In Boston today -- a fabulous exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts
titled Rhythms of Modern Life: British Prints 1914-1939.
My favorites were by Cyril Power, two of which are pictured above.
Strolling through the exhibit, I felt as though I were seeing
visual representations of good writing; specifically, well-written poetry.
This is difficult to explain, but I'll try: there was color, form,
meaningful repetition, whimsy and an almost visceral movement
across the paper. There was punctuation in the swooping lines.
Stanzas. And not a word in sight!
On to the European collection, for my filling-up with
Cezannes, Monets, Renoirs, Seurats. I loathe to think
that many of the images from this era have become
cliche, common almost, as they appear on mugs, placemats,
shower curtains. Nonetheless, as I stood in the center
of that gallery I found myself moved to tears, such was
the emotional impact of those colors and that light
streaming from those canvases.
Oddest artifacts observed today were the cat, aligator,
snake and lamb mummies: sacred beings from ancient
Egypt. (And I loved that, as we passed from one room
of Egyptian artifacts to another, the sign on the door stated
that the items in this new room were from Old Egypt.)
Tomorrow we head out to Nantucket Island for the day,
then it's back to The Emerald City.
And lastly, this, heard outside Starbucks
(where Top Pot doughnuts are for sale):
(setting: four thirty-something women)
woman #1: so, how far along are you?
woman#2: five months.
woman #1: oh good, then you won't gain any more weight.
And then a murmur of agreement from all.