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| Wilson Bentley Twenty Snow Crystals ca. 1920 gelatin silver print Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco (Achenbach Foundation) |
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| Elisheva Biernoff Winter 2015 acrylic on plywood with painted poplar stand Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York |
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| Esther Bubley Pupils returning to School after Lunch at the General Store, East Orange, Vermont ca. 1953 gelatin silver print Loeb Art Center, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York |
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| Denys van Alsloot Winter Landscape with view of Tervuren Castle 1614 oil on panel Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts, Brussels |
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| Max Beckmann Winter Landscape 1930 oil on canvas Van Abbemuseum, Eindhoven, Netherlands |
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| Frank Hurley Banded Face of Ice Shelf ca. 1913 carbon print National Gallery of Australia, Canberra |
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| Georgia O'Keeffe Black Door with Snow II 1955 oil on canvas Milwaukee Art Museum, Wisconsin |
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| Madoka Takagi East River Park, New York 1990 platinum-palladium print Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Richard Kauffman Mount St Elias from Upper King Glacier ca. 1958 tricolor carbro print San Francisco Museum of Modern Art |
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| Abbott Handerson Thayer Winter, Monadnock ca. 1900 watercolor and gouache on paper Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington DC |
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| Arthur Lismer A Clear Winter ca. 1940 oil on canvas Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto |
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| Peter Doig Pink Snow 1991 oil on canvas Museum of Modern Art, New York |
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| Caspar David Friedrich Winter Landscape ca. 1811 oil on canvas National Gallery, London |
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| Frank Thiel Perito Moreno #11 ca. 2012-13 C-print National Gallery of Art, Washington DC |
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| Andrew Wyeth Chestnut Ridge ca. 1944 watercolor on paper Buffalo AKG Art Museum, New York |
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| Kasimir Malevich Morning in the Village after a Snowstorm 1912 oil on canvas Guggenheim Museum, New York |
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| Wilson Bentley Frost ca. 1910 gelatin silver print Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
Coming to Racine with Shakespeare and the rest of the Elizabethans warm in his memory, it is only to be expected that [the English reader] should be struck with a chilling sense of emptiness and unreality. After the colour, the moving multiplicity, the imaginative luxury of our early tragedies, which seem to have been moulded out of Nature herself, the Frenchman's dramas, with their rigid uniformity of setting, their endless duologues, their immense harangues, their spectral confidants, their strict exclusion of all visible action, give one at first the same sort of impression as a pretentious pseudo-classical summer-house appearing suddenly at the end of a vista, after one has been rambling through an open forest. 'La scène est à Buthrote, ville d'Epire, dans une salle du palais de Pyrrhus' – could anything be more discouraging than such an announcement? Here is nothing for the imagination to feed on, nothing to raise expectation, no wondrous vision of 'blasted heaths' or the 'seaboard of Bohemia'; here is only a hypothetical drawing-room conjured out of the void for five acts, simply in order that the persons of the drama may have a place to meet in and make their speeches.
* * *
The true justification for the unities of time and place is to be found in the conception of drama as the history of a spiritual crisis – the vision, thrown up, as it were, by a bull's-eye lantern, of the final catastrophic phases of a long series of events. Very different were the views of the Elizabethan tragedians, who aimed at representing not only the catastrophe but the whole development of circumstances of which it was the effect; they traced, with elaborate and abounding detail, the rise, the growth, the decline, and the ruin of great causes and great persons; and the result was a series of masterpieces unparalleled in the literature of the world. . . . But Racine carried out his ideals more rigorously and more boldly than any of his successors. He fixed the whole of his attention upon the spiritual crisis; to him that alone was of importance; and the conventional classicism so disheartening to the English reader – the unities, the harangues, the confidences, the absence of local colour, and the concealment of the action – was no more than the machinery for enhancing the effect of the inner tragedy, and for doing away with every side issue and every chance of distraction.
– Lytton Strachey on Racine (1908)
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