a-l-ancien-regime:

Triumph of the Marine Venus Sebastiano Ricci (1659–1734)
about 1713 oil on canvas Getty Center
Born from the sea, the mythological goddess Venus sits upon a throne pulled by muscular men and surrounded by her entourage. Her son Cupid flies nearby and grasps a handful of coral from a plate held by an attendant. Perched above Venus, a woman holds a string of pearls, a typical adornment of the goddess. The pearls fall through her hair and down along her shoulder. The composition is arranged in a loose pyramidal shape with Venus at the apex. Sebastiano Ricci used an array of flesh tones to describe and model the playful, graceful figures. Venus’s softly painted skin is a creamy white with touches of pink in her cheeks, chest, stomach, and knees; her flesh glows as if lit from within. Against the blue sky, streaks of pink paint describe wispy clouds and fading sunlight. With the Triumph of the Marine Venus, Ricci made a transition from a more classical Baroque style of dramatic gestures, bold colors, and serious subject matter to a more Rococo style of light, pastel colors, elegant, graceful figures, and decorative compositional elements.

a-l-ancien-regime:

Triumph of the Marine Venus
Sebastiano Ricci (1659–1734)

about 1713
oil on canvas

Getty Center

Born from the sea, the mythological goddess Venus sits upon a throne pulled by muscular men and surrounded by her entourage. Her son Cupid flies nearby and grasps a handful of coral from a plate held by an attendant. Perched above Venus, a woman holds a string of pearls, a typical adornment of the goddess. The pearls fall through her hair and down along her shoulder. The composition is arranged in a loose pyramidal shape with Venus at the apex. Sebastiano Ricci used an array of flesh tones to describe and model the playful, graceful figures. Venus’s softly painted skin is a creamy white with touches of pink in her
cheeks, chest, stomach, and knees; her flesh glows as if lit from within. Against the blue sky, streaks of pink paint describe wispy clouds and fading sunlight. With the Triumph of the Marine Venus, Ricci made a
transition from a more classical Baroque style of dramatic gestures, bold colors, and serious subject matter to a more Rococo style of light, pastel colors, elegant, graceful figures, and decorative compositional elements.

(via art--gallery)

BRING ME THE SUNSET IN A CUP
Bring me the sunset in a cup -Reckon the morning’s flagons upAnd say how many Dew -Tell me how far the morning leaps -Tell me what time the weaver sleepsWho spun the breadths of blue!
Write me how many notes there beIn the new Robin’s extasyAmong astonished boughs -How many trips the Tortoise makes -How many cups the Bee partakes,The Debauchee of Dews!
Also, who laid the Rainbow’s piers,Also, who leads the docile spheresBy withes of supple blue?Whose fingers string the stalactite -Who counts the wampum of the nightTo see that none is due?
Who built this little Alban HouseAnd shut the windows down so closeMy spirit cannot see?Who’ll let me out some gala dayWith implements to fly away,Passing Pomposity?
Emily Dickinson - Bring me the sunset in a cup (1955)
Ph. by:  ilvolodisara.tumblr.com

BRING ME THE SUNSET IN A CUP

Bring me the sunset in a cup -
Reckon the morning’s flagons up
And say how many Dew -
Tell me how far the morning leaps -
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadths of blue!

Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin’s extasy
Among astonished boughs -
How many trips the Tortoise makes -
How many cups the Bee partakes,
The Debauchee of Dews!

Also, who laid the Rainbow’s piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite -
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?

Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who’ll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,
Passing Pomposity?


Emily Dickinson - Bring me the sunset in a cup (1955)

Ph. by:  ilvolodisara.tumblr.com

bring me the sunset in a cup emily dickinson poetry poem american poetry 1955 modern poetry my photo of the day sunset sun countryside photoshoot photography wandering floral dress friendship

Dimmi che cos’è che fa la vita storta che ti fa camminare sul lato sbagliato della via di casa dimmi che cos’è che ti fa differente che ti fa dubitar delle storie che senti dentro alle canzoni dimmi che cos’èdimmi che cos’è che non va 
dimmi che cos’è che fa la vita storta e che ti fa annusare l’asfalto e il cemento come se fossi un cane dimmi che cos’è che fa la vita nuova che scrive sulla pelle il motivo che hai per volerne ancora.
Dimmi che cos’èDimmi che cos’è che non va.
TARM - La via di casa 

Dimmi che cos’è 
che fa la vita storta 

che ti fa camminare sul lato sbagliato della via di casa 

dimmi che cos’è 

che ti fa differente 
che ti fa dubitar delle storie che senti dentro alle canzoni 
dimmi che cos’è
dimmi che cos’è che non va 

dimmi che cos’è 
che fa la vita storta 
e che ti fa annusare l’asfalto e il cemento 
come se fossi un cane 

dimmi che cos’è 

che fa la vita nuova 
che scrive sulla pelle il motivo che hai per volerne ancora.

Dimmi che cos’è
Dimmi che cos’è che non va.

TARM - La via di casa 

photoshoot my photo of the day countryside cornfields sky wandering tarm La via di casa music for your thoughts

VELETA
Viento del Sur,moreno, ardiente,llegas sobre mi carne,trayéndome semillade brillantesmiradas, empapadode azahares.Pones roja la lunay sollozanteslos álamos cautivos, pero vienes¡demasiado tarde!¡Ya he enrollado la noche de mi cuentoen el estante!Sin ningún viento,¡hazme caso!,gira, corazón;gira, corazón.Aire del Norte,¡oso blanco del viento!Llegas sobre mi carnetembloroso de aurorasboreales,con tu capa de espectroscapitanes,y riyéndote a gritosdel Dante.¡Oh pulidor de estrellas!Pero vienesdemasiado tarde.Mi almario está musgosoy he perdido la llave.Sin ningún viento,¡hazme caso!,gira, corazón;gira, corazón.Brisas, gnomos y vientosde ninguna parte.Mosquitos de la rosade pétalos pirámides.Alisios destetadosentre los rudos árboles,flautas en la tormenta,¡dejadme!Tiene recias cadenasmi recuerdo,y está cautiva el aveque dibuja con trinosla tarde.Las cosas que se van no vuelven nunca,todo el mundo lo sabe,y entre el claro gentío de los vientoses inútil quejarse.¿Verdad, chopo, maestro de la brisa?¡Es inútil quejarse!Sin ningún viento.¡hazme caso!gira, corazón;gira, corazón.

Federico Garcìa Lorca - Libro de Poemas (1920)

VELETA

Viento del Sur,
moreno, ardiente,
llegas sobre mi carne,
trayéndome semilla
de brillantes
miradas, empapado
de azahares.

Pones roja la luna
y sollozantes
los álamos cautivos, pero vienes
¡demasiado tarde!
¡Ya he enrollado la noche de mi cuento
en el estante!

Sin ningún viento,
¡hazme caso!,
gira, corazón;
gira, corazón.

Aire del Norte,
¡oso blanco del viento!
Llegas sobre mi carne
tembloroso de auroras
boreales,
con tu capa de espectros
capitanes,
y riyéndote a gritos
del Dante.
¡Oh pulidor de estrellas!
Pero vienes
demasiado tarde.
Mi almario está musgoso
y he perdido la llave.

Sin ningún viento,
¡hazme caso!,
gira, corazón;
gira, corazón.

Brisas, gnomos y vientos
de ninguna parte.
Mosquitos de la rosa
de pétalos pirámides.
Alisios destetados
entre los rudos árboles,
flautas en la tormenta,
¡dejadme!
Tiene recias cadenas
mi recuerdo,
y está cautiva el ave
que dibuja con trinos
la tarde.

Las cosas que se van no vuelven nunca,
todo el mundo lo sabe,
y entre el claro gentío de los vientos
es inútil quejarse.
¿Verdad, chopo, maestro de la brisa?
¡Es inútil quejarse!

Sin ningún viento.
¡hazme caso!
gira, corazón;
gira, corazón.

Federico Garcìa Lorca - Libro de Poemas (1920)

Veleta banderuola weather vane poem poetry federico garcia lorca black and white photography 1920 Libro de Poemas one poem a day heart wind

DAPHNE (Daphnê)

was an extremely beautiful nymph, priestess and daughter of Gaia, goddess of the Earth. 
Daphne was the first love of great Apollo, a love not lit by chance unwitting, but by Cupido’s spiteful wrath. The fond God pursued her in the woods but when on the point of being overtaken by him, she prayed to her mother, Gaia, to save her. The goddess let Daphne’s motion brake while she metamorphosed herself: hair turned into leaves, arms into lithe breaches, body dressed up with light cortex as her feet grew strong roots in the ground. At last her face disappeared among the leafy laurel branches, leaving Apollo unanswered at the feet of the silent tree. 

apollo and daphne bernini myth laurel tree story unanswered love metamorphosis ovidio black and white photography detail sculpture italian sculpture