and only time to go

little rhyme or reason today, other than mystery and color,
and when are mystery and color not enough?

wishing to learn more about this wondrously surrounded verse (from the los angeles county museum collection) i came across an equally wondrous bookstore. (my suggestion? click everything.)

and here's a mystery: is an extraordinary print from one katherine h macdonald. gerrie ran this print back in august '10, which is the same image but clearly another print of it. i found it on an auction site in the UK. i probably went looking for her work after reading his blog, but the big question is.... why have neither of us been able to find anything by her of this level of quality and expertise?! (and only a bare few of lesser quality).

I ASK not riches, and I ask not power,
Nor in her revel rout shall Pleasure view
Me ever, — a far sweeter nymph I woo.
Hail, sweet Retirement!
lead me to thy bower,
Where fair Content has spread
her loveliest flower,
Of more enduring, though less gaudy hue,
Than Pleasure scatters to her giddy crew;
Nor let aught break upon thy sacred hour,
Save some true friend,
of pure congenial soul;
To such the latchet of my wicket-gate
Let me lift freely, glad to share the dole
Fortune allows me, whether small or great,
And a warm heart, that knows not the control
Of Fortune, and defies the frown of Fate.

Henry Francis Cary

want another mystery? so (found on ebay) who the heck is hoobey??! is this some name i made up because i didn't know hoo had done it? but it's quite nice, don't you think? [and we have a winner. the artist is John Hall Thorpe -- thanks, charles!]

and of course it's never a mystery why anyone would want more cuno amiet. his color falls like rain.

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon.
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea.
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreath'ed horn.

William Wordsworth 2

and if i may, a little mystery now: who's signature and work is this? i've had it in my files for almost three years now with nary a clue. (signature clarified for clarity.)

and at last perhaps a guess at my methods: in my last dream last night, this morning, everything suddenly went black and white!

and a one... and a two....