Thursday, November 7, 2024

Faienceries de Longwy - Fabre - Falciatore - Evans

Faienceries de Longwy (Alsace-Lorraine)
Covered Box
ca. 1925
glazed earthenware
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Faienceries de Longwy (Alsace-Lorraine)
Covered Box
ca. 1925
glazed earthenware
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Faienceries de Longwy (Alsace-Lorraine)
Jardinière
ca. 1873-80
glazed earthenware
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

Faienceries de Longwy (Alsace-Lorraine)
Vase
ca. 1920-25
glazed earthenware
Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto

François-Xavier Fabre
Portrait of writer Louis-François Bertin
1803
oil on canvas
Musée Fabre, Montpellier

François-Xavier Fabre
Portrait of Caroline Scitivaux
ca. 1808-1814
oil on paper, mounted on canvas
Musée Fabre, Montpellier

François-Xavier Fabre
Compositional Study for The Judgment of Solomon
ca. 1800
drawing
British Museum

François-Xavier Fabre
Marius at Minturnae
ca. 1796-1800
etching and aquatint
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

Filippo Falciatore
Hercules and Lichas
before 1768
drawing
Art Institute of Chicago

Filippo Falciatore
An Assault by Brigands
ca. 1735-40
oil on canvas
Staatsgalerie Stuttgart

Filippo Falciatore
An Assault by Pirates
ca. 1735-40
oil on canvas
Staatsgalerie Stuttgart

Filippo Falciatore
Concert in a Garden
1750
oil on canvas
Detroit Institute of Arts

Terry Evans
Roadless Area near Yaak Valley, Montana
1999
C-print
Art Institute of Chicago

Terry Evans
Oak Street Beach, Chicago
2004
inkjet print
Art Institute of Chicago

Terry Evans
Field Museum, Brown Creeper Nest, 1914
2001
inkjet print
Art Institute of Chicago

Terry Evans
Field Museum, Trumpeter Swan, North Dakota, 1891
2001
inkjet print
Art Institute of Chicago

Gretel in Darkness

This is the world we wanted. 
All who would have seen us dead
are dead. I hear the witch's cry
break in the moonlight through a sheet
of sugar: God rewards. 
Her tongue shrivels into gas . . .

                Now, far from women's arms
and memory of women, in our father's hut
we sleep, are never hungry. 
Why do I not forget?
My father bars the door, bars harm
from this house, and it is years.

No one remembers. Even you, my brother,
summer afternoons you look at me as though
you meant to leave,
as though it never happened.
But I killed for you. I see armed firs,
the spires of that gleaming kiln –

Nights I turn to you to hold me
but you are not there.
Am I alone? Spies
hiss in the stillness. Hansel,
we are there still and it is real, real,
that black forest and the fire in earnest.

– Louise Glück (1975)