Saturday, April 19, 2025

David Park / Bruce Davidson

David Park
Two Violinists
1938-39
oil on canvas
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC


David Park
Two Flutists
1938-39
oil on canvas
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC

David Park
Bus Stop
1952
oil on canvas
North Carolina Museum of Arts, Raleigh

David Park
Beach Profile
1953
oil on canvas
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC

David Park
Flower Market
1955
oil on canvas
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

David Park
Two Women
1957
oil on canvas
Los Angeles County Museum of Art

David Park
Study for Daphne
ca. 1959
ink on paper
North Carolina Museum of Arts, Raleigh

David Park
Two Heads
1960
gouache on paper
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Bruce Davidson
Untitled (Circus Series)
1958
gelatin silver print
Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia

Bruce Davidson
The Misfits
1960
gelatin silver print
Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia

Bruce Davidson
Untitled (West Virginia Series)
ca. 1964
gelatin silver print
Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia

Bruce Davidson
Untitled (West Virginia Series)
ca. 1964
gelatin silver print
Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia

Bruce Davidson
Untitled (West Virginia Series)
ca. 1964
gelatin silver print
Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia

Bruce Davidson
Portrait of Joan Kennedy with children Kara and Edward Jr.
1965
gelatin silver print
Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia

Bruce Davidson
Bow Bridge, Central Park
ca. 1991
gelatin silver print
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Bruce Davidson
Along the Pool near the Glen Span Arch, Central Park
1992
gelatin silver print
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

from Walking All Night

I, I know only that when the dawn mist
Discourages one bare gold dome like rust,
When stones fume I shall rest,
Loving my neighbor as I love myself,
No more, no less, for I do not love myself . . .
But something stirs, stirs now. At love's name? No,

No apparition, neither any abrupt gust
Of roses' fragrance, here where none grow:
The hair rises almost
The throat just tries to close, so quietly do
You find me, topple at my feet, poor ghost,
Sung to sleep by a first and faraway cockcrow.

You I forget, you whom the immemorial 
Wraps round with many a foolish vow,
Hush! all at once our graying prospects billow
Like cloths, a canvas town.
My eyes fill with a seeing not their own,
Those cloths aside, your sleep is what I know.  

– James Merrill (1959)