Mighty Reader and I have been away, to Our Nation's Capitol and to The City That Never Sleeps. I finished Treasure Island in a studio apartment in beautiful Capitol Heights and began reading a collection of Abraham Lincoln's letters. In beautiful Brooklyn I purchased a copy of Clarice Lispector's Near to the Wild Heart, which I have not begun to read yet. There were a number of Lispector novels on the shelf at Greenlight Bookstore, and of course I bought the one with the James Joyce reference in the title. My attorney, Salvatore, had read the novel long ago and could not vouch for it, which I also took as a sign. Salvatore and I bonded over the complete stories of John Cheever a million-and-a-half years ago.
While in DC and NYC, Mighty Reader and I gazed long at several Vermeers
and Turners. I appreciate a Vermeer, but I find that I am increasingly
smitten with the works of Mr Turner, especially his later paintings when
he moved away from figurative art and focused on light and color.
Though I am a sucker for his maritime subjects once he got past the
Dutch influence of ships tossed by a storm. The thing about Mr Turner,
though (and I've said this before), is that he teaches the viewer that
the sky is the largest part of any landscape, that the works of Nature
and of Man are tiny things at the feet of the heavens, nearly invisible
from the great heights of the clouds.
We took in a show in Brooklyn: the Anbessa Orchestra in concert (a gig
in the tiny tiny tiny backroom of Barbes, a sweet little club that Mr
and Mrs Salvatore could vouch for). The Anbessa Orchestra plays a sort of 1960-70s Ethiopian horn-based pop music. Very nice indeed.