Author: penwithlit

“At the turn of the century, Bonnard rediscovered nature and colour, after the muted tones and the urban scenes of his Nabi years. He stayed more and more often outside Paris, in the Seine Valley and in the South of France. Impressionism inspired him, but he wanted to go beyond its direct translation of nature. Colour, according to him, should be a means of expression above all.

In August 1912, he bought La Roulotte in Vernonnet, a district of Vernon located just five kilometres from Giverny. The house was modest, as its name, which means a horse-drawn caravan, suggests. It overlooked a large and luscious garden that descended to the Seine. Bonnard painted the views from the terrace and the…

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Robert Antoine Pinchon at wikiwand

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List of works by Robert Antoine Pinchon

Robert Antoine Pinchon at Sotheby’s

Thanks for Visiting 🙂

~Sunnyside

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Franz Marc at wikiwand

Franz Marc at Art Story

Franz Marc: The Painter Who Loved Horses

Franz Marc’s artist page at Guggenheim

Franz Marc Museum website

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Tag: Franz Marc At Sunnyside

Thanks for Visiting 🙂

~Sunnyside

Some feel ashamed of themselves for being unable to ask for help, so they expect their partner to anticipate their needs, blaming them when they don’t. It’s easier to shame someone else than feel ashamed for being inadequate, whether for an inability to request aid or for even needing it in the first place.

And anger frequently stems from redirected shame, and from the fear of feeling it.

Many of my clients struggle with asking for help. And just as many feel entitled to it. We expect the world to care for our needs as it distracts us from acknowledging our limits. My female clients tend to become frustrated with their spouses for not knowing what they need, as, perhaps, their fathers would. To them, asking for help is akin to being thrown into the depths of a wilderness. They ask, “Why do I have to?” But, underneath that, they’re…

Translated by Richard and Clara Winston

Austrian author Alexander Lernet-Holenia’s 1936 novella Baron Bagge has been difficult to find in English translation, but has recently been re-issued in a beautiful hardback edition by Penguin Classics, with an introduction by rock memoirist Patti Smith. The English translation by Richard and Clara Winston dates back to 1956.

The book tells the story of Lieutenant Bagge, fighting against Russia with Austro-Hungarian forces, who are overpowered and forced to retreat over the Carpathian Mountains. Their seemingly deranged commander orders them to head north to carry out reconnaissance, in ominous weather, with a Russian assault anticipated at every turn.

They eventually set up camp in a small village, Nagy Mihaly, where the inhabitants seem strangely celebratory, and utterly unfazed by the Russian threat. On his arrival there Bagge immediately meets Charlotte, a passionate, very forward young woman, blonde and pale, who captivates him, and with…

Here is the bar and tapas restaurant “Mar i Terra”, cosily tucked away in a back street near Southwark Station.

There are magnificent Victorian railway arches looping all around, and 21st century buildings in the background, but this building stands defiantly, self-contained and functional.

The restaurant is open Tuesday to Sunday for dinner. It also serves lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I was sketching it on a Wednesday so I sought lunch elsewhere, and discovered the wonderful “Origin Coffee” in Scoresby Street.

According to their website “Mar i Terra” has been serving the people of the neighbourhood since the year 2000. Up until 1999 this building was “The Hop Pole” pub.

The present work is the first of Stillman’s based on Rossetti’s translations from Boccaccio, where a sonnet entitled ‘The Last Sight of Fiammetta’ describes what seems to be the death of the beloved:

Round her red garland and her golden hair
I saw a fire about Fiammetta’s head;
Thence to a little cloud I watch’d it fade,
Than silver or than gold more brightly fair;
And like a pearl that a gold ring doth bear,
Even so an angel sat therein, who sped
Alone and glorious throughout heaven, array’d
In sapphires and in gold that…