Album-leaf autographed by Felix Mendelssohn containing a passage from the Oratorio Paulus (St. Paul), Op.36, arranged for solo violin. Inscribed with a humorous note to Mendelssohn’s publisher, Julius Kistner.
Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824-1904) The Albanian Paintings of the French Orientalist Jean-Léon Gérôme
The French painter Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824-1904) was born in Vesoul and studied in Paris under Paul Delaroche (1797-1856). In 1856, he journeyed to Egypt with his friend, the sculptor Auguste Bartholdi (1834-1904) – who was later to design the Statue of Liberty in New York – and was captivated by the colours and scents of the Orient. This visit was decisive for Gérôme’s subsequent success as an Orientalist painter, and the Albanians played a major role in it. Egypt, which like Albania was part of the Ottoman Empire at the time, was under the rule of the Albanian dynasty founded by Mehmed Ali Pasha (1769-1849), and a sizeable Albanian colony, including many janissary troops, had settled on the banks of the Nile. Gérôme was fascinated by their swagger, the flash of their weapons and their brilliant costumes, in particular by the swirl of their characteristic white Albanian fustanellas. He continued to paint Albanian figures for years thereafter. The following is a selection of some of Léon Gérôme’s Albanian paintings. For further information, the reader may consult Luan Rama’s book Les Albanais de Léon Gérôme / Shqiptarët e Léon Gérôme (Tirana 2016).
Thanks FOR NOT REBLOGGING my pictures in NSFW (porno/erotic) 18+ and also NOT in Trash/Spams blogs.
FIFTH PART - Colmar / Alsace - France
Biggest park of the city center, the Champ de Mars is a privileged place for walking lined with 193 lindens and the statue Admiral Armand Bruat (French Navy), born in Colmar in 1796, the statue was sculpted by A. Bartholdi, the author of the Statue of the Liberty.
Portrait of Composer Fanny Mendelssohn (1805-1847)
“It must be a sign of talent that I do not give up, though I can get nobody to take an interest in my efforts.”
“If nobody ever offers an opinion or takes the slightest interest in one’s production, one loses not only all pleasure in them, but all power of judging their value.”
Fanny Mendelssohn, later Fanny [Cäcilie] Mendelssohn Bartholdy and, after her marriage, Fanny Hensel, was a German pianist and composer. She composed over 460 pieces of music. Her compositions include a piano trio and several books of solo piano pieces and songs. A number of her songs were originally published under her brother, Felix Mendelssohn’s, name in his opus 8 and 9 collections. Her piano works are often in the manner of songs, and many carry the name Lied ohne Worte (Song without Words). She also wrote, amongst other works for the piano, a cycle of pieces depicting the months of the year, Das Jahr (“The Year”). The music was written on coloured sheets of paper, and illustrated by her husband Wilhelm Hensel. Each piece was also accompanied by a short poem.
We are kicking off Monday with fantastic news: join us in
welcoming acclaimed writer Lidia Yuknavitch to Riverhead Books! Many of you
have fallen in love with Lidia’s writing, whether through her works of
thrilling fiction like The Book of Joan,
or her powerful memoir The Chronology of
Water. You may also know her from her powerful TED talk “The Beauty of
Being a Misfit.” We’ll be publishing her next two works of fiction. The first
of these books, This Is Not a Flag, a
revelatory group portrait of marginalized Americans in personal crisis, will be
published in the spring of 2019. The second, an epic novel entitled Thrust, traces the stories of four
characters in the 19th and 21st centuries in a fictional
chronicle of the creation of a colossal female statue designed as a national
symbol, inspired by the story of Frédéric Bartholdi and the Statue of Liberty.
This weekend we asked Lidia a few of our most burning questions, and this is
what she said:
What’s the best thing about being a misfit?
The best thing about being a misfit is our unstoppable
ability to reinvent ourselves from seeming nothingness or rubble. We have the
ability to shape-shift, to ever-become. We’ve had to, since we didn’t fit in
the first place, or because we get continually ejected, or because we feel
alive only at the edges of things. That’s not nothing. People could learn
things from us: How to endure, how to come apart and reconstitute in the face
of despair. No one has gotten anywhere without falling to pieces along the way
… and misfits carry this story in our bodies.
What gives you hope?
Well, when it comes to hope, I’ve stopped looking up. I
don’t find it in superheroes or gods, saviors, leaders, or celebrities. What
gives me hope happens at ground level—maybe even dirt level. Worms are some of the most hopeful creatures on earth.
What gives me hope is the way people create light even inside
brutality. How children survive war and go on. How victims of violence manage
to emerge and thrive. What gives me hope is the kind of kinesis created through
artistic collaboration. Art gives me hope, as it’s a form of expression that
can interrupt and counter the destruction that comes from consumer culture, and
the politics of a death-driven culture (anti-planet, anti-existence,
anti-love). Love gives me hope—especially a kind of reimagined, radicalized
love, one that pulls away from the hubris of the individual and moves toward
sustaining the planet and each other and animals and ecosystems. The emerging
voices and bodies and art of women, people of color, LGBT people, indigenous
people, and so-called “outsiders” (ex-cons, ex-junkies, people with mental
health or physical differences, poor people, people outside of economy or
academia or most institutions) give me hope—the kind of hope that says maybe,
just maybe, the story can finally turn.
What’s your favorite statue?
This question makes me so overly nerdgasm excited I almost
can’t answer it. Let me calm down. Okay. It’s a 4-way tie:
Who’s a favorite artist of yours who’s not a writer?
Another nerdgasm. Wait … you mean choose one? Joan Mitchell and Louise Bourgeois—although maybe
Louise doesn’t count, because she wrote some wonderful little stories to
accompany her drawings.
Tell us one amazing thing about swimming.
In water, you go both forward and backward in time, which is
to say you leave what we pretend is
time and enter something interdimensional, something more like the cosmos. You
go back to your breathable amniotic origins, and you go forward toward a
weightless recognition with all matter and energy. Maybe it’s like being a star
in space. A lifedeath liminality. But maybe I’m just, you know, weird.
What else should we know that we might not?
I sleep with four small stuffed monkeys. Yes, it gets
crowded. Tell no one.
Cats or dogs? And why?
Well, let me pre-empt the hate first by saying that cats are
the slyest, smartest, wiliest, most hilariously passive aggressive creatures on
earth. Okay? But dogs, man. Dogs all the way. Who else do you know that would
roll around on their backs and bellies in the grass with you? I mean, maybe
Walt Whitman, but who else? No one, that’s who. A dog will follow you out to
the middle of the ocean if you bring a stick with you. A dog will stick by you
if you’re freezing to death in a Game of
Thrones episode. A dog will sleep on your grave if you loved them right in
life. Who else would do that? Someday we will figure out how to repay them for
what they have given us.