sábado, 31 de dezembro de 2016

Com votos de Bom Ano Novo!

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.”

sexta-feira, 30 de dezembro de 2016

No Dia da Sagrada Família

Machado de Castro (atribuído), Virgem, Menino Jesus e São José (c. 1770-1780, Museu de Aveiro)
In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
in the bleak midwinter, long ago.

 Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain;
heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ. 

 Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
but his mother only, in her maiden bliss,
worshiped the beloved with a kiss. 

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

quinta-feira, 29 de dezembro de 2016

Dos pastores

Giorgione, The Adoration of the Shepherds (1500-1510, National Gallery of Art, Washington)

quarta-feira, 28 de dezembro de 2016

Ainda o Presépio

Giotto, Instituição do Presépio em Greccio (Igreja de São Francisco, Assis)
«Parece que o mais antigo presépio que se conhece data do ano de 380 e foi descoberto nas Catacumbas de São Sebastião, em Roma. Aparece o Menino Jesus deitado numa espécie de mesa, estando o burrinho e a vaquinha do estábulo junto dele.
Mas foi precisamente no dia 24 de dezembro de 1229 que, pela primeira vez, também em Itália, na aldeia de Greccio, São Francisco de Assis se lembrou de dizer a Missa num ambiente muito especial!
Mandou colocar um altar em cima de uma manjedoura cheia de feno verdadeiro, e de cada lado deste altar mandou que ficassem um burrinho e uma vaquinha também verdadeiros. Depois começou a dizer a Missa.
Ao chegar ao momento da Consagração, todos viram que de repente apareceu uma criança a dormir sobre a manjedoura que estava por baixo do altar. S. Francisco de Assis então aproximou-se e acordou o Menino, que era Jesus...»
Maria Alberta Menéres, O Livro do Natal.

terça-feira, 27 de dezembro de 2016

Dia de São João Evangelista

Hieronymus Bosch, Saint John The Evangelist On Patmos (1485)
Andrea Della Robbia, São João Evangelista (1510, Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga)
Guido Reni, São João (1621, Bob Jones University (BJU), Greenville, SC, US)
São João Evangelista (Séc. XVIII, Museu de Aveiro)

segunda-feira, 26 de dezembro de 2016

Ainda o Natal

Eastman Johnson, Christmas Time (also known as The Blodgett Family) (1864)

sexta-feira, 23 de dezembro de 2016

quinta-feira, 22 de dezembro de 2016


... de uma exposição que vi em Fevereiro deste ano, da Colecção de Canha da Silva, no Convento de São Francisco, em Évora.

Nossa Senhora do Ó

Virgen de la Esperanza (séc. XIII, Catedral de Leon)
Mestre Pêro ?, Nossa Senhora do Ó (séc. XIV, Museu de Lamego)

Piero della Francesca, Madonna del Parto (1467, Monterchi, Sansepolcro
Date 1467)

quarta-feira, 21 de dezembro de 2016

Chegou o Inverno

Inverno no Mosaico dos Atletas Vencedores (sécs. II-III, Musée gallo-romain de Saint-Romain-en-Gal-Vienne)
Hendrick Avercamp, Paysage d’hiver avec un château (1608, Bergen Kunst Museum)
Paul Gauguin, Winter Landscape (1879, Budapest Museum of Fine Arts, Budapeste)
Vilhelms Purvitis, Winter (1910)
Wassily Kandinsky, Winter Landscape (1911)
Nicolas Roerich, Winter Landscape (1918)
Toshi Yoshida, Birds of the Seasons - Winter (1985)

terça-feira, 20 de dezembro de 2016

História das Rosas de Natal

Claude Monet, Christmas roses (1883)
«ROBBER MOTHER, who lived in Robbers' Cave in Göinge forest, went down to the village one day on a begging tour. (...)
Now that Robber Mother went from house to house and begged, she came one day to Övid, which at that time was a cloister. (...)
The entire cloister was surrounded by a high and strong wall, but the youngster had managed to find a little back gate which stood ajar. When Robber Mother got there, she pushed the gate open and walked inside without asking leave, as it was her custom to do. Övid Cloister was managed at that time by Abott Hans, who knew all about herbs. Just within the cloister wall he had planted a little herb garden, and it was into this that the old women had forced her way.
At first glance Robber Mother was so astonished that she paused at the gate. It was high summertide, and Abbot Hans' garden was so full of flowers that the eyes were fairly dazzled by the blues, reds, and yellows, as one looked into it. But presently an indulgent smile spread over her features, and she started to walk up a narrow path that lay between many flower-beds.
When Abbot Hans came out in the garden, Robber Mother was still wandering among the flower-beds. He regarded her with astonishment. He was certain that Robber Mother had never before seen an herb garden; yet she sauntered leisurely between all the small patches, each of which had been planted with its own species of rare flower, and looked at them as if they were old acquaintances. At some she smiled, at others she shook her head.
Robber Mother turned defiantly toward Abbot Hans, for she expected only to be trapped and overpowered. But when she noticed his white hair and bent form, she answered peaceably, "First, when I saw this, I thought I had never seen a prettier garden; but now I see that it can't be compared with one I know of."
(...) Abbot Hans had heard it said that on every Christmas Eve the forest was dressed in holiday glory. He had often longed to see it, but he had never had the good fortune. Eagerly he begged and implored Robber Mother that he might come up to the Robbers' Cave on Christmas Eve. If she would only send one of her children to show him the way, he could ride up there alone, and he would never betray them—on the contrary, he would reward them, in so far as it lay in his power.
Robber Mother said no at first, for she was thinking of Robber Father and of the peril which might befall him should she permit Abbot Hans to ride up to their cave. At the same time the desire to prove to the monk that the garden which she knew was more beautiful than his got the better of her, and she gave in.
"But more than one follower you cannot take with you," said she, "and you are not to waylay us or trap us, as sure as you are a holy man."
This Abbot Hans promised, and then Robber Mother went her way. Abbot Hans commanded the lay brother not to reveal to a soul that which had been agreed upon. He feared that the monks, should they learn of his purpose, would not allow a man of his years to go up to the Robbers' Cave.
Nor did he himself intend to reveal his project to a human being. And then it happened that Archbishop Absalon from Lund came to Övid and remained through the night. When Abbot Hans was showing him the herb garden, he got to thinking of Robber Mother's visit, and the lay brother, who was at work in the garden, heard Abbot Hans telling the Bishop about Robber Father, who these many years had lived as an outlaw in the forest, and asking him for a letter of ransom for the man, that he might lead an honest life among respectable folk. "As things are now," said Abbot Hans, "his children are growing up into worse malefactors than himself, and you will soon have a whole gang of robbers to deal with up there in the forest."
Then Abbot Hans grew zealous and told the Bishop all about Göinge forest, which, every year at Yuletide, clothed itself in summer bloom around the Robbers' Cave. "If these bandits are not so bad but that God's glories can be made manifest to them, surely we cannot be too wicked to experience the same blessing."
The Archbishop knew how to answer Abbot Hans. "This much I will promise you, Abbot Hans," he said, smiling, "that any day you send me a blossom from the garden in Göinge forest, I will give you letters of ransom for all the outlaws you may choose to plead for."
The lay brother apprehended that Bishop Absalom believed as little in this story of Robber Mother's as he himself; but Abbot Hans perceived nothing of the sort, but thanked Absalon for his good promise and said that he would surely send him the flower.
Abbot Hans had his way. And the following Christmas Eve he did not sit at home with his monks in Övid Cloister, but was on his way to Göinge forest. One of Robber Mother's wild youngsters ran ahead of him, and close behind him was the lay brother who had talked with Robber Mother in the herb garden.
Abbot Hans had been longing to make this journey, and he was very happy now that it had come to pass.
It turned out to be a long and hazardous ride through the forest. They climbed steep and slippery side paths, crawled over swamp and marsh, and pushed through windfall and bramble. Just as daylight was waning, the robber boy guided them across a forest meadow, skirted by tall, naked leaf trees and green fir trees. (...)
Abbot Hans walked boldly into the cave, and the lay brother followed. Here were wretchedness and poverty! And nothing was done to celebrate Christmas. Robber Mother had neither brewed nor baked; she had neither washed nor scoured. The youngsters were lying on the floor around a kettle, eating; but no better food was provided for them than a watery gruel.
Abbot Hans looked him fearlessly in the eyes. "It is my purpose to get a letter of ransom for you from Archbishop Absalon," said he. He had hardly finished speaking when the robber and his wife burst out laughing. They knew well enough the kind of mercy a forest robber could expect from Bishop Absalon!
"Oh, if I get a letter of ransom from Absalon," said Robber Father, "then I'll promise you that never again will I steal so much as a goose." (...)
Suddenly Robber Mother rose. "You sit here and talk, Abbot Hans," she said, "so that we are forgetting to look at the forest. Now I can hear, even in this cave, how the Christmas bells are ringing."
When the bells had been ringing a few moments, a sudden illumination penetrated the forest; the next moment it was dark again, and then the light came back. It pushed its way forward between the stark trees, like a shimmering mist. This much it effected: The darkness merged into a faint daybreak. Then Abbot Hans saw that the snow had vanished from the ground, as if someone had removed a carpet and the earth began to take on a green covering. Then the ferns shot up their fronds, rolled like a bishop's staff. The heather that grew on the stony hills and the bog-myrtle rooted in the ground moss dressed themselves quickly in the bloom. The mosstufts thickened and raised themselves, and the spring blossoms shot upward their swelling buds, which already had a touch of colour.
Abbot Hans' heart beat fast as he marked the first signs of the forest's awakening. "Old man that I am, shall I behold such a miracle?" thought he, and the tears wanted to spring to his eyes. Again it grew so hazy that he feared the darkness would once more cover the earth; but almost immediately there came a new wave of light. It brought with it the splash of rivulet and the rush of cataract. Then the leaves of the trees burst into bloom, as if a swarm of green butterflies came flying and clustered on the branches. It was not only trees and plants that awoke, but crossbeaks hopped from branch to branch, and the woodpeckers hammered on the limbs until the splinters fairly flew around them. A flock of starlings from up country lighted in a fir top to rest. They were paradise starlings. The tips of each tiny feather shone in brilliant reds, and, as the birds moved, they glittered like so many jewels.
Abbot Hans thought of the flower he was to pluck for Bishop Absalom; but each new flower that appeared was more beautiful than the others, and he wanted to choose the most beautiful of all.
But the light kept streaming in, and now it seemed to Abbot Hans that it carried with it something from an infinite distance. He felt a celestial atmosphere enfolding him, and tremblingly he began to anticipate, now that earth's joys had come, that the glories of heaven were approaching.
All the while the birds had been circling around the head of Abbot Hans, and they let him take them in his hands. But all the animals were afraid of the lay brother; no bird perched on his shoulder, no snake played at his feet. Then there came a little forest dove. When she marked that the angels were nearing, she plucked up courage and flew down on the lay brother's shoulder and laid her head against his cheek.
Then it appeared to him as if sorcery were come right upon him, to tempt and corrupt him. He struck with his hands at the forest dove and cried in such a loud voice that it rang throughout the forest, "Go thou back to hell, whence thou art come!"
But when the lay brother's words sounded, their song was hushed and the holy guests turned in flight. At the same time the light and the mild warmth vanished in unspeakable terror for the darkness and cold in a human heart. Darkness sank over the earth, like a coverlet; frost came, all the growths shrivelled up; the animals and birds hastened away; the rushing of streams was hushed; the leaves dropped from the trees, rustling like rain.
Abbot Hans felt how his heart, which had but lately swelled with bliss, was now contracting with insufferable agony. "I can never outlive this," thought he, "that the angels from heaven had been so close to me and were driven away; that they wanted to sing Christmas carols for me and were driven to flight."
Then he remembered the flower he had promised Bishop Absalon, and at the last moment he fumbled among the leaves and moss to try and find a blossom. But he sensed how the ground under his fingers froze and how the white snow came gliding over the ground. Then his heart caused him even greater anguish. He could not rise, but fell prostrate on the ground and lay there.
When the robber folk and the lay brother had groped their way back to the cave, they missed Abbot Hans. They took brands with them and went out to search for him. They found him dead upon the coverlet of snow.
Then the lay brother began weeping and lamenting, for he understood that it was he who had killed Abbot Hans because he had dashed from him the cup of happiness which he had been thirsting to drain to its last drop.
When Abbot Hans had been carried down to Övid, those who took charge of the dead saw that he held his right hand locked tight around something which he must have grasped at the moment of death. When they finally got his hand opened, they found the thing which he held in such an iron grip was a pair of white root bulbs, which he had torn from among the moss and leaves.
When the lay brother who had accompanied Abbot Hans saw the bulbs, he took them and planted them in Abbot Hans' herb garden. He guarded them the whole year to see if any flower would spring from them. But in vain he waited through the spring, the summer, and the autumn. Finally, when winter had set in and all the leaves and the flowers were dead, he ceased caring for them.
But when Christmas Eve came again, he was so strongly reminded of Abbot Hans that he wandered out into the garden to think of him. And look! As he came to the spot where he had planted the bare root bulbs, he saw that from them had sprung flourishing green stalks, which bore beautiful flowers with silver white leaves.
He called out all the monks at Övid, and when they saw this plant bloomed on Christmas Eve, when all the other growths were as if dead, they understood that this flower had in truth been plucked by Abbot Hans from the Christmas garden in Göinge forest. Then the lay brother asked the monks if he might take a few blossoms to Bishop Absalon.
And when he appeared before Bishop Absalon, he gave him the flowers and said: "Abbot Hans sends you these. They are the flowers he promised to pick for you from the garden in Göinge forest." When Bishop Absalon beheld the flowers, which had sprung from the earth in darkest winter, and heard the words, he turned as pale as if he had met a ghost. He sat in silence a moment; thereupon he said, "Abbot Hans has faithfully kept his word and I shall also keep mine." And he ordered that a letter of ransom be drawn up for the wild robber who was outlawed and had been forced to live in the forest ever since his youth.
He handed the letter to the lay brother, who departed at once for the Robbers Cave. When he stepped in there on Christmas Day, the robber came toward him with axe uplifted. "I'd like to hack you monks to bits, as many as you are!" said he. "It must be your fault that Göinge forest did not last night dress itself in Christmas bloom."
"That fault is mine alone," said the lay brother, "and I will gladly die for it; but first I must deliver a message from Abbot Hans." And he drew forth the Bishop's letter and told the man that he was free. "Hereafter you and your children shall play in the Christmas straw and celebrate your Christmas among people, just as Abbot Hans wished to have it." said he.
Then Robber Father stood there pale and speechless, but Robber Mother said in his name, "Abbot Hans has indeed kept his word, and Robber Father will keep his."
When the robber and his wife left the cave, the lay brother moved in and lived all alone in the forest, in constant meditation and prayer that his hard-heartedness might be forgiven him.
But Göinge forest never again celebrated the hour of our Saviour's birth; and of all its glory, there lives to-day only the plant which Abbot Hans had plucked. It has been named CHRISTMAS ROSE. And each year at Christmastide she sends forth from the earth her green stalks and white blossoms, as if she never could forget that she had once grown in the great Christmas garden at Göinge forest.»
Selma Lagerlöf.

segunda-feira, 19 de dezembro de 2016


Painel de azulejos de padrão de camélias (1680-1690, Museu Nacional do Azulejo)
Manufactura de Edouard Honoré, Prato "Camélia" (1830-1840, Palácio Nacional da Ajuda)
Henri Fantin-Latour, Flowers camelias and tulips (1862)
José de Almeida e Silva, Jarro com camélias (1906, Museu Nacional de Soares dos Reis)
Ilya Mashkov, Still life with camellias (1914-1915)

sexta-feira, 16 de dezembro de 2016

E outra chávena de chá

Aguarela de Fernanda Matos e Silva (minha avó)
Ontem descobri que a nossa palavra chávena vem da palavra chinesa "chawan" que é uma tigela para preparar e beber chá. Cf.: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chawan.

Mais chá com afinidades

Mary Cassatt, Lady at the Tea Table (1885)
Columbano Bordalo Pinheiro, Five O'clock tea (1896, Museu Nacional de Belas Artes, Rio de Janeiro)

quinta-feira, 15 de dezembro de 2016

No dia do chá

Conta uma lenda chinesa (que li ou ouvi há pouco tempo, mas não sei onde) que foi Shennong, um imperador da China, que terá inventado a agricultura e a medicina, que também descobriu o chá, cerca de 2737 a.C. A descoberta ter-se-á dado quando bebia uma chávena de água fervida e umas folhas de uma árvore próxima voram até à sua água, mudando-lhe a sua cor. O imperador deu um golo e ficou agradavelmente surpreendido com a bebida (cf. Wikipedia).
Arita (Japão), Taça de chá (Período Edo, 1630-1650)
Toyota Hokkei, Tea things 
Serviço de chá (1830-1840, MNAA, Lisboa)
Mary Cassatt, The cup of tea (1879, Leeds Art Gallery, Leeds)
Elin Kleopatra Danielson-Gambogi, Sisters (1891)
Adriano de Sousa Lopes, Cesto de uvas (Museu do Chiado - MNAC, Lisboa)
Eduardo Viana, Interior - Serviço de chá e torradas (1914?, MNSR, Porto)
Samuel Peploe, Blue and white teapot (1917)
Dinah Fried, «Alice in Wonderland», in Fictious Dishes
Mais do mesmo in «E o chá» (7 de Fevereiro de 2014)

quarta-feira, 14 de dezembro de 2016

Da soberania na Natividade

Fra Angelico, A Virgem da Humildade (1445, Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, Madrid)
«Tomemos o caso do estrado. Se Angelico nos apresenta a Virgem sentada sobre um trono sobreposto a um estrado, não se trata de uma invenção sem motivo. Em todas as civilizações, o estrado é a marca da soberania, do poder real. É o mesmo para a arcada. Em si, deste modo, o símbolo do estrado é tão geral que se torna vago. Ele exprime somente a dignidade soberana da Virgem. Mas, no século XV, é uma variante da cena da Coroação da Virgem (...).»
Sandro Botticelli, A Natividade Mística (1530)
«Como o estrado, o tecto é um sinal de dignidade. Encontramo-lo particularmente associado ao tema da Natividade. Ele aparece geralnente como um pequeno edifício aberto (*), formado por um tecto de palha sobre uns suportes de madeira. (...) Notamos sobretudo que, muito frequentemente, o tema morfológico do tecto está ligado a outro tema, o da rocha, ou mais exactamente da gruta (...). Mais tarde, o carácter rústico do tecto atenua-se (...).»
In Pierre Francastel, La Rélité Figurative, pp. 216-217 (tradução minha).
Piero della Francesca, Natividade (1470-1475, National Gallery, Londres)
Pietro Perugino, Natividade (Yale University Art Gallery (1496-1500, Yale University, New Haven)
(*) De facto na Bíblia não é referido com excatidão como era o local onde Jesus nasceu. São Lucas (2, 7) diz apenas: «(...) envolveu em panos e recostou numa manjedoira, por não haver para eles lugar na hospedaria. (...)».