Finally, a few moments of time to write about Hopper. Today was one of those days where I really felt like staying in bed for an eternity. (I did in fact lay around the house until 4pm!) I spent time flipping through my notes from Boston, both from my enlightening conference and the trip as a whole. I also walked through, for perhaps the twenty-third time, the book of postcards (or as I think of it, the cheap alternative to the exhibition's book) that I picked up at the museum book store.
The exhibit was set up in four rooms, each devoted to one or several periods of Hopper's visual eras. The rooms were packed with people speaking a multitude of languages, looking at the art close and from afar, dancing around each in search of a better view. I weaved my way through the maze of people, getting as close as I could to the paintings I had only seen in Mark Strand's book and those I had never had the priveledge of viewing. There is something magical about seeing the majority of an artist's life pasted on the walls, in the same place. I felt like I could truly SEE the progression, and the changes, and the strokes, and the beauty in each work as it related to the next.
Someone was saying
something about shadows covering the field, about
how things pass, how one sleeps towards morning
and the morning goes.
More soon, but for now, enjoy the poem above...the link features Mark Strand reading "From the Long Sad Party" of which this stanza is the first. These four lines describe some of Hopper's paintings....look at Cape Cod Morning
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