Locally-Sourced.

Locally-sourced ice.

Habit.

Allen & Co., John Dalberg-Acton, 1st Baron of Acton, 1902

There is not a more perilous or immoral habit of mind than the sanctifying of success.

Lord Acton, from Lectures on Modern History

Chopin, Prelude in D-flat Major, Op. 28: No. 15, “Raindrop”

Lang Lang ...

Full.

Abbey, Study for Design of The Hours, 1937

The great trouble with the vast majority of artists is that they cease to be students too soon. They spend a couple of years--even three or four-years--in Paris, among the best teachers and academies in 19th century Europe or some other place where students congregate, and, bored by the drudgery of the serious atelier or academy and seeing certain easy-going pictures attracting a certain amount of attention and having also a certain amount of merit, they throw over the opportunity which, mind you, never comes again, to make themselves as perfect as they may be with the aid of all the facilities a far-seeing body of eminent artists have, during many years, accumulated for their benefit, and dash into paint with a confidence bred entirely of ignorance and intolerance of the training that they, at that ill-informed and blind period of their lives, do not see the need of ...

Go to the Louvre constantly (on Sunday mornings you will have the place to yourself, or nearly so). Look at the designs and drawings by the great masters and reflect that they thought it necessary to take all that pains before they began their painting, and that they did not rely upon genius or talent to carry them through. Remember that you are pretty blind at present. I don't remember ever before having seen an art student of your age absolutely without a sketch-book. You should be sketching always, always. Draw anything. Draw the dishes on the table while you are waiting for your breakfast. Draw the people in the station while you are waiting for your train. Look at everything. It is all part of your world. You are going to be one of a profession to which everything on this earth means something. Keep every faculty you have been blessed with wide awake. The older you get the more full your life will be getting.

Edwin Austin Abbey, born on this day in 1852, from Edwin Austin Abbey, royal academician; the record of his life and work, by E.V. Lucas

Delightful.

van Gogh, Landscape at Auvers in the Rain, 1890

APRIL SHOWERS

Delightful weather for all sorts of moods

& most for him – grey morn and swarthy eye

Found rambling up the little narrow lane

Where primrose banks amid the hazly woods

Peep most delightfully on passers bye

While Aprils little clouds about the sky

Mottle & freak unto fancy lie

Idling and ending travel for the day

Till darker clouds sail up with cumberous heave

South oer the woods & scares them all away

Then comes the rain pelting with pearly drops

The primrose crowds until they stoop & lie

All fragrance to his mind that musing stops

Beneath the hawthorn till the shower is bye

John Clare

Emboldened.

 Böcklin, Spring Evening, 1879

And now that the year wearily turns and stretches herself before the perfect waking, the god emboldened begins to blow a clearer note.

Kenneth Grahame, from "The Rural Pan (An April Essay)"

Released.

The Smiths released Louder Than Bombs on this day in 1987.

"Panic"...

Haydn, Cello Concerto No. 1 in C Major, Hob. VIIb:1

Hayoung Choi performs with the Orchestre Royal de Chambre de Wallonie, under the direction of Vahan Mardirossian ...

Excellent.

An excellent album ...

Happy Birthday, Angus Young

Angus Young was born on this day in 1955.

"Riff Raff" (it's in high definition so you won't miss any nuance)...

Deep.

I have thoughts that are fed by the sun:

The things which I see

Are welcome to me,

Welcome every one –

I do not wish to lie

Dead, dead,

Dead, without any company.

Here alone on my bed

With thoughts that are fed by the sun,

And hopes that are welcome every one,

Happy am I.

Oh life there is about thee

A deep delicious peace;

I would not be without thee,

Stay, oh stay!

Yet be thou ever as now –

Sweetness and breath, with the quiet of death –

Be but thou ever as now,

Peace, peace, peace.

William Wordsworth

Phallus.

Execupundit has an update on renderings of the presidential phallus, I mean palace, sorry ... "library."

Reciprocal.

Friedrich, Seashore in the Fog, 1807

Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.

J.D. Salinger, from The Catcher in the Rye

Happy Birthday, Franz Joseph Haydn

Hoppner, Franz Joseph Haydn, 1791

Young people can learn from my example that something can come from nothing. What I have become is the result of my hard efforts. I listened more than I studied, therefore little by little my knowledge and ability were developed. 

Franz Joseph Haydn, born on this day in 1732

Alfred Brendel performs the Piano Sonata No. 59 in E-Flat, Hob XVI 49 ...

Happy Birthday, René Descartes

Weenix, Portrait of René Descartes, 1649

I desire to live in peace and to continue the life I have begun under the motto, "To live well you must live unseen”.

René Descartes, born on this day in 1596, from The Principles of Philosophy

Suited.

The Westerner has been able move forward in ordered steps, while we have met superior civilization and have had to surrender to it, and we have had to leave a road we have followed for thousands of years. The missteps and inconveniences this has caused have, I think, been many. If we had been left alone we might not be much further now in a material way than we were five hundred years ago. Even now in the Indian and Chinese countryside life no doubt goes on much as it did when Buddha and Confucius were alive. But we would have gone only in a direction that suited us. We would have gone ahead very slowly, and yet it is not impossible that we would one day have discovered our own substitute for the trolley, the radio, the airplane of today. They would have been no borrowed gadgets, they would have been the tools of our culture, suited to us.

Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, from In Praise of Shadows

Reversed.

Rush, "Vital Signs"...

Happy Birthday, Vincent van Gogh

van Gogh, Self-Portrait with Dark Felt Hat at the Easel, 1886

I, for one, am a man of passions, capable of and liable to do rather foolish things for which I sometimes feel rather sorry. I do often find myself speaking or acting somewhat too quickly when it would be better to wait more patiently. I think that other people may also sometimes do similar foolish things. Now that being so, what’s to be done, must one consider oneself a dangerous man, incapable of anything at all? I don’t think so. But it’s a matter of trying by every means to turn even these passions to good account. For example, to name one passion among others, I have a more or less irresistible passion for books, and I have a need continually to educate myself, to study, if you like, precisely as I need to eat my bread.

Vincent van Gogh, born on this day in 1853, from a letter to Theo van Gogh, June 1880

One.

The TABLES TURNED

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;

Or surely you'll grow double:

Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;

Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun above the mountain's head,

A freshening lustre mellow

Through all the long green fields has spread,

His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:

Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music! on my life,

There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

He, too, is no mean preacher:

Come forth into the light of things,

Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,

Our minds and hearts to bless—

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,

Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood

May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;

Our meddling intellect

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—

We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up those barren leaves;

Come forth, and bring with you a heart

That watches and receives.

William Wordsworth

Happy Birthday, Astrud Gilberto

Astrud Gilberto was born on this day in 1940.

"Take Me to Aruanda"...

Treasures.

Hamilton of Finnart, Stirling Castle, 1496

On the following morning, the sun darted his beams from over the hills through the low lattice window. I rose at an early hour, and looked out between the branches of eglantine which overhung the casement. To my surprise Scott was already up and forth, seated on a fragment of stone, and chatting with the workmen employed on the new building. I had supposed, after the time he had wasted upon me yesterday, he would be closely occupied this morning, but he appeared like a man of leisure, who had nothing to do but bask in the sunshine and amuse himself.

I soon dressed myself and joined him. He talked about his proposed plans of Abbotsford; happy would it have been for him could he have contented himself with his delightful little vine-covered cottage, and the simple, yet hearty and hospitable style, in which he lived at the time of my visit. The great pile of Abbotsford, with the huge expense it entailed upon him, of servants, retainers, guests, and baronial style, was a drain upon his purse, a tax upon his exertions, and a weight upon his mind, that finally crushed him.

As yet, however, all was in embryo and perspective, and Scott pleased himself with picturing out his future residence, as he would one of the fanciful creations of his own romances. "It was one of his air castles," he said, "which he was reducing to solid stone and mortar." About the place were strewed various morsels from the ruins of Melrose Abbey, which were to be incorporated in his mansion. He had already constructed out of similar materials a kind of Gothic shrine over a spring, and had surmounted it by a small stone cross.

Among the relics from the Abbey which lay scattered before us, was a most quaint and antique little lion, either of red stone, or painted red, which hit my fancy. I forgot whose cognizance it was; but I shall never forget the delightful observations concerning old Melrose to which it accidentally gave rise. The Abbey was evidently a pile that called up all Scott's poetic and romantic feelings; and one to which he was enthusiastically attached by the most fanciful and delightful of his early associations. He spoke of it, I may say, with affection. "There is no telling," said he, "what treasures are hid in that glorious old pile. It is a famous place for antiquarian plunder; there are such rich bits of old time sculpture for the architect, and old time story for the poet. There is as rare picking in it as a Stilton cheese, and in the same taste—the mouldier the better."

Washington Irving, from "Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey"

Essential.

 Lively Run Goat Dairy, Finger Lakes Gold Reserve 

Food & Wine has 25 essential American cheeses ...

Ample.

Delacroix, A Vase of Flowers, 1833

We are nothing but links in a chain.  Old Gauguin and I understand each other basically, and if we are a bit mad, what of it? Aren't we also thoroughly artists enough to contradict suspicions on that score by what we say with our brush?  Perhaps someday everyone will have neurosis, St. Vitus' dance, or something else.

But doesn't the antidote exist? In Delacroix, in Berlioz, and Wagner? And really, as for the artist's madness of all the rest of us, I do not say that I especially am not infected through and through, but I say and will maintain that our antidotes and consolations may, with a little good will, be considered ample compensation.

Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to Theo van Gogh. Monday, 28 January 1889

Telemann, "Schaut die Demut Palmen tragen"

Behold the palms of humility,

which God has exalted.

Behold Jesus in His crown—

He who, from the highest throne of joy,

willingly stepped down into the abyss of suffering,

into a world filled with woe.

Meike Luluschko performs with Eva Liebe, oboe, and Gregor Schwarz, continuo ...

Scrolling.

Feeling.

The Van Gogh Museum explores Vincent's palette ...

For Vincent, an understanding of colour theory was essential in painting. He also realised that a painter should not attempt to reproduce the exact colour he saw before him. That was merely "the reflection of reality in the mirror," not art. "The effects colours produce through their harmonies or discords should be boldly exaggerated" to convey a feeling.

Understand.

van Gogh, Undergrowth with Two Figures, 1890

Do go on doing a lot of walking and keep up your love of nature, for that is the right way to understand art better and better. Painters understand nature and love her and teach us to see.

And then there are painters who never do anything that is no good, who cannot do anything bad, just as there are ordinary people who can do nothing but good.

I'm getting on very well here. I've got a delightful home and I'm finding it very pleasurable taking a look at London and the English way of life and the English people themselves, and then I've got nature and art and poetry, and if that isn't enough, what is? 

Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to Theo van Gogh, January 1874

Everything.

The Sheepdogs, "Take Me For a Ride"

Released.

Led Zeppelin released Houses of the Holy on this day in 1973.

"Over the Hills and Far Away"...

Bear.

ON A MARCH DAY

Here in the teeth of this triumphant wind

That shakes the naked shadows on the ground,

Making a key-board of the earth to strike

From clattering tree and hedge a separate sound,

Bear witness for me that I loved my life,

All things that hurt me and all things that healed,

And that I swore it this day in March,

Here at the edge of this new-broken field.

You only knew me, tell them I was glad

For every hour since my hour of birth,

And that I ceased to fear, as once I feared,

The last complete reunion with the earth.

Sara Teasdale

Remembers.

van Gogh, Boats at Sea, Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, 1888

He who hoists the Ambition & Co. sail and no other on his mast, sails through life on a straight course without accidents, without wavering until - until at last, at last, circumstances arise which make him think, I haven't enough sail. Then he says, I would give everything I possess for another square of sail, and I have not got it. He is in despair.

But now he remembers that he possesses another power which he can use; he thinks of the sail which he has despised until now, which he had put away with the ballast. And it is this sail that saves him. Love's sail must save him; without hoisting it, he cannot arrive.

Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to Theo van Gogh, 12 November 1881

David Francey, "Redwing Blackbird"

Happy Birthday, Henry Rowe Schoolcraft

Illman & Sons, Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, 1884

The BIRCHEN CANOE

In the region of lakes where the blue waters sleep

My beautiful fabric was built;

Light cedars supported its weight on the deep,

And its sides with the sunbeams are gilt.

The bright leafy bark of the betula tree,

A flexible sheathing provides;

And the fir’s thready roots drew the parts to agree,

And bound down its high swelling sides.

No compass or gavel was used in the bark,

No art but the simplest degree;

But the structure was finished and trim to remark,

And as light as a sylph’s could be.

Its rim was with tender young roots woven round,

Like a pattern of wicker-work rare;

And it pressed on the waves was as lightsome a bound,

As a basket suspended in air.

The heavens in their brightness and glory below,

Were reflected quite plain to the view;

And it moved like a swan – with as graceful a show,

My beautiful birchen canoe.

The tree on the shore as I glided along.

Seemed rushing a contrary way;

And my voyagers lightened their toll with a song,

That caused every heart to be gay.

And still as I floated by rock and by shell

My bark raised a murmur aloud;

And it danced on the waves as they rose and they fell,

Like a fay on a bright summer cloud.

I thought as I pass’d o’er the liquid expanse,

With the landscape in smiling array;

How blest I should be, if my life should advance,

Thus tranquil and sweetly away.

The skies were serene, not a cloud was in sight,

Not an angry surge beat the shore,

And I gazed on the waters and then on the light,

Till my vision could bear it no more.

Oh! long shall I think of those silver bright lakes,

And the scenes they expose to my view;

My friends – and the wishes I formed for their sakes

And my bright yellow birchen canoe.

Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, born on this day in 1793

Be.

WHAT I DO IS ME —FOR THAT I CAME

for Gerard Manley Hopkins

What I do is me—for that I came.

What I do is me!

For that I came into the world!

So said Gerard;

So said that gentle Manley Hopkins.

In his poetry and prose he saw the Fates that chose

Him in genetics, then set him free to find his way

Among the sly electric printings in his blood.

God thumbprints thee! he said.

Within your hour of birth

He touches hand to brow, He whorls and softly stamps

The ridges and the symbols of His soul above your eyes!

But in that selfsame hour, full born and shouting

Shocked pronouncements of one's birth,

In mirrored gaze of midwife, mother, doctor

See that Thumbprint fade and fall away in flesh

So, lost, erased, you seek a lifetime's days for it

And dig deep to find the sweet instructions there.

Put by when God first circuited and printed thee to

life:

"Go hence! do this! do that! do yet another thing!

This self is yours! Be it!"

And what is that?! you cry at hearthing breast,

Is there no rest? No, only journeying to be yourself.

And even as the Birthmark vanishes, in seashell ear

Now fading to a sigh, His last words send you in the

world:

"Not mother, father, grandfather are you.

Be not another. Be the self I signed you in your blood.

I swarm your flesh with you. Seek that.

And, finding, be what no one else can be.

I leave you gifts of Fate most secret; find no other's Fate,

For if you do, no grave is deep enough for your despair

No country far enough to hide your loss.

I circumnavigate each cell in you

Your merest molecule is right and true.

Look there for destinies indelible and fine

And rare.

Ten thousand futures share your blood each instant;

Each drop of blood a cloned electric twin of you.

In merest wound on hand read replicas of what I

planned

and knew

Before your birth, then hid it in your heart.

No part of you that does not snug and hold and hide

The self that you will be if faith abide.

What you do is thee. For that I gave you birth.

Be that. So be the only you that's truly you on Earth."

Dear Hopkins. Gentle Manley. Rare Gerard. Fine

name.

What we do is us. Because of you. For that we came.

Ray Bradbury

Biber, Sonata Pastorella, C.106

Mr. and Mrs Ozaki perform ...

Excellent.

Excellent albums ...

Bruce Cockburn, "Child of the Wind"

Flourishes.

An organism native to Gubbeen Farm which flourishes on the rind of Gubbeen cheese, was identified by microbiologists in 2001 and named microbacterium gubbeenense after the farm and dairy.

Long.

People without hope not only don’t write novels, but what is more to the point, they don’t read them. They don’t take long looks at anything, because they lack the courage. The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience, and the novel, of course, is a way to have experience.

Flannery O'Connor, from "The Nature and Aim of Fiction"

7.

Keep your eye on 7 ...

Through.

van Gogh, Rain, 1889

What am I in the eyes of most people? A nonentity or an oddity or a disagreeable person — someone who has and will have no position in society, in short a little lower than the lowest.

Very well — assuming that everything is indeed like that, then through my work I’d like to show what there is in the heart of such an oddity, such a nobody.

This is my ambition, which is based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion.

Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to Theo van Gogh on or about Friday, 21 July 1882

Happy Birthday, Robert Frost

Eisenstaedt, Robert Frost at His Desk, 1955

The SOUND of TREES

I wonder about the trees.

Why do we wish to bear

Forever the noise of these

More than another noise

So close to our dwelling place?

We suffer them by the day

Till we lose all measure of pace,

And fixity in our joys,

And acquire a listening air.

They are that that talks of going

But never gets away;

And that talks no less for knowing,

As it grows wiser and older,

That now it means to stay.

My feet tug at the floor

And my head sways to my shoulder

Sometimes when I watch trees sway,

From the window or the door.

I shall set forth for somewhere,

I shall make the reckless choice

Some day when they are in voice

And tossing so as to scare

The white clouds over them on.

I shall have less to say,

But I shall be gone.

Robert Frost, born on this day in 1874.

A Lover's Quarrel with the World ...

Technique.

van Gogh, Landscape at Saint-Rémy (detail),1889

Technique is the proof of your seriousness.

Wallace Stevens (thanks, Steve)

Pining.

van Gogh, Still Life with Bread, 1887

For one’s own work, thoughts and observation are not enough, we need the comfort and blessing and guidance of a higher power, and that is something anyone who is at all serious and who longs to lift up his soul to the light is sure to recognize and experience. Pining for God works like leaven on dough.

Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to his brother Theo, May 19, 1887

Excellent.

An excellent album ...

Happy Birthday, Flannery O'Connor

O'Connor, Self-Portrait, 1953

Accepting oneself does not preclude an attempt to become better.

Flannery O'Connor, born on this day in 1925