Novels without female characters were a lifeless desert.
Girl Reading (verso) (c.1930). Philip Naviasky (British, 1894-1983). Oil on board. Pannett Art Gallery.
The present work exemplifies Naviasky’s technique of combining patches of bold, saturated colouring against plain backgrounds in a way that illuminates his subjects. Naviasky’s technical accomplishment can be further appreciated in the way two seemingly different colour choices (back wall and coat) blend as corresponding colours.
There are books, that one has for twenty years without reading them, that one always keeps at hand, that one takes along from city to city, from country to country, carefully packed, even when there is very little room, and perhaps one leafs through them while removing them from a trunk; yet one carefully refrains from reading even a complete sentence. Then after twenty years, there comes a moment when suddenly, as though under a high compulsion, one cannot help taking in such a book from beginning to end, at one sitting: it is like a revelation. Now one knows why one made such a fuss about it. It had to be with one for a long time; it had to travel; it had to occupy space; it had to be a burden; and now it has reached the goal of its voyage, now it reveals itself, now it illuminates the twenty bygone years it mutely lived with one. It could not say so much if it had not been there mutely the whole time, and what idiot would dare to assert that the same things had always been in it.
Treasure chest ^_^
There was, in my view, an unwritten contract with the reader that the writer must honour. No single element of an imagined world or any of its characters should be allowed to dissolve on an authorial whim. The invented had to be as solid and as self-consistent as the actual. This was a contract founded on mutual trust.
Summer Afternoon in the Garden. Evert Pieters (Dutch, 1856-1932). Oil on canvas.
Pieters became a pupil of Charles Verlat and Theodor Verstraete. He was a member of the Pulchri studio in the Hage and Arti et Amicitiaein Amsterdam. In 1896 he won gold medals in Paris and St. Louis, and in 1898 a gold medal in Barcelona. In 1900 he won a silver medal at the World Expo in Paris.
My solitude is sublime; the roaring of the wind is my wife; and the stars through my window-panes, these beautiful particles, constantly fill up my heart. The mighty abstract idea of Beauty in all things, I have, stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness. I feel more and more, every day, as my imagination strengthens, that I do not live in this world alone, but in a thousand worlds.
Kazuo Ishiguro ile tanışma vakti. #kazuoishiguro #neverletmego
a better place
Woman at a Window by Albert André