Friday, February 14, 2025

Synapses

Anonymous Artist after Francis Hayman
The Wrestlers
ca. 1750
oil on canvas
National Trust, Bradley Manor,
Newton Abbot, Devon

 
Sam Contis
Untitled (Haircut)
2017
inkjet print
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Battista Franco (il Semolei)
Bacchantes with Apollo and Daphne
(based on antique carved gem)
before 1561
etching and engraving
Philadelphia Museum of Art

Wilhelm von Gloeden
Sicilian Youths
ca. 1890
albumen silver print
National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa

Oluf Hartmann
Joseph wrestling with the Angel
1907
oil on canvas
Statens Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen

Carl Mager
Wrestlers
1933
oil on linen
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Reginald Marsh
George Tilyou's Steeplechase
1932
oil and tempera on linen
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC

Tod Papageorge
Central Park
1978
gelatin silver print
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Philip Pearlstein
Male and Female Models on Greek Revival Sofa
1976
watercolor and ink on paper
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Reynaldo Rivera
Untitled
1992
gelatin silver print
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Wendy Sharpe
Study of Models
1993
ink and colored chalks on paper
Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney

Harry Sternberg
Wrestlers #4
1930
etching and aquatint
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Salman Toor
Bar Boy
2019
oil on panel
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

John Flaxman (designer) for Wedgwood
Dancing Hours
ca. 1778
jasperware plaque
Victoria & Albert Museum, London

Gustav Wertheimer
The Siren's Kiss
1882
oil on canvas
Indianapolis Museum of Art

Claggett Wilson
Underground Dressing Station
cs. 1919
watercolor on paper
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC

Mitosis

No one actually remembers them
as not divided. Whoever says he does –
that person is lying.

No one remembers. And somehow
everyone knows:

they had to be, in the beginning, equally straightforward,
committed to a direct path.
In the end, only the body continued
implacably moving ahead, as it had to, 
to stay alive.

But at some point the mind lingered.
It wanted more time by the sea, more time in the fields
gathering wildflowers. It wanted
more nights sleeping in its own bed; it wanted
its own nightlight, its favorite drink.
And more mornings – it was these
possibly most of all. More
of the first light, the penstemon blooming, the alchemilla
still covered with its evening jewels, the night rain
still clinging to it.

And then, more radically, it wanted to go back.
It wished simply to repeat the whole passage,
like the exultant conductor, who feels only that
the violin might have been a little softer, more plangent.

And through all this, the body 
continues like the path of an arrow
as it has to, to live.

And if that means to get to the end
(the mind buried like an arrowhead), what choice does it have,
what dream except the dream of the future?

Limitless world! The vistas clear, the clouds risen.
The water azure, the sea plants bending and sighing
among the coral reefs, the sullen mermaids
all suddenly angels, or like angels. And music
rising over the open sea –

Exactly like the dream of the mind.
The same sea, the same shimmering fields.
The plate of fruit, the identical
violin (in the past and the future) but
softer now, finally
sufficiently sad.

– Louise Glück (2001)