Showing posts with label metaphor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label metaphor. Show all posts

Monday, March 3, 2025

Bridget Riley

Bridget Riley
Blaze
1964
screenprint
Tate Modern, London


Bridget Riley
Punjab
1971
acrylic on canvas
Glasgow Museums, Scotland

Bridget Riley
Eclipse
1973
acrylic on linen
British Council Collection, London

Bridget Riley
Final Cartoon for Painting
1973
gouache on paper
British Council Collection, London

Bridget Riley
Final Sequence Study for Painting
1974
gouache on paper
British Council Collection, London

Bridget Riley
Study for Entice I
1974
gouache on paper
Senate House, University of London

Bridget Riley
Study for the Liverpool Royal Hospital
1981
gouache on paper
Victoria Gallery & Museum, Liverpool

Bridget Riley
Sea Cloud
1981
oil on linen
Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool

Bridget Riley
Achaean
1981
oil on canvas
Tate Modern, London

Bridget Riley
Luxor
1982
oil on linen
Glasgow Museums, Scotland

Bridget Riley
Cherry Autumn
1983
oil on linen
Birmingham Museum, West Midlands

Bridget Riley
Gouache
1987
gouache on paper
Tate Modern, London

Bridget Riley
Fête
1989
screenprint
Tate Modern, London

Bridget Riley
Nataraja
1993
oil on canvas
Tate Modern, London

Bridget Riley
Evoë 3
2003
oil and acrylic on canvas
Tate Modern, London

Bridget Riley
Study no. 4 for Painting with Two Verticals
2004
watercolor on paper
York City Art Gallery, North Yorkshire

Burning Leaves

The fire burns up into the clear sky,
eager and furious, like an animal trying to get free,
to run wild as nature intended –

When it burns like this,
leaves aren't enough – it's
acquisitive, rapacious,

refusing to be contained, to accept limits –

There's a pile of stones around it.
Past the stones, the earth's raked clean, bare –

Finally the leaves are gone, the fuel's gone,
the last flames burn upwards and sidewards –

Concentric rings of stones and gray earth
circle a few sparks;
the farmer stomps on these with his boots.

It's impossible to believe this will work –
not with a fire like this, those last sparks
still resisting, unfinished,
believing they will get everything in the end

since it is obvious they are not defeated,
merely dormant or resting, though no one knows
whether they represent life or death.

– Louise Glück (2009)

Saturday, March 1, 2025

Clyfford Still

Clyfford Still
1945 K
1945
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

 
Clyfford Still
1946 H (Indian Red and Black)
1946
oil on canvas
Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC

Clyfford Still
September 1946
1946
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
January 1947
1947
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
1947-8 A
1947-48
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
1947-8 W No. 2
1947-48
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
January 1948
1948
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
July 1948
1948
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
1950 B
1950
oil on canvas
Phillips Collection, Washington DC

Clyfford Still
Untitled
1950
oil on canvas
Walker Art Center, Minneapolis

Clyfford Still
October 1950
1950
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
1951 E
1951
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
1952 No. 2
1952
oil on canvas
National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Clyfford Still
1953
1953
oil on canvas
Tate Modern, London

Clyfford Still
PH 143
1955
oil on canvas
Los Angeles County Museum of Art

Clyfford Still
Untitled
1956
oil on canvas
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Clyfford Still
1957 D No. 1
1957
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
1958
1958
oil on canvas
Art Institute of Chicago

Clyfford Still
April 1962
1962
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
1963 A
1963
oil on canvas
Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York

Clyfford Still
Untitled
1964
oil on canvas
Dallas Museum of Art

Sunset

At the same time as the sun's setting,
a farm worker's burning dead leaves.

It's nothing, this fire. 
It's a small thing, controlled,
like a family run by a dictator.

Still, when it blazes up, the farm worker disappears;
from the road, he's invisible.

Compared to the sun, all the fires here
are short-lived, amateurish –
they end when the leaves are gone.
Then the farm worker reappears, raking the ashes.

But the death is real.
As though the sun's done what it came to do,
made the field grow, then
inspired the burning of earth.

So it can set now.

– Louise Glück (2009)

Monday, February 24, 2025

Arshile Gorky

Arshile Gorky
The Artist and his Mother
ca. 1926-36
oil on canvas
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

 
Arshile Gorky
Still Life (Composition with Vegetables)
ca. 1928
oil on canvas
Blanton Museum of Art, Austin, Texas

Arshile Gorky
Self Portrait
ca. 1928
oil on canvas
Los Angeles County Museum of Art

Arshile Gorky
Nighttime, Enigma and Nostalgia
ca. 1931-32
drawing
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Arshile Gorky
Mechanics of Flying
ca. 1936
gouache on paper
(study for Newark Airport Aviation Murals)
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Arshile Gorky
Composition
1936-37
oil on canvas
(sold at Christie's in 2021)
private collection

Arshile Gorky
Painting
1936-37
oil on canvas
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

Arshile Gorky
Three Forms
1937
drawing
Art Institute of Chicago

Arshile Gorky
Portrait of Mister Bill
1937
oil on canvas
National Gallery of Art, Washington DC

Arshile Gorky
Mojave
1941-42
oil on canvas
Los Angeles County Museum of Art

Arshile Gorky
Untitled
1944
oil on canvas
Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Venice

Arshile Gorky
Water of the Flowery Mill
1944
oil on canvas
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

Arshile Gorky
Untitled
1944
oil on canvas
National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Arshile Gorky
One Year the Milkweed
1944
oil on canvas
National Gallery of Art, Washington DC

Arshile Gorky
Study for Agony
1947
drawing
Art Institute of Chicago

Arshile Gorky
The Betrothal II
1947
oil and ink on canvas
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York

from Averno

We spent the whole day
sailing the archipelago,
the tiny islands that were
part of the peninsula

until they'd broken off
into the fragments you see now
floating in the northern sea water.

They seemed safe to me,
I think because no one can live there.

Later we sat in the kitchen
watching the evening start and then the snow.
First one, then the other.

We grew silent, hypnotized by the snow
as though a kind of turbulence
that had been hidden before
was becoming visible.

– Louise Glück (2006)