I don't usually feature current artists because their work doesn't become copyright free until they are 100 years old, when they are free to copy. But there are some wonderful artists who are alive yet today and you may want to study some of them. Two ways to do this easily would be buying a calendar of their work or sometimes their work is in book form. Here is a link to the website of Howard Sivertson, an artist from my home state. I have looked at several of his books and hope to purchase one sometime soon. You could also check your library for works by Howard Sievertson. Here are a couple of his books. They have fun stories of life on Lake Superior.
I've featured mostly landscapes by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot partly because even though his portraits are skillfully painted most of his people are women who look unhappy. Just personal tastes I guess, but this picture of a monk appealed to me because of the sharp lines and contrasts between light and dark. Also, loving the Bible myself, I liked his intent expression as he reads it. The colors, contrasts and shapes remind me a bit of last week's landscape.
Our march this week by John Philip Sousa is New Mexico March
Robert Louis Stevenson
Escape at Bedtime
The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out
Through the blinds and the windows and bars;
And high overhead and all moving about,
There were thousands of millions of stars.
There ne’er were such thousands of leaves on a tree,
Nor of people in church or the Park,
As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me,
And that glittered and winked in the dark.
The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all,
And the star of the sailor, and Mars,
These shown in the sky, and the pail by the wall
Would be half full of water and stars.
They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries,
And they soon had me packed into bed;
But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes,
And the stars going round in my head.
A beautiful poem today by John Milton on Time
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race, Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours, Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace; And glut thy self with what thy womb devours, Which is no more then what is false and vain, And meerly mortal dross; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain. For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely good And perfectly divine, With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine About the supreme Throne Of him, t'whose happy-making sight alone, When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime, Then all this Earthy grosnes quit, Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.