The moon was a bit tardy tonight. It was nearly full last night and was expected to be the star of show this evening. I was sure it would have made its entrance by now. Perhaps it had a quarrel with one of the constellations last night and was refusing to go on. Was Orion the hunter a bit too aggressive, or Cassiopeia the queen making unreasonable demands? In the midst of my silly musing a glow began to appear in the night sky. Before long the moon made a dramatic entrance, choosing to appear behind the branches of my favorite apple tree. The glow was so bright it obscured the edges of the lunar disc. Rising slowly it highlighted one branch then another. Some of the branches made gnarly silhouettes while others reached out to catch a moonbeam. There was the excitement of anticipation in the air. It was a grand entrance indeed and I couldn't wait to see it join the stars for tonight's celestial performance.....
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About the Artist
Cast of Characters
- Elizabeth - Elizabeth Torak, gifted artist and love of my life
- The League - The Art Students League of NY
- Hale - Robert Beverly Hale, my drawing and anatomy instructor at the League
- Frank - Frank Mason, my painting teacher in the late 70's and early 80's
- DuMond - Frank Vincent DuMond, Frank's teacher, my grandteacher
- Gulley - Gulley Jimson, fictional artist in Joyce Carey's The Horse's Mouth
Florence, Italy Workshop
Blog Archive
When Earth"s Last Picture is Painted
When Earth's last picture is painted
And the tubes are twisted and dried
When the oldest colors have faded
And the youngest critic has died
We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it
Lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of all good workmen
Shall put us to work anew
And those that were good shall be happy
They'll sit in a golden chair
They'll splash at a ten league canvas
With brushes of comet's hair
They'll find real saints to draw from
Magdalene, Peter, and Paul
They'll work for an age at a sitting
And never be tired at all.
And only the Master shall praise us.
And only the Master shall blame.
And no one will work for the money.
No one will work for the fame.
But each for the joy of the working,
And each, in his separate star,
Will draw the thing as he sees it.
For the God of things as they are!
Rudyard Kipling
And the tubes are twisted and dried
When the oldest colors have faded
And the youngest critic has died
We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it
Lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of all good workmen
Shall put us to work anew
And those that were good shall be happy
They'll sit in a golden chair
They'll splash at a ten league canvas
With brushes of comet's hair
They'll find real saints to draw from
Magdalene, Peter, and Paul
They'll work for an age at a sitting
And never be tired at all.
And only the Master shall praise us.
And only the Master shall blame.
And no one will work for the money.
No one will work for the fame.
But each for the joy of the working,
And each, in his separate star,
Will draw the thing as he sees it.
For the God of things as they are!
Rudyard Kipling

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