Sir Edwin Landseer- Isaac Van Amburgh and His Animals, Frahz Schubert - Impromptu in G Flat Majore, William Wordsworth -

Sir Edwin Henry Landseer loved painting animals and this painting is full of a variety of them!  Isaac Van Amburgh was an animal trainer.  You can read wikipedia's entry about van Amburgh here.

Isaac Van Amburgh and His Animals painted by Sir Edwin Henry Landseer

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A lovely piece of music by Franz Schubert today, Impromptu in G flat Major    It is played by Vladimir Horowitz, one of the greatest pianists of the twentieth century.  You can read about him here.

here is a link to the "Best of Schubert" on Youtube.


Another lovely poem by William Wordsworth.  It makes me want to drop everything and spend a day outside.

          IT is the first mild day of March:
          Each minute sweeter than before
          The redbreast sings from the tall larch
          That stands beside our door.

          There is a blessing in the air,
          Which seems a sense of joy to yield
          To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
          And grass in the green field.

          My sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
          Now that our morning meal is done,                          10
          Make haste, your morning task resign;
          Come forth and feel the sun.

          Edward will come with you;--and, pray,
          Put on with speed your woodland dress;
          And bring no book: for this one day
          We'll give to idleness.

          No joyless forms shall regulate
          Our living calendar:
          We from to-day, my Friend, will date
          The opening of the year.                                    20

          Love, now a universal birth,
          From heart to heart is stealing,
          From earth to man, from man to earth:
          --It is the hour of feeling.

          One moment now may give us more
          Than years of toiling reason:
          Our minds shall drink at every pore
          The spirit of the season.

          Some silent laws our hearts will make,
          Which they shall long obey:                                 30
          We for the year to come may take
          Our temper from to-day.

          And from the blessed power that rolls
          About, below, above,
          We'll frame the measure of our souls:
          They shall be tuned to love.

          Then come, my Sister! come, I pray,
          With speed put on your woodland dress;
          And bring no book: for this one day
          We'll give to idleness. 

Sir Edwin Henry Landseer - The Stag, Franz Schubert - Symphony No. 5 in B Flat Major, William Wordsworth - My Heart Leaps Up

Sir Edwin Henry Landseer is an artist that I've admired since I saw a work of his in an old Childcraft Art & Music children's art appreciation book.  It is very hard to find biographies written about him though there are a few old copies.  He enjoyed painting animals.  This weeks painting is of a regal stag.


Our new musician is Franz Schubert.  You can read a wikipedia biographical sketch of his life and music here.

Our first featured piece of music by Schubert is Symphony No. 5 in B Flat Major.  I hope you enjoy this lovely piece of music.

A children's biography to consider is Franz Schubert - Franz Schubert and his merry friends by Opal Wheeler.

I'm still fascinated by William Wordsworth and we haven't had time yet to read a biography of his life so we plan to continue for another season with Wordsworth and his wonderful poetry.  If you're tired of his poetry you may want to look back in the archives for another poet.  

      My Heart Leaps Up

My heart leaps up when I behold
  A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
  Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety.

Mary Cassatt - Mother Combing Her Child's Hair, Frederic Chopin: Raindrop Prelude, Op. 28, No. 15, William Wordsworth - The Kitten and the Falling Leaves

I like this painting by Mary Cassatt of a mother combing her little girl's hair.  They both look gentle and sweet.  The use of a mirror to the left adds an interesting added perspective of them.  
The impressionistic style is very obvious in the clothing and chair with all the little strokes of color.  This painting is made with pastel and gouche on tan paper.  Pastel is chalks and gouche is opaque pigments ground in water and thickened with a gluelike substance.

Mary Cassatt - Mother Combing Her Child's Hair

I have really come to appreciate Mary Cassatt as we have studied her work and read a short biography of her life.  I like how she chose common, comfortable scenes for her paintings.  I didn't realize how impressive this was until I read that this was unusual in her time when most paintings of people were formal and it was a new thing to use bright colors and informal settings.  Next week we will begin studying paintings by Sir Edwin Landseer.
 
A final piece by Frederic Chopin today is very contemplative.  Frederic Chopin - "Raindrop" Prelude, Op. 28, No. 15.  The following is the text provided by the person who uploaded this piece to You-tube:  

Beginning in D-Flat Major, this piece focuses on inner confliction and the contemplation of the solitary self. The composition was born from the mind of Frédéric Chopin in 1858 during his stay at the Valldemossa monastery. Amantine Dupin once commented, "It casts the soul into a terrible dejection. Maurice and I had left [Chopin] in good health one morning to go shopping in Palma for things we needed at our "encampment." The rain came in overflowing torrents. We made three leagues in six hours, only to return in the middle of a flood. We got back in absolute dark, shoeless, having been abandoned by our driver to cross unheard of perils. We hurried, knowing how our sick one would worry. Indeed he had, but now was as though congealed in a kind of quiet desperation, and, weeping, he was playing his wonderful prelude. Seeing us come in, he got up with a cry, then said with a bewildered air and a strange tone, "Ah, I was sure that you were dead." When he recovered his spirits and saw the state we were in, he was ill, picturing the dangers we had been through, but he confessed to me that while waiting for us he had seen it all in a dream, and no longer distinguishing the dream from reality, he became calm and drowsy. While playing the piano, persuaded that he was dead himself, he saw himself drown in a lake. Heavy drops of icy water fell in a regular rhythm on his breast, and when I made him listen to the sound of the drops of water indeed falling in rhythm on the roof, he denied having heard it. He was even angry that I should interpret this in terms of imitative sounds. He protested with all his might—and he was right to—against the childishness of such aural imitations. His genius was filled with the mysterious sounds of nature, but transformed into sublime equivalents in musical thought, and not through slavish imitation of the actual external sounds. His composition of that night was surely filled with raindrops, resounding clearly on the tiles of the Charterhouse, but it had been transformed in his imagination and in his song into tears falling upon his heart from the sky."

Another thoughtful poem by William Wordsworth - He uses a simple pattern of rhyming every two or occasionally three lines.  

The Kitten and the Falling Leaves

That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the Kitten on the wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves -- one -- two -- and three --
From the lofty elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending, --
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,
In his wavering parachute.
-- But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now -- now one --
Now they stop and there are none.
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half-way
Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then
Has it in her power again:
Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian conjurer;
Quick as he in feats of art,
Far beyond in joy of heart.
Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!
'Tis a pretty baby-treat;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;
Here, for neither Babe nor me,
Other play-mate can I see.
Of the countless living things,
That with stir of feet and wings
(In the sun or under shade,
Upon bough or grassy blade)
And with busy revellings,
Chirp and song, and murmurings,
Made this orchard's narrow space,
And this vale so blithe a place;
Multitudes are swept away
Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in bands
Travelled into distant lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighbourhood;
And, among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,
All have laid their mirth aside.
Where is he that giddy Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple-tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;
Hung-head pointing towards the ground --
Fluttered, perched, into a round
Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin!
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen!
Light of heart and light of limb;
What is now become of Him?
Lambs, that through the mountains went
Frisking, bleating merriment,
When the year was in its prime,
They are sobered by this time.
If you look to vale or hill,
If you listen, all is still,
Save a little neighbouring rill,
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitter hill and plain,
And the air is calm in vain;
Vainly Morning spreads the lure
Of a sky serene and pure;
Creature none can she decoy
Into open sign of joy:
Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary season near?
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gaiety?
Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
In the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every creature;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show, 0
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks, --
Spreads with such a living grace
O'er my little Dora's face;
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
That almost I could repine
That your transports are not mine,
That I do not wholly fare
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair!
And I will have my careless season
Spite of melancholy reason,
Will walk through life in such a way
That, when time brings on decay,
Now and then I may possess
Hours of perfect gladsomeness.
-- Pleased by any random toy;
By a kitten's busy joy,
Or an infant's laughing eye
Sharing in the ecstasy;
I would fare like that or this,
Find my wisdom in my bliss;
Keep the sprightly soul awake,
And have faculties to take,
Even from things by sorrow wrought,
Matter for a jocund thought,
Spite of care, and spite of grief,
To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.

Mary Cassatt's mother, Frederic Chopin - Mazurka in C Sharp Minor, Op. 6, No. 2, William Wordsworth - To a Child Written in Her Album

Last week I featured a picture of Mary Cassatt's brother and nephew.  This week's paintings are of her mother.  As I said last week, Mary Cassatt was very devoted to her family.  She paints her mother as a strong figure, but you feel the admiration Mary had for her.  

A second Mazurka by Frederic Chopin explained and played here by Marjan Kiepura:  Mazurka in C Sharp Minor, Op. 6, No. 2.

A very short but meaningful poem by William Wordsworth - 

To a Child Written in Her Album

Small service is true service while it lasts:
Of humblest Friends, bright Creature! scorn not one:
The Daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dew-drop from the Sun.

Mary Cassatt - Alexnader Cassatt and His Son Robert, Frederic Chopin Mazurka Op. 7, No. 1, Willima Wordsworth - The Tables Turned

I ordered in about a half dozen books from our public library on Mary Cassatt that we are enjoying.  Being a popular artist there are many books featuring her art - many are oversize books that show her art nicely.  I found a nice biography, They Found a Way Mary Cassatt, by Catherine Scheader.  It's an 80 page chapter book told in story form.  It's not a large book and the pictures are black and white so you will probably want to get at least one of the larger books featuring color prints of her work to go along with it.

Alexander Cassatt and His Son Robert - by Mary Cassatt

Mary Cassatt didn't paint many pictures of men and those she did paint were, like this one, of family members.  Mary Cassatt was deeply devoted to her family.  This painting shows her brother and nephew.  Notice how the hands and arns lead your eye in a circle back up to the faces of the two.  

From 1825-1849 Frederic Chopin wrote at least 69 Mazurkas.  Today's featured piece is one of them.  Here is a link to an article explaining Mazurkas which are a polish folk dance in triple meter.  And another link here talking about Chopin's use of Mazurkas.  
Frederic Chopin: Mazurka op. 7/1


Another beautiful poem by William Wordsworth today extolling the benefits of contemplating nature.

The Tables Turned (An Evening Scene on the Same Subject)

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless --
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:--
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

Mary Cassatt - Portrait of a Young Girl, Frederic Chopin - Mazurka in B minor, Opus. 33, No. 4, William Wordsworth - Lines Written in Early Spring

This painting by Mary Cassatt features a young girl sitting contemplatively in the grass near the lane that winds through the background.  We are enjoying a junior biography of Mary Cassatt:  They Found a Way Mary Cassatt, by Catherine Scheader.  It's less than 80 pages long and told in story form with lots of dialogue.  It also has black and white pictures of some of her paintings.



Another Mazurka by Frederic Chopin this week played by Vladimir Horowitz Frederic Chopin - Mazurka in B minor Opus 33 no. 4

Vladimir Samoylovich Horowitz October 1 1903 – November 5, 1989 was an American classical pianist and composer. His technique and use of tone color and the excitement of his playing were legendary. He is widely considered one of the greatest pianists of the twentieth century.  See more about him here.  




An introduction by William Wordsworth himself preludes 

this poem. 

 Lines Written in Early Spring

Actually composed while I was sitting by the side of the brook that runs down from the Comb, in which stands the village of Alford, through the grounds of Alfoxden. It was a chosen resort of mine. The brook fell down a sloping rock so as to make a waterfall considerable for that country, and across the pool below had fallen a tree, an ash if I rightly remember, from which rose perpendicularly, boughs in search of the light intercepted by the deep shade above. The boughs bore leaves of green that for want of sunshine had faded into almost lily-white; and from the underside of this natural sylvan bridge depended long and beautiful tresses of ivy which waved gently in the breeze that might poetically speaking be called the breath of the waterfall. This motion varied of course in proportion to the power of water in the brook. When, with dear friends, I revisited this spot, after an interval of more than forty years, this interesting feature of the scene was gone. To the owner of the place I could not but regret that the beauty of this retired part of the grounds had not tempted him to make it more accessible by a path, not broad or obtrusive, but sufficient for persons who love such scenes to creep along without difficulty.

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

Mary Cassatt - Young Mother Sewing; Chopin - Etude no 3 in E major, William Wordsworth - A Morning Exercise

Today's painting by Mary Cassatt is typical in many ways.  She has wonderful composition skills - the picture is laid out in a triangle leading from the little girl up to the mother and down again by the mother's arms.  We feel as if we are let in on an intimate moment - the little girl looks a bit shy and surprised as she catches our eye.  As usual the connection between mother and daughter are shown by close proximity in pose but not by eye contact. The mother's focus is on her sewing rather than on her daughter.  In a relaxed way they look very comfortable together. I like the contrast of color between the cool blues of clothing and green background and the warm skin tones.  Mary Cassatt does a wonderful job of using contrast - light against dark (The little girl's dark hair against the lighter clothing and skin) and the contrast of cool colors against warm - as mentioned above.  She layers light, dark, light, dark up the triangle. 

Young Mother Sewing - Mary Cassatt

Today's music by Frederic Chopin, Etude no. 3 in E major Op 10 No. 3 is described by Wikipedia as follows: Étude Op. 10 No. 3, in E major, is a study for solo piano composed by Frederic Chopin in 1832. It was first published in 1833 in France, Germany, and England as the third piece of his Etudes Op. 10. This is a slow cantabile study for polyphonic and legato playing. Chopin himself believed the melody to be his most beautiful one. It became famous through numerous popular arrangements. Although this étude is sometimes identified by the names "Tristesse" (Sadness) or "Farewell (L'Adieu)," neither is a name given by Chopin. More here from Wikipedia about this piece.

I just ordered in a book by Opal Wheeler, Frederic Chopin, Son of Poland.  We enjoyed her fictional life of Beethoven for children, Ludwig Beethoven and the Chiming Tower Bells  so I'm looking forward to this children's book also written by her.

I recommend the Vox Music Masters series "Story of Chopin in Words and Music".  These audio biographies are a combination of biographical information interspersed with musical selections.   

A link to an hour and a half of music by Chopin here.


Another lovely nature poem by William Wordsworth featuring bird songs

        A Morning Exercise
               
Fancy, who leads the pastimes of the glad,
Full oft is pleased a wayward dart to throw,
Sending sad shadows after things not sad,
Peopling the harmless fields with signs of woe;
Beneath her sway, a simple forest cry
Becomes an echo of man's misery.

Blithe ravens croak of death, and when the owl 
Tries his two voices for a favourite strain--
"Tu-whit--Tu-whoo!" the unsuspecting fowl
Forebodes mishap or seems but to complain;
Fancy, intent to harass and annoy,
Can thus pervert the evidence of joy.

Through border wilds where naked Indians stray,
Myriads of notes attest her subtle skill;
A feathered task-master cries, "WORK AWAY!"
And, in thy iteration, "WHIP POOR WILL!"
Is heard the spirit of a toil-worn slave,
Lashed out of life, not quiet in the grave

What wonder?  at her bidding, ancient lays
Steeped in dire grief the voice of Philomel;*
And that fleet messenger of summer days,
The Swallow, twittered subject to like spell,
But ne'er could Fancy bend the buoyant Lark
To melancholy service--hark! O hark!


The daisy sleeps upon the dewy lawn,
Not lifting yet the head that evening bowed;
But 'He' is risen a later star of dawn.
Glittering and twinkling near yon rosy cloud;
Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark;
The happiest bird that sprang out of the Ark!


Hail blest above all kinds!--Supremely skilled
Restless with fixed to balance, high with low,
Thou leave'st the halcyon* free her hopes to build
On such forbearance as the deep may show;
Perpetual flight, unchecked by earthly ties,
Leav'st to the wandering bird of paradise


Faithful, though swift as lightning, the meek dove;
Yet more hath Nature reconciled in thee;
So constant with thy downward eye of love,
Yet, in aerial singleness, so free;
So humble, yet so ready to rejoice
In power of wing and never-wearied voice.

To the last point of vision, and beyond,
Mount, daring warbler!--that love-prompted strain,
(Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain;
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.

 How would it please old Ocean to partake,
With sailors longing for a breeze in vain,
The harmony thy notes most gladly make
Where earth resembles most his own domain!
Urania's* self might welcome with pleased ear
These martins mounting towards her native sphere.

Chanter by heaven attracted, whom no bars 
To day-light known deter from that pursuit,
'Tis well that some sage instinct, when the stars
Come forth at evening, keeps Thee still and mute;
For not an eyelid could to sleep incline
Wert thou among them, singing as they shine!

*Philomel - a Greek mythical figure who became a nightengale
*halcyon -   A fabled bird, identified with the kingfisher, that was supposed to have had the power to calm the wind and the waves while it nested on the sea during the winter solstice.
* Urania - the muse of astronomy (the word muse originates from Greek mythology. The Greek gods Zeus and Mnemosyne had nine daughters called the Muses. The nine daughters were of one being in heart, spirit and thought. If the muses loved a man, then the man's worries instantly disappeared. The man who was loved by the muses was considered to be more sacred than a holy man).