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Back in the day, I used to review a thing or two. Sometimes it was written reviews (various weeklies like Gaze or Lavender, the Millennium Whole Earth Catalog, some zines, and various online venues) and sometimes it was a review in the form of sculpture/art jewelry. Greg van Eekhout has a fossil piece I made when I was given his first book to read; various other authors have reaction pieces I made when inspired by their work, or by their discussions of doing their work. That sort of thing.

I miss doing that. So I'm going to start up again and see what happens.

If you keep a list for where to send review copies, drop me a line at lionesselise at gmail dot com, or leave contact information here for where I should send you a message. Thanks!
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"The Man Has Left the Moon Tonight. He Trains Some Beams upon the Face of Gladys Atlas in these Woods; Heads of Cabbage - Heads of State" - Donald Roller Wilson, 1974; Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, Gift of Senator and Mrs. Dale Bumpers, 1976

When I was of a certain age in childhood -- twelve? fourteen? wait, I can check this....

Ah. I was sixteen, because it probably happened on the weekend of July 15-17, 1977. How do I know? Because we had left NYC for DC on the afternoon of Wednesday the 13th of July, a few hours before what turned out to be the New York City Blackout of 1977, and our DC relatives and my parents discussed that bit of news over the next few days, as we went on the round of cultural experiences that our DC relatives had assembled for us.

One of those experiences was a visit to the Hirshhorn Museum, which was a fascinating hoop of a building, a doughnut, a tire crafted in concrete and metal and glass rather than in rubber. I saw several pieces of art there which changed my life, and one of them was a truly weird yet realistic painting called "The Man Has Left the Moon Tonight. He Trains Some Beams upon the Face of Gladys Atlas in these Woods; Heads of Cabbage - Heads of State" by artist Donald Roller Wilson. To my inexpressible delight, the link informs me that he is of the school of American Eccentrics.

My parents had to come back to the painting to get me so we could move on through the museum.

Twice.

Anyhow, that painting is somehow connected to how I love speculative fiction, and what I was starting to understand about what art could be for, and so on. I probably haven't made all that much sense in talking about it here, but that's maybe appropriate, because it was an incomprehensible illumination for me at the time. And Gladys Atlas still haunts me. So here is the link at the Smithsonian website: https://collections.si.edu/search/record/hmsg_76.91

Is an artwork still haunting you?
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So, what with one thing and another, I was really needing the release of singing this week. It's been a hard week, even though I did get the relatively good news that my knee pain is not* because of any break or tear. Pain is hard work and it's stress and I use music to deal with those things. Truth be told, I use music to deal with almost anything, and my other arts fit together with that. Anyhow, when we pulled out a random melody line to use, I wound up singing bits of "Chet Baker's Unsung Swan Song," by David Wilcox. (It's a beautiful but in some ways harrowing and heartbreaking song, dealing with the artist's addiction and tragic death as well as the genius of his music, so please know that, when you're deciding if it's a good time to listen to it. If and when you do want to listen, it's here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEBncfBVmxQ .)

The song means a lot to me, and joins a list of songs about hard subjects, songs that unlock something in me that I need to get to sometimes. Do you have songs like that? Or other art, that unlocks something for you?






*I was worried, because it's been hurting more than some fractures have, but it's IT band tendinitis, which I've had before and know some PT to deal with. The best news, from my standpoint anyway, is that walking on it won't damage it, although I should stay off stairs for a while to give it a chance to settle down some. (Those of you who are familiar with my chronic pain saga know that priority one is "Is there damage, and am I making that damage worse?", and that pain is much further down the priority list for a bunch of good reasons which probably need an essay soon.)
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So today I followed a link from some friends and found this poem:

Instructions on Not Giving Up

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

-Ada Limón, 1976


Even after reading it several times, each time I get to the end I feel as if I can breathe a little bit easier, like something has been lifted.

Thank you, poet. Thank you.
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When I commented on a tweet where Terri Windling had mentioned Hammerschoi, saying that Hammershoi and the other artists who studied with or knew the Krøyers were an interesting bunch, she asked me where to learn more about them. After a quick search of my library, I realized I own almost nothing written about them, so I set off to find some links.

I started with Marie Krøyer and Anna Ancher, as those are two artists of the bunch who particularly interested me when I was in Denmark and nearby countries and going to art museums. Well, staying at Skagen and then finding out painters had loved the light there was a huge part of sparking my initial interest, which was strengthened when I found out my sister loves the work of the Krøyers too. And yet, as you'll see, saying "the work of the Krøyers" isn't the straightforward phrase it appears to be, as these people had complicated lives, in work and love and all things. They and their friends and acquaintances left palimpsests of a sort in their work, which fascinate and puzzle and tantalize. Juan and I are still remarking on what the painter of "The Scream" made of the Evening School bunch when he was around them. (Also what commentary on Munch's observations of the social and romantic life of the Skagen artists might be made regarding the painting, which discussion came from seeing a great many of the associated artists' work together, probably at the Hirschsprungske Samling and other Copenhagen museums on our trip there. Sadly, the museum at Skagen was closed when we were there, or I would have found out more about them earlier.)

The Skagen painters were not just painters; sculptors, writers, and composers were part of the flock that gathered in Skagen every summer.

Anyhow, there is so much I don't know about these people, but here, have a tiny start on a list of...

Dramatis Personae:

Marie Triepcke Krøyer Alfvén -- When women wanting to study art were refused entry to the Danish Royal Academy of Fine Arts, she did something about it. And that was just the beginning. There's an overview (part 1 and part 2) at the National Museum of Women in the Arts' website, as well as info on other artists mentioned her.) Husband also painted, and things didn't work out so well between these two.

Anna Brøndum Ancher -- Grew up in Skagen, the only member of the Skagen Painters group to do so, if I recall correctly. Her talent was recognizable from an early age. (Some info at NMWA.) Well known as a great Danish artist. (Here is Girl in the Kitchen 1883-1886.) Husband also painted, which worked out a bit better for Anna than a similar situation had worked out for her friend Marie, above.

I must go have food and then do some work, so I'll leave this here for now and hope to add to it later. Please do recommend sources I might like if you know them! What little I know is from looking at the work in person, and from a book on the pieces in the Hirschsprungske Samling which I cannot find at the moment.

Here's a link to an Facebook group about the work of the Skagen painters, for those who do the Book of Face: https://www.facebook.com/skagenpainters/


elisem: (elf hill)


Lion and Angel Dividing the Maple Between Them

Easy to see
that the lion and angel
are one visitation,
but how do you come
to offer your throat to either?
In autumn, the trees
learn to drop off
both their disguises,
what finally fills them is simple.
The heart's deepest
affections will equally be devoured.
And still we go ankle deep
into that carnage, lifting first one,
then another part up to the light.
As if we were looking for something simple.
As if what we wanted
were not the thing that falls.

- Jane Hirshfield, The Lives of the Heart


I have loved this poem for a long time now. And I love Jane, who is my friend. Also this poem makes me remember another friend, Sharon Bishop, who loved the trees in winter best because then she could see their innermost shapes.

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Elise Matthesen

April 2025

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