Tag Archives: art

Time for Mother

Time for Mother

Mother’s are precious and much loved by us all. Words can’t convey enough of our appreciation. Throughout the ages, artists have rendered their interpretation of Mothers on Canvas. These are my favorite selections this year. And just in time for Mother’s Day.

I wish to all the mothers out there:

“A Happy Mother’s Day”

 

Click to see Video: https://youtu.be/N_wI9bieNs4

 

Below is selection of Art depiction mothers: 

 

1-Camille Monet e criança!

Camille Monet e criança!

2-Charles Baugniet

Charles Baugniet

3-Edelfelt, Albert (Finnish, 1854-1905) - The Park of Luxembourg - 1887

-Edelfelt, Albert (Finnish, 1854-1905) – The Park of Luxembourg – 1887

4-Frederick Arthur Bridgman

Frederick Arthur Bridgman

5-Gaetano Chierici

Gaetano Chierici

6-Isabel Guerra (1947)

Isabel Guerra (1947)

7-Jean-eugène buland- The happiness of the parents.1903

Jean-eugène buland- The happiness of the parents.1903

8-Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida, (Spagna, 1863-1923) Dopo il bagno - After the Bath (1902)

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida, (Spagna, 1863-1923) Dopo il bagno – After the Bath (1902)

9-Mother and son- Pablo Picasso

Mother and son- Pablo Picasso

10-Peek-a-Bo - circa 1900- Bernard Blommers -Dutch, 1845-1914

Peek-a-Bo – circa 1900- Bernard Blommers -Dutch, 1845-1914

11-Reginald Bottomley (1856-1933) A Mother and Child Looking at the Virgin and Child.

Reginald Bottomley (1856-1933) A Mother and Child Looking at the Virgin and Child.

12-Returning from Market,1886- Charles Sillem Lidderdale-British 1830 - 1895

-Returning from Market,1886- Charles Sillem Lidderdale-British 1830 – 1895

13-Richard MacNeil .

Richard MacNeil .

14-Sorolla y Bastida , Joaquin (Spanish, 1863-1923) - The First Child - 1890

-Sorolla y Bastida , Joaquin (Spanish, 1863-1923) – The First Child – 1890

15-Steve Hanks

Steve Hanks

16-The Clothes Line - Helen Allingham -English, 1848-1926

The Clothes Line – Helen Allingham -English, 1848-1926

17-The Sleeping Child - 1911- Mary Curtis Richardson -American, 1848-1921

The Sleeping Child – 1911- Mary Curtis Richardson -American, 1848-1921

18-Trent Gudmundsen2

Trent Gudmundsen

19-Vicente Romero

-Vicente Romero

20-Vladimir Volegov

Vladimir Volegov

And finally, here’s a lovely poem:

To My Mother

O thou whose care sustained my infant years,

     And taught my prattling lip each note of love;

Whose soothing voice breathed comfort to my fears,

     And round my brow hope’s brightest garland wove;

To thee my lay is due, the simple song,

     Which Nature gave me at life’s opening day;

To thee these rude, these untaught strains belong,

     Whose heart indulgent will not spurn my lay.

O say, amid this wilderness of life,

     What bosom would have throbbed like thine for me?

Who would have smiled responsive?—who in grief,

     Would e’er have felt, and, feeling, grieved like thee?

Who would have guarded, with a falcon-eye,

     Each trembling footstep or each sport of fear?

Who would have marked my bosom bounding high,

     And clasped me to her heart, with love’s bright tear?

Who would have hung around my sleepless couch,

     And fanned, with anxious hand, my burning brow?

Who would have fondly pressed my fevered lip,

     In all the agony of love and wo?

None but a mother—none but one like thee,

     Whose bloom has faded in the midnight watch;

Whose eye, for me, has lost its witchery,

     Whose form has felt disease’s mildew touch.

Yes, thou hast lighted me to health and life,

     By the bright lustre of thy youthful bloom—

Yes, thou hast wept so oft o’er every grief,

     That wo hath traced thy brow with marks of gloom.

O then, to thee, this rude and simple song,

     Which breathes of thankfulness and love for thee,

To thee, my mother, shall this lay belong,

     Whose life is spent in toil and care for me.

 

(Credits: This poem is in the public domain.

About this Poem:

“To My Mother” was first published in Poetical Remains of the Late Lucretia Maria Davidson (Lea and Blanchard, 1841). Author:  Lucretia Maria Davidson)

Fin

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Mother’s Love

Mother’s Love

This year in Canada this celebrated event honors all   Mothers on Apr 14, 2017. Rightly so, after all, we all have mothers and motherhood, maternal bonds and love are all universal.

 In North America, the celebration of Mother’s Day began in the early 20th century.   A sort of latecomer, it is not related to the various celebrations of mothers and motherhood that have transpired throughout the world spanning the time of thousands of years. Some of these were:   the Roman Festival of Hilaria, Greek cult to Cybele, or the Christian Mothering Sunday Celebration (originally it had commemorated the Mother Church).   Nevertheless Mother’s Day shares the intent of these older traditions.

Click here to see Video  “Mother’s Love” :  https://youtu.be/usMRVaZhz7Y

Art throughout history has always celebrated mothers and motherhood as well.

 

 

 

Happy Mother’s Day.

BoSt Galleries – Streetscapes 2013

BoSt Galleries – Streetscapes 2013

“We take a handful of sand from the endless landscape of awareness around us and call that handful of sand the world.”

ROBERT M. PIRSIG

Adversitisng

Crossing at the Lights

Found it!!

Grafitti

Grids

Old buildings

A new arrival said apologetically to Chao-chu: “I have come here empty-handed.”

Chao-chu said: “Lay it down, then!”

“Since I have brought nothing with me, what can I lay down?” asked the visitor.

“Then go on carrying it!” said the Master.

ZEN MONDO

Produce

Red Rocket (TTC)

Respite

Restaurant

The window

The Police

The End.

March Break 2013

March Break 2013

Snow

This is the time when those who have endured the long harsh winter sequestered indoors, with only some short visit to the snowy slopes, now line up in the airports to migrate south seeking that eternal sunshine and hot, hot temperatures. They all have but one objective: to regenerate and pack into their week long hasty schedules as much sun, swim and of course, fun as they can.

March Break (1)

March Break (2)

March Break (5)

Who wouldn’t wish for a glorious reprieve sprawled on the beach with an occasional dip in the ocean all the while achieving the bragging rights to that golden glow once back at home?

March Break (7)

March Break (8)

March Break (10)

March Break (9)

While some would enjoy a good night’s sleep, the frolicking masses try to let off more steam by dancing the night away in some extra loud musical establishments.

March Break (11)

March Break (6)

March Break (3)

Sun, Ocean and fun and more fun!!!!! Happy March Break everyone.

March Break (4)

Enjoy!!!!

Snow,Snow,Snow- Part 1

snowbrush (3)

 

Snow, Snow, Snow- Part 1

As the snowstorm rages outside, with its pellets driven by the howling winds to rattle the windows, this seems to be an appropriate time to dwell on the various stories and legends of snow and winter in a serious of posts.

Poinsettiabrush

Jack Frost

Jack Frost is often portrayed as an older man, though sometimes the depiction shows him as a young adult or teenager. In both cases he is a creature of the imagination, a sprite or fairy-like personification of the frosty, frigid weather, a variant of Old Man Winter. The changing of colors at end of summer is attributed to him as he is depicted with paint brush and bucket coloring the autumnal foliage, red, yellow, brown and orange. He is considered friendly but, if provoked, he could kill his victims by covering them with snow.

Jack Frost’s roots appear to have originated from Anglo-Saxon and Norse winter customs. In Viking lore, he may have been referred to as Jokul Frosti (“icicle frost).

In the literature of the early 20th century his characterization took on a more spite-like personality and he was portrayed as dire, mischievous, carefree, happiest when he can behave as he pleases, with no obligations, and somewhat sinister. He is held responsible for painting the frosty, fern-like patterns on windows and for nipping the extremities in cold weather. Over the years he has taken on the role of villain, hero and disinterested natural force.

Cabbage in snow brushed

snowbrush (1)

Here’s an old Indian Legend called:

  The Story of Winter Snow

Once upon a time there lived two Indian boys with their grandmother in a wigwam.  One day, while the boys were away hunting for some meat, a stranger called on the grandmother and specifically asked for the boys. As they had yet to return, she politely asked him in to wait for their return.  Late that night they showed up loaded with a large buck deer. The visitor readily accepted the invitation to share the cooked venison. After the meal, the stranger asked the grandmother for her permission to remain with them for the winter.  Being a very kind woman she agreed without question. He was actually a shaman and whenever the boys went on a hunt he gave them hunting medicine to assure their success. This man’s name was Winter Snow. When spring came he thanked the grandmother for her kindness and hospitality and was gone.  The young man being so drawn to him wanted to go with him and snuck out to pursue him into the woods. One morning after this, the old woman heard a moaning sound outdoors and found that the snow was melting. This sound was made by her grandsons who, as they followed the mysterious stranger, had been transformed into winter snow.

snowbrush (2)

The End.

BoSt Galleries: The Mysterious Way

BoSt Galleries: The Mysterious Way

Glaciers

Abstract 5

Abstract 7

Abstract 9

Abstract 4

Bull's Eye

Farming fields

“We look at it and do not see it;
Its name is the invisible.
We listen to it and do not hear it;
Its name is the inaudible.
We touch it and do not find it;
Its name is the Subtle (formless).
These three cannot be further probed,
and hence merge into one . . .
Infinite and boundless, it cannot be given any name;
It reverts to nothingness.
This is called shape without shape, form without object.
It is the vague and elusive.
Meet it and you will not see its head.
Follow it and you will not see its back.”

Lao Tzu

BoSt Galleries- Impressions Path 2

BoSt Galleries- Impressions Path 2

 

Zen Story:   The Sound of One Hand

“The master of Kennin temple was Mokurai, Silent Thunder. He had a little protege named Toyo who was only twelve years old. Toyo saw the older disciples visit the master’s room each morning and evening to receive instruction in sanzen or personal guidance in which they were given koans to stop their mind from wandering.

Toyo wished to do sanzen also.

“Wait a while,” said Mokurai. “You are too young.”

But the child insisted, so the teacher finally consented.

In the evening little Toyo went at the proper time to the threshold of Mokurai’s sanzen room. He struck the gong to announce his presence, bowed three times outside the door, and went to sit before the master in respectful silence.

“You can hear the sound of two hands when they clap together,” said Mokurai. “Now show me the sound of one hand.”

 

Toyo bowed and went to his room to consider this problem. From his window he could hear the music of the geishas. “Ah, I have it!” he proclaimed.

The next evening, when his teacher asked him to illustrate the sound of one hand, Toyo began to play the music of the geishas.

“No, no,” said Mokurai. “That will never do. That is not the sound of one hand. You’ve not got it at all.”

 

Thinking that such music might interrupt his meditation, Toyo moved his bedding to a quiet place. He meditated again. “What can the sound of one hand be?” He happened to hear some water dripping. “I have it,” imagined Toyo.

When he next appeared before his teacher, Toyo imitated dripping water.

“What is that?” asked Mokurai. “That is the sound of dripping water, but not the sound of one hand. Try again.”

 

In vain Toyo meditated to hear the sound of one hand. He heard the sighing of the wind. But the sound was rejected.

 

He heard the cry of an owl. This also was refused.

 

The sound of one hand was not the locusts.

 

For more than ten times Toyo visited Mokurai with different sounds. All were wrong. For almost a year he pondered what the sound of one hand might be.

At last little Toyo entered true meditation and transcended all sounds. “I could collect no more,” he explained later, “so I reached the soundless sound.”

Toyo had realized the sound of one hand.”

The End