found here.

Marianne Faithfull waiting for a film producer at The National Film Theatre, 4th December 1966.

Photo by Mayank Austen Soofi, found here.

Alone تنها. Art by Airah Shafqat.

Photo by Annie Spratt (Source)

Abbotsford, Melrose, United Kingdom, The Home of Sir Walter Scott.

Previously unseen photographs of Edie Sedgwick by Bert Stern. These photos were shared by @ bertsterntrust on instagram.

Picture found here.

Two pictures above by elise.buch.

Resolute, Cambria — June 17th, 2023, found here.

Picture by Laura Makabresku.

My Inspiration for November 2023

This November I enjoyed Arthur Schopenhauer’s “Studies in Pessimism” in particular his essay “The Vanity of Existence”, poetry by a Hungarian Jewish poet Miklos Radnoti, Egon Schiele’s portraits of his wife Edith, Mikhail Nesterov’s paintings of countryside scenes with sad looking women dressed in traditional clothing, views of rooftops and houses, sad autumnal lakes with lonesome little boats, the last birds flying over forests, a sense of something ending… The National’s song “Light Years” really touched me deeply these days as well.

“Of every event in our life we can say only for one moment that it is; for ever after, that it was. Every evening we are poorer by a day. (…) a man never is happy, but spends his whole life in striving after something which he thinks will make him so; he seldom attains his goal, and when he does, it is only to be disappointed; he is mostly shipwrecked in the end, and comes into harbor with masts and rigging gone. And then, it is all one whether he has been happy or miserable; for his life was never anything more than a present moment always vanishing; and now it is over.”

(Arthur Schopenhauer, Studies in Pessimism; The Vanity of Existence)

“I, too, will twist and turn in my sprawling
bed, and leisurely soar beyond
my troubles; and take upon myself all your grave
cares, as we fall
asleep to the rhythmic thrashing of your heart.
And then drift off to
dream, listening to the moist fluttering of
autumn in the night.

(Miklos Radnoti, Hexameters in Late October, written September 28 – November 14, 1942)

Painting by Aron Wiesenfeld.

by Silena Lambertini

Picture found here.

Autumn colours in the hedgerow by Haarkon

The Giclée Art Print – Webs at Dawn

Picture found here.

Little Castle, martin.w1 on flickr

Kamila Kansy (Laura Makabresku)

2014 India, Tamil Nadu, Madurai

Pictures above found here.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Picture found here.

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My Inspiration for October 2023

This October I dwelt alone in a world of moan and my soul was a stagnant tide… Well, not really. I am simply quoting the poet Edgar Allan Poe whose anniversary of death was on the 7th October. I dwelt, as usual, in my own world, now a swamp of memories and broken illusions, alone and forlorn, but still I dreamt of flowers and love sonnets. I was inspired by autumn landscapes by Zinaida Serebriakova and dreamy landscapes by Henri le Sidaner, their strange and hazy mood fits the moods I am in these days a lot. Strange places. The feeling of walking through the fog and not knowing how to find my way home.

“I was living only half in Gion; the other half of me lived in my dreams of going home. This is why dreams can be such dangerous things: they smolder on like a fire does, and sometimes consume us completely.”

(Memoirs of a Geisha)

“I am made of memories.”

(Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles)

“Then the appetites of the flesh, the craving for money, the melancholy of passion, all blended together in one general misery. (…) Her drab surrounding drove her to dreams of luxury; marital tenderness prompted the desire for a lover. She would have liked Charles to hit her, that she might have just cause for hatred and revenge. She was surprised sometimes at the hideous ideas that occurred to her. And all the while she must go on smiling, hearing herself insist that she was very happy, pretending to be so, acting the part.”

(Flaubert, Madame Bovary)

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The Marvelous Marriage – Violet Baudelaire, The Puttanesca Project, picture found here.

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Backstage at simone rocha by Kuba Dabrowski,fw 2020.

Art Nouveau doors, mostly made between 1900-1910, Oradea, Romania. Picture found here.

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Jane B. by Agnès V. (Agnès Varda, 1988)

Blossoms of crabapple and dogwood are reflected in the pond of this woodland garden.

Home Landscaping: Ideas, Styles, and Designs for Creative Outdoor Spaces, 1988

Jane B. by Agnès V. (Agnès Varda, 1988)

Instagram: everlinet.

COTSWOLDS CASCADE: COWLEY MANOR FOUNTAIN

Picture found here.

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Never Knew Your Name
Beograd

© Dragana Dimitrijević

Francesco Balsamo (Italian, b.1969)

Viktória Vámosi @ Yves Saint Laurent Fall/Winter, 1995 Ready-to-Wear

Picture found here.

10 Years on the Blog! Upon the sea of time can we not ever drop anchor for one day?

“Let’s love, then! Love, and feel while feel we can
The moment on its run.
There is no shore of Time, no port of Man.
It flows, and we go on…“

Caspar David Friedrich, Woman at the Window, 1822

Today marks the 10th anniversary of Byron’s Muse. When I started this blog I certainly could not have imagined that I would be writing it ten years down the road, nor could I imagine how it would develop or how even my personal life could develop. It is bittersweet to think of ten years passing by, just like in the poem “The Lake” by the French Romantic poet Alphonse de Lamartine I wonder can we not drop anchor upon the sea of time for one day? This blog is deeply entwined with my personal life and thus this is a time of self-reflection as well for me. What fruits has my artistic labour borne in these ten long years? Who knows. At times I feel I have accomplished, and that I am still accomplishing, what I had wanted regarding my writing, and at times I feel it all means nothing at all. I have gone through various moods and feelings regarding my writing in all these years, from feeling like I have a clear vision and a mission, to feeling like it makes no difference at all. If there is something that I have accomplished, then it is the creation of my own world, in a way that Anais Nin writes: “I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.” No matter the turbulence of the seas of my private life, this blog has always been a safe harbour, a place where I could anchor my boat until I regained strength for another sail. Broken and beaten by life I escape into aesthetics. And yet, the more I write about art the more I feel that I know nothing about it. I am frighteningly aware of how little I know of it and I wonder will I ever know enough to feel confidence about it. Caspar David Friedrich’s painting seems fitting at this ocassion as I am feeling more than a little melancholy and also the woman in the painting is shown looking out the window, looking out into the world and observing it but not being in it, and this image chimes with me well; the clouds are slowly gliding in the sky, autumn leaves are falling, the last songs of the birds are dying in the treetops, what awaits me?…  To end, verses from Lamartine’s “The Lake”:

“So driven onward to new shores forever,
Into the night eternal swept away,
Upon the sea of time can we not ever
Drop anchor for one day?(…)

Pause in your trek O Time! Pause in your flight,
Favorable hours, and stay!
Let us enjoy the transient delight
That fills our fairest day.

Let’s love, then! Love, and feel while feel we can
The moment on its run.
There is no shore of Time, no port of Man.
It flows, and we go on…

(The Lake – Alphonse de Lamartine, translated by A.Z.Foreman)

My Inspiration for September 2023

This September I very much enjoyed the mystical pastels of boats and seas by Odilon Redon, and also his flower paintings, Nick Cave’s music, Rilke’s poetry, Louise Gluck’s poem “The Myth of Innocence” which deals with the myth of Persephone and Hades, the many dreamy paintings of tables laid out with breakfast by Henri Le Sidaner. I have also watched a very thought-provoking film called “Her” (2013) starring Joaquin Phoenix in the main role. After a summer of turmoils and excitements, this September I have finally been able to feel like myself again and have found my muse again. Still, I have been navigating my way through the endless corridors and labyrinths of my many memories. September always feels like a doorway, a passage of sorts, summer slowly dying… A sense of transience and a sense of something passing, but an ending brings a new beginning as well.

“A woman will return, looking for the girl she was.”

(Louise Gluck, The Myth of Innocence)

“Autumn is no time to lie alone.”

(Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji)

Picture found here.

in the rain by Rona Keller

Picture by Laura Makabresku

sophie_splean © All rights reserved

Picture by elise.buch

Picture by elise.buch

Picture found here.

 

Picture by ischta__

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Picture found here.

Memories That Become Monstrous Lies!

“Dreams that roam between truth and untruth
Memories that become monstrous lies
So onward! And Onward! And Onward I go!
Onward! And Upward!
And I’m off to find love…“

(Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Do You Love Me Part 2)

Leonor Fini, Ophelia, 1963

For years now I have been living my life perpetually haunted by memories. I can scarcely remember how and when and why this has started in the first place, but I know that now it is so firmly here and that it is such a huge part of me. I scoff at the present and yet every single moment that passes is instantly beautiful, magical and precious to me. I am always half in the real world and half somewhere else. Whenever real life disappoints, and it always inevitably does because it is real and not magical, or when I am bored or dispirited, I always retreat back to my safe place; the oasis of memories. Now, at this present moment in time, – little by little, then suddenly all at once, – I have found myself at a point in life when everything is changing rapidly and in order to flourish and spread my wings I feel that I must shed myself of these demons once and for all. And yet I cling to them in desperation, for they are the only thing that I have that is familiar, that brings comfort, that nourishes me. My memories as a safe haven, a place to throw my anchor and find stability in the wild waves of the ever changing daily life. Memories are a banquet on which I feast. It certainly doesn’t help that I have the memory of an elephant, that I have an unwavering devotion to my diary, and that I am fond of wistful, nostalgia-inducing music. The tapestry of my life is woven with memories, dreams and fantasies and to let that go would be to let go of my life itself? What would be left of it? Once the precious jewels of memories and fantasies have been taken out? An empty shell?

Barry Windsor-Smith, Psyche, 1978

These days I find myself thinking more about this because the real life is, at long last, finally, – and seemingly happily, – opening itself up to me, alas! The moment I had been waiting on for a decade or so, but I am not sure whether I want it or not anymore. Whilst listening to Nick Cave’s song “Do you love me? (Part two)” the other day the lines “dreams that roam between the truth and untruth, memories that become monstrous lies” caught my attention and made me further sink into these thoughts. To leave the past once and for all, and embrace the present? I find myself almost unable to do it. And whenever I try, when I live and walk and laugh and love, I still constantly hear the sweet whispers from the darkest deepest depths of the abyss; the memories are calling out to me to drown in them once again, to sink into them like Ophelia, to pick those withered flowers instead of the living, blooming ones of the present moment. But as the Tindersticks song “Travelling Light” says; “it comes with the hurt and the guilt, and the memories/ If I had to take them with me I would never get up from my bed…” It is a heavy burden to carry all the regrets, and longings and memories on your back. That is no way to move forward in life.

Odilon Redon, Ophelia Among the Flowers, c. 1905-8

Like a drug addict, I succumb, oh, so very easily and all my determination crumbles to dust and I feel myself drifting off into my own little world made out of fragments of the past, mostly real, but also embellished, beautified, made more magical by the wand of my imagination, for nothing in memories is ever exactly as it had happened in real life. Memories are indeed monstrous lies! They are ghosts that approach you gently, with their sweet lips and alluring voices, and whisper to you to surrender… shhh… I yearn for memories that were not even real, I yearn for what never was the reality or truth in the first place, and yet I am attached to the state of yearning. I yearn for the “happy old days” which were not happy at all, in fact, they were often rather miserable. But my imagination has made them more beautiful and now that time has passed – I want them again! All too easily I turn my back on the present moment and it seems to offend, even sadden, the people who am I sharing the present moment with, and still I can’t help myself. The ghosts of memories haunt me at every step, they follow me like a shadow and I know not anymore where I end and where they begin.