Showing posts from April, 2013

Happy Wedding Anniversary William and Jane Morris!

May Morris standing at the gate on the grounds outside Kelmscott Manor William and Jane Morris were married on April 26, 1859, at St.Michael’s Church, Oxford. They traveled on honeymoon to France and Belgium.  In reading through, ‘The Collected Letters of Jane Morris’ I was constantly taking notes of Jane Morris’s references while scouring the bibliography with a fine tooth comb. For someone like myself who has not read ‘everything’ Pre-Raphaelite, I was delighted to come upon two references from friend’s of The Morris’ themselves, a Mr. John Bruce Glasier and Charles Rowley who both wrote books and newspaper articles describing in great detail their meetings with The Morris’.    Since it is the wedding anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Morris, I thought by sharing some of these ‘reminiscences’ it would shed some light on who they were as a couple.   ‘ On my arrival at Kelmscott House, Morris immediately came from his study on the ground floor, and after w

In Celebration of William Shakespeare on his birthday (April 23, 1564-1616)

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world to

Research Led Me Here...(Jane Morris, The Howards & Tennyson)

While reading The Collected Letters of Jane Morris, I found it interesting getting to know Jane Morris much better and shedding some light on such an elusive woman. In her letters written within the year 1870, she mentions close friends George and Rosalind Howard. I'm not familiar with either of them but two things stood out to me: George (James) Howard was the 9th Earl of Carlisle and painted a portrait of Jane and William Morris' daughters Jenny and May Morris. Also, another residence was mentioned Naworth Castle. As usual, I did some digging and thanks to modern technology and International archives, I found some photos of The Howards along with a very close personal friend, Alfred Tennyson!  A photograph of him I have never seen before. I'll add the link as well later on in the post.  GEORGE HOWARD, 9TH DUKE OF CARLISLE AND HIS WIFE ROSALIND outside Castle Howard, Photograph housed at Sothebys George James Howard (1843-1911), later 9th Earl of Carlisle, was L

The Luminist by David Rocklin: A Review:

Photography comprises the bright, tensile thread in the sweep of The Luminist, drawing tight a narrative that shifts between the prejudices and passions of Victorian England and those of colonial Ceylon. It binds the destinies of Catherine Colebrook, the proper wife of a fading diplomat, who rebels against every convention to chase the romance of science through her lens, and Eligius, an Indian teenager thrust into servitude after his father is killed demanding native rights. The Luminist is a weave of legend and history, science and art, politics and domesticity that are symphonic themes in the main title, the story of an enduring and forbidden friendship. Catherine and Eligius must each struggle with internal forces that inspire them and societal pressures that command them. Rocklin’s is a bold landscape, against which an intimate drama is poignantly played out. Just in this way, our minds recall in every detail the photo snapped at the moment of pain, while all the lov