Edward Hopper’s Lighthouse Village, Cape Elizabeth (1929)
Maine house, 1998, by Michael H. Coles
There is so much I love about the art of Edward Hopper, which is why I continue to turn to his work — so on the pulse of us as Americans. I have never been to Maine, let through painting like Lighthouse Village, I feel as if I grow up in Cape Elizabeth — his inspiration allows my imagination to capture reality.
“I once told Hopper that he shows us who we are,” said poet William Carlos Williams. “He’d have no part of my enthusiasm, or extravagance. ‘Yes, I try,’ he said–and then he spoke about ‘light,” how hard he looks for it. He told me to go ‘hunting’ for light, and I liked hearing him use that word–seeing his face get lit up as he spoke!” (“Seeking Maine’s Light,” DoubleTake, Winter 2000)
The Michael H. Coles photograph of a Maine house taken not far from where Hopper painted Lighthouse Village illustrates how Hopper was able to capture the light.
kenne
Edward Hopper, Self-portrait
Edward Hopper and the House by the Railroad (1925)
by Edward Hirsch
Out here in the exact middle of the day, This strange, gawky house has the expression Of someone being stared at, someone holding His breath underwater, hushed and expectant;
This house is ashamed of itself, ashamed Of its fantastic mansard rooftop And its pseudo-Gothic porch, ashamed of its shoulders and large, awkward hands.
The House by the Railroad by Edward Hopper 1925
But the man behind the easel is relentless. He is as brutal as sunlight, and believes The house must have done something horrible To the people who once lived here
Because now it is so desperately empty, It must have done something to the sky Because the sky, too, is utterly vacant And devoid of meaning. There are no
Trees or shrubs anywhere–the house Must have done something against the earth. All that is present is a single pair of tracks Straightening into the distance. No trains pass.
Now the stranger returns to this place daily Until the house begins to suspect That the man, too, is desolate, desolate And even ashamed. Soon the house starts
To stare frankly at the man. And somehow The empty white canvas slowly takes on The expression of someone who is unnerved, Someone holding his breath underwater.
And then one day the man simply disappears. He is a last afternoon shadow moving Across the tracks, making its way Through the vast, darkening fields.
This man will paint other abandoned mansions, And faded cafeteria windows, and poorly lettered Storefronts on the edges of small towns. Always they will have this same expression,
The utterly naked look of someone Being stared at, someone American and gawky. Someone who is about to be left alone Again, and can no longer stand it.
Insolation Controls in the Age of Anthropocene (Understanding Global Warming)
Anthropocene newly coined unknown to Joe the . . . , a new human condition argued as invalid only to be based on the invalid alignment of insolations maxima and minima questioning the new condition of our condition
Returning to Marshall Gulch for cover — Images by kenne
This week’s hike was from the Sunset trailhead to Marshall Gulch, up to Marshall saddle and back to the Sunset trailhead. Because of heavy rain and unnerving lightning, we turned back before reaching the saddle. Since one of our cars was at the Marshall Gulch trailhead, all the drivers were taken back to the Sunset trailhead, returning to rescue the remaining wet hikers.
This is my fourth or fifth time hiking Sunset trail, which I prefer to call Sunrise, since the hikes are always in the morning, but I’ve never hiked the trail in the sun — it’s always been cloudy with at least a misty rain. Yesterday was the first time for the rain to be heavy on this hike.
It’s nice to get the much-needed rain on the mountains, only if we could get some of it in the valley. At least the rain on the mountains is flowing down to Sabino Canyon and the dam area — the latest report is that the Sonoran Desert Toads are breast-stroking and piggy-back riding around the pools croaking contentedly. There’s a 30 % chance of rain again today.
As with the mountain streams, hiking and life is all about the flow — “being completely involved in an activity for its own sake. The ego falls away. Time flies. Every action, movement, and thought follows inevitably from the previous one, like playing jazz. Your whole being is involved, and you’re using your skills to the utmost.”
“The fact that you were completely immersed in what you were doing, that the concentration was very high, that you knew what you had to do moment by moment, that you had very quick and precise feedback as to how well you were doing, and that you felt that your abilities were stretched but not overwhelmed by the opportunities for action. In other words, the challenges were in balance with the skills. And when those conditions were present, you began to forget all the things that bothered you in everyday life, forget the self as an entity separate from what was going on — you felt you were a part of something greater and you were just moving along with the logic of the activity.” — Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi
“Can You Feel It?” Houston Bluesman, Sherman Robertson — Image by kenne
The Guitar
The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. Tw weeps monotonously as water weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.
When George Jones passed away in late April of this year, I made a note to share one of my favorite songs of his, “Bartender Blues.” Actually it’s a James Taylor song written in 1977.
“It’s hard to describe but it’s so tight and so sculpted. It was just remarkable to hear someone make that sound with a human voice. And it sounded like someone singing who had listened to a lot of steel guitar, the way he bends notes and phrases. To me it sounds like a steel guitar in a human voice.” — James Taylor in Billboard, April 27, 2013
Now, two months out I’m posting my note to share with my music friends. Click here to read a very thoughtful article in The New Republic, “Why George Jones Ranks With Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday.”
Bartender Blues by James Taylor
Now I’m just a bartender And I don’t like my work But I don’t mind the money at all I see lots of sad faces And lots of bad cases Of folks with their backs to the wall
Chorus: But I need four walls around me to hold my life To keep me from going a-stray And a honky-tonk angel to hold me tight To keep me from slipping away
I can light up your smokes I can laugh at your jokes I can watch you fall down on your knees I can close down this bar I can gas up my car I can pack up and mail in my key
Chorus:
Now, the smoke fills the air In this honky-tonk bar And I’m thinking ’bout where I’d rather be But I burned all my bridges I sank all my ships And I’m stranded at the edge of the sea
Kathy and Joy in The Gardens at The Museum of the Shenandoah Valley, Image by kenne
The Glen Burnie Gardens include the Pink Pavilion and Fountain Courtyard, the Boxwood Parterre and Knot Garden, and Vegetable, Perennial, Rose, and Herb Gardens. The historic Wood and Glass Family Cemetery is also part of this landscape.
Edward Hopper’s Lighthouse Village, Cape Elizabeth (1929)
Farmers Market — Image by kenne
I Will Descent Into The Maze, Deo Volente — Image by kenne
“Listening To The Sunset” — Images by kenne
“Bareass” — Image #9″ by kenne
Image by kenne
Returning to Marshall Gulch for cover — Images by kenne
iPhone image by Jeff
“Can You Feel It?” Houston Bluesman, 
When George Jones passed away in late April of this year, I made a note to share one of my favorite songs of his, “Bartender Blues.” Actually it’s a James Taylor song written in 1977.
Beach Fun — Images kenne
Kathy and Joy in The Gardens at The Museum of the Shenandoah Valley, Image by kenne
Images by kenne
“Motel Table Lamp” (2001) — Image by kenne
Insolation Controls in the Age of Anthropocene
(Understanding Global Warming)
Anthropocene
newly coined
unknown to
Joe the . . . ,
a new human
condition
argued as
invalid
only to be
based
on the invalid
alignment of
insolations
maxima and minima
questioning the new
condition
of our condition
— kenne
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