Maurice Prendergast – Feast of the Redeemer

“Spring lanterns –

colourful reincarnations

of the moon”

(haiku by Isabel Caves, found here.)

Maurice Prendergast, Feast of the Redeemer, c 1899, watercolour

Another post, another watercolour by Maurice Prendergast! In this post we are sort of continuing the theme from my previous Prendergast post where I talked about his watercolour “The Grand Canal, Venice“, also from 1899. The aforementioned watercolour is a lively scene that shows tourists, gondoliers and strollers enjoying a sunny day at the Grand Canal, but the watercolour we will be seeing today shows us a night view of the same waters and canals of Venice.

Using only three colours; blue, orange and yellow, Prendergast manages to create a fetching nocturnal scene filled with plethora of little boats decorated with garlands and glowing lanterns. The painting has depth; our view stretches on and on into the distance, so far off that it is hard to distinguish whether the distant orange and yellow dots are the lanterns or just the reflections of the lanterns in the nocturnal waters. Each boat is painted in a single thick black line which, for some reason, brings to mind the black lines in paintings of Franz Kline. I cannot decide which aspect of the watercolour is more beautiful; the glowing lanterns or the reflections of their light in the dark midnight water, the reflections which are painted in a kind of zig zag pattern in the foreground while in the distance they are vertical, like golden tears. Everyone who paints watercolours will know that it is like walking on a tightrope, a constant struggle between control and spontaneity. Sometimes the effect of letting the watercolour paint itself can be magical, but without some direction it could also be a big colourful mess. Prendergast always walks that tightrope with ease and perfection, none of his watercolours seem as if they are laboured over, as if he struggled.

At first sight this watercolour appears whimsical, playful and fantasy-like, but in reality the scene it depicts is a religious festival called “Festa del Redentore” or Feast of the Most Holy Redeemer which is celebrated every year on the third Sunday of July. It is one of the most important Venetian celebrations that binds religion and festivity. The origin of the festival started back in the sixteenth century, to commemorate the end of the plague that happened in 1577. The festival is celebrated by a sea pilgrimige to the little island of Giudecca and that is the sight that Prendergast has seen and decided to capture in watercolours. On the night of the festival the fireworks are let out and people gather on the balconies and roofs to observe the occassion.

Lermontov – Happiness is…. being in a cornfield

Autumn is passing, never to return… at least not this year, and December’s cold fingers are touching the landscape, transforming the fields of corn and wheat which shone in gold to desolate spaces where silence resides, save for the moments when the crows hold ominous yet chatty meetings. Today, this little poem by the Russian Romantic poet Mikhail Lermontov, called “When, in the cornfield” is on my mind. It was written in 1837, when the poet was in his twenty-third year and is an example of a Romantic poet’s love of nature, which seems to be the only place a Byronic hero such as Lermontov can find joy and calmness which people and society do not offer. I don’t think one necessarily has to visit a corn field and walk about it seeking joy, but really any place in nature will surely evoke such sweet, serene feelings. Life seems easier when we see how effortless and slow everything is in nature, yet everything is accomplished. “Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.” (Lao Tzu) If nature can take things slow and be beautiful in every season, so can we, be it sadness or joy, flowers or snow….

“My heart is losing troubles and distress  —

And I can apprehend the happiness on earth…”

George Clausen (1852-1944) View of a lady in Pink standing in a cornfield, 1881

When, in the Cornfield…

When, in the cornfield, yellow waves are rising,

The wood is rustling at the sound of soft wind,

And, in the garden, crimson plums are hiding

In pleasant shade of leaves, so shining ones and green;

 

When, spilled with fragrant dew in calmness of the alley,

In morning of a gold or evening of a red,

Under the bush, the lily of a valley,

Is gladly nodding me with silver of her head;

 

When the icy brook in the ravine is playing,

And, sinking thoughts in somewhat misty dreams,

In bubbling tones secretly tale-telling

Of those peaceful lands from which it gaily streams  —

 

Then wrinkles are smoothing on my knitted brow,

My heart is losing troubles and distress  —

And I can apprehend the happiness on earth,

And see Almighty in the heavens now…

Picture found here.

Picture by Julia Starr.

Beauty of Journaling

“The diary is my kief, my hashish, and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice. Instead of writing a novel, I lie back with this book and a pen, and dream, and indulge in refractions and defractions… I must relieve my life in the dream. The dream is my only life. I see in the echoes and reverberations, the transfigurations which alone keep wonder pure. Otherwise all magic is lost. Otherwise life shows its deformities and the homeliness becomes rust…. All matter must be fused this way through the lens of my vice or the rust of living world would slow down my rhythm to a sob.” (Anais Nin)

Picture by Svetlana Zdrnja, found here.

I love reading diaries, or journals, how ever you wanna call them. Journal of Anais Nin in particular because it’s so full of feelings, sincerity and imagination, and because there is so many volumes of it. Franz Kafka’s diary entries are fascinating as well. Journals, letters, memoirs, I am getting more and more interested in this intimate, introspective, raw side of writing. And… I also enjoy journaling!

I have been writing in my diary regularly since the beginning of 2015 and it was one of the best decisions in my life. It started by accident; I had gotten a diary from a family member with one page for one day, and it occurred to me to perhaps start writing in it every day, but I hesitated because, being an introvert and a dreamer that I am and being a person who spends most time in her bedroom like young Morrissey, I didn’t want to be confronted by seeing how boring my life actually is. I don’t hang out with people, I don’t go places, I don’t travel… what is there worthy of writing? That is how my thoughts went on, but I started writing it nonetheless; I consciously wrote it in a way that would eliminate feelings because feelings are passing, changeable and may be embarrassing to read later on. I chose instead to focus on things which are beautiful! I wrote down quotes from books I read, or quotes which I found inspiring, I wrote about flowers that I’ve seen or picked for my vase, my daydream or a real dream, sometimes I would sketch something simple, like a cloud, cottage, an apple pie my mum made, or Ophelia floating down the river, I recorded the films I saw and the stories or paintings I was working on, which 1960s style icon fascinated me that day, what was the sunset like, what scents were in the air that April morning, something that made me laugh. 2019 is the fifth year that I have been keeping this kind of journal and it has changed my life in the best possible way!

First of all, writing in the journal made me aware of the beauty of everyday life which surrounds me; beauty of simple things, walks by the river, birds, flowers, beauty of changes and passing of seasons. Also, reading Rilke’s letters further inspired me to seek Beauty all around me, here is something he wrote in “Letters to the Young Poet”: ”If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place.” And then, after being aware of all the beauties around oneself, a wave of joy and gratitude overwhelms you. Even if I feel sad or melancholy, I still rejoice in the fact that I am capable of feeling it, that I am alive to experience it. Writing in my journal also showed me how special my life actually is, how rich and filled with art, beauty, joy, new discoveries and creativity. And through that, I ceased to be envious of other people’s lives, imagining they are better. Well, I still do that from time to time, but keeping a journal made me put more effort into living my life because if my day is boring and empty, I won’t have something to write about. So, I started making everything special, turning a boring afternoon in my room into a glamorous occasion. I made it special, no one else did, it didn’t come from outside and therefore it cannot be taken away from me. It was in me all along; the power to transform my seemingly boring reality into a magical one. In my writing, I created a world for myself, where I could live and breath, the way Anais Nin says, and I stopped expecting something to happen from the outside world.

It’s your life, your only life and you’ve gotta to make it special, you’ve gotta fill it with beauty, for no one else will do it for you. It’s on you to put on rose-tinted glasses and see the world in a rosier shade. I am not promoting shallow artificial happiness but rather a more sensitive awareness to both beauty and transience of our lives; no matter how much we weep, we cannot save a flower from withering, but we can enjoy its beauty with a smile, and enjoy it with the same rapture every time. I encourage you all to take a notebook and filled it with beauty! It’s a moment of contemplation every day, just five minutes is enough, but as pages fill and fill, you will see how rich your life actually is. When I flip through my old journals from time to time, I see how I turned my past into a fairytale by finding beauty in each day. Of course, there are empty pages, where the skies were grey or my heart felt gray, but that is life too.

If I might see another spring… by Christina Rossetti

A poem by Christina Rossetti called “Another Spring”.

John Everett Millais, Spring (Apple Blossoms), 1859

Another Spring

If I might see another Spring

I’d not plant summer flowers and wait:

I’d have my crocuses at once,

My leafless pink mezereons,

My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yet

My white or azure violet,

Leaf-nested primrose; anything

To blow at once, not late.

William Henry Hunt, Primroses and Bird’s Nest

If I might see another Spring

I’d listen to the daylight birds

That build their nests and pair and sing,

Nor wait for mateless nightingale;

I’d listen to the lusty herds,

The ewes with lambs as white as snow,

I’d find out music in the hail

And all the winds that blow.

Shadow from tree on grass with crocus in spring by Radius Images

If I might see another Spring —

Oh stinging comment on my past

That all my past results in ‘if’ —

If I might see another Spring

I’d laugh today, today is brief;

I would not wait for anything:

I’d use today that cannot last,

Be glad today and sing.

Robert Delaunay – Joie de Vivre

Robert Delaunay, Le Premier Disque, 1912-13

If colours were emotions, this painting would be pure joy, euphoria, ecstatic rapture… Delaunay’s painting Le Premier Disque exudes playfulness, mainly because colours are in charge, and geometrical composition isn’t that dominant.

Delaunay’s colours are art therapy for me. This painting resembles a musical symphony, with colours instead of notes; deep red, cherry red, blue as the sky, the sea, then green, green like woods, yellow, van Gogh’s yellow, mystical shades of purple. Delaunay was a lyrical colourist, and after experimenting with Cubism, he returned to his greatest love – colour. He said himself: ‘This happened in 1912. Cubism was in full force. I made paintings that seemed like prisms compared to the Cubism my fellow artists were producing. I was the heretic of Cubism. I had great arguments with my comrades who banned color from their palette, depriving it of all elemental mobility. I was accused of returning to Impressionism, of making decorative paintings, etc.… I felt I had almost reached my goal.‘ It was necessary for him to experiment in order to find his own path, and he did, in 1912, when he finally succumbed to his passion for bright and dynamic colours. But his aim was different than those of Impressionists and Fauvists who still painted portraits and landscapes but with sometimes unnatural colours. Delaunay, like Kandinsky, wanted the paint to became valuable for itself.

Whenever I see this painting, it reminds me of Mayakovsky’s poem ‘But could you?’; in it Mayakovsky splashes a pot of colour on the trivialities of daily life, work-hours and boredom. Delaunay’s painting has the same effect on me; it stands as a spiritual border between school obligations and free time which I cherish immensely.

‘I blurred at once the chart of trite routine
by splashing paint with one swift motion.‘ (‘But could you? by Vladimir Mayakovsky)

For me, this painting is a true visual representation of ‘joie de vivre’, and therefore reminds me of Renoir’s paintings. While Renoir painted people dancing and laughing, Delaunay here uses nothing but colours, but provokes the same feeling from the viewer – joy of life. This is a painting which brings happiness, do you need more?