happy halloween!

thanks wikimedia commons {PD-US-not renewed}

Though this is a magazine cover from January (1931), I think it's perfect for today - Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. I love how typically thirties-elegant this black cat looks even though it's supposed to be scary. Besides, look past the puffed-up fur and the arched back and you see it's only a skinny little kitty. Tonight we'll try to grab the black feral girl cat that adopted our porch and hide her inside in a dog crate till the holiday is over.

"Ghost Stories" was one of a number of pulp titles published by the magazine editor Harold Hersey, whose Wikipedia page begins by describing him as "a pulp editor and publisher, and published several volumes of poetry." Doesn't that sound dicey? But then you learn he worked with Margaret Sanger and corresponded with Ezra Pound, so he really did have fine talents. Publishing good pulp mags is a talent, too, I think.

Happy Halloween, my friends!

the dogs jumped over the artist

thank you wikimedia commons {PD}

This is Polish artist Julian Falat's "Self-Portrait from Palette" (at least that's how it was translated). This is an oil on canvas, but Falat (1853 - 1929) was one of Poland's most prolific watercolorists and also a leading Impressionist. He accepted an invitation to become Emperor Wilhelm II's court painter in Berlin in 1886. I wonder if he was still doing that when he painted this ten years later; I don't know if he was, but this piece has a playful, lighthearted feel to it that I much doubt would fly at the Imperial court. Speaking of flying - who paints dogs seemingly soaring through the air? Julian Falat does, I guess, and it's magical to see. I wish that were my wall at home.

There's a Falat museum in his modest white villa in the town of Bielsko-Biala. You can read a little bit about it, and him, here.

vintage photo time

thank you ampersand

(Is it just me or is Blogger behaving strangely lately? But anyway.)

I wish I had even the littlest clue about this one! I couldn't resist it - she's all neat and tidy and so proud of her horse. She even looks a little like her horse if you ask me, and I mean that in a good way for that's a fine looking creature.

meet carol delorenzo's cider and star

image copyright and by kindest permission of carol delorenzo

San Luis Obispo artist Carol DeLorenzo worked in pastel and pencil for most of her life. Then, ten years ago, her husband gave her the Valentine's Day gift of a watercolor class, and you see here the sweet result: a portrait of her cats, dreamy and serene. Look at the orange and white cat's delicate pink nose, and the strong marbling of the gray tabby's fur. Well handled.

Carol wrote something specially for the Museum about this piece, and I'm so happy to share this treat with you!

* * *

Cider and Star: A Tale of Two Beloved Rescue Kitties

Cider and Star were the best of friends. They did everything together and were never far apart. Cider was an orange and white furry mini lion. Star was a sleek, silver mini tiger, with beautiful markings.
Snuggling on the sheepskin window seat was the best way to stay warm and enjoy the view…..kind of like being in and out at the same time…..without having to get your paws wet or brave the cold. Snuggled together, they were little heat generators, purring away until they fell asleep.

Just watching them warmed my soul on the coldest day, and inspired me to capture this kitty warmth in a painting.

My art is inspired by the beauty of nature and Spirit. It is about the connection we all share, and I believe The Universe sends it where it needs to go. I donate my art to various rescue groups for horses, felines, dogs, and ocean wildlife. Sharing my art is what makes it meaningful, and I hope to inspire and remind us that we are the caretakers of Mother Earth and all her beautiful creatures. I am honored to share my gallery with you at my Etsy shop.

* * *

And I am honored to introduce you to Carol's work. There's more fine cats at her Etsy site, so do have a look.

black cat hug

thanks wikimedia commons (public domain)

This could not be a sweeter, gentler piece. It's by the Japanese artist Yumeji Takehisa (1884 - 1934), and titled "Kurofuneya." (I've also seen it called "The Mistress of Kurofuneya.") Takehisa was not traditionally schooled, choosing to go his own way with his approach and style. As a result, though he didn't achieve high professional recognition, his work was immensely popular in everyday life. There's a museum about him in his hometown of Okayama; the English version of its site is here, and I do hope you find it charming. I did. Now let us all find a black cat and hug it well.

the happy life of pigs in old new zealand

A selection from a survey of natural history written in 1870. The "Captain King" referred to here would seem to be Captain Henry King, "first Commissioner of Taranaki" and an early white settler. Usually when a non-native species is introduced to a small ecological system disaster ensues (see rabbits, Australia); does anyone know whether the New Zealand pigs returned all this affection with good results for their new island home?

* * *
Perhaps the oddest amusement with which the New Zealanders have ever recreated themselves is one that only occurred some sixty years ago, and is not likely to be reproduced. About that date Captain King took away two New Zealanders to Norfolk Island for the purpose of teaching the settlers the art of flax-dressing.

When he came back to restore them to their homes, he planted a quantity of maize, which was then new in the country, and presented the natives with three pigs. Most of them had never seen any animal larger than a cat, and the others, who had a vague recollection of seeing horses on board Captain Cook's vessel, naturally mistook them for those animals. Thinking them to be horses, they treated them as horses, and speedily rode two of them to death. The third did not come to a better end, for it strayed into a burial ground, and was killed by the indignant natives.

Nowadays the Maories understand pigs far too well to ride them. Pigs have become quite an institution in New Zealand. Every village is plentifully populated with pigs...Little pigs may be seen tottering about the houses, and the natives, especially the women, pet pigs exactly as European women pet dogs and cats. They carry them in their arms, fondle and pet them; and nothing is more common than to see a young girl unfold her mantle and discover a pig nestling under its folds.

- From The natural history of man: being an account of the manners and customs of the uncivilized races of men(Argh! That title! - Curator), John George Wood (London: Georeg Routledge and Sons, 1870) Volume 2 p. 135-136

a romantic poet adopts "the zombi"

English poet Robert Southey (1774-1843) accomplished a number of interesting things during his lifetime: he was Poet Laureate of England; he was the first to print the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears (seriously!); he wrote a biography of Lord Nelson that's still considered the standard; he was a good friend of fellow poets Coleridge and Robert Lovell, and took in their wives and children after Lovell died and Coleridge took a powder.
That's just the short list, so you can gather that this was a fellow with a generous and inquiring spirit. So you won't be surprised to learn that Southey really liked cats. And I'm thrilled to learn that he christened one of his feline family "The Zombi."
Which is another one on the list of Best Cat Names Ever.
He wrote a letter to his friend Grosvenor Bedford about acquiring and naming The Zombi; it's in his collected letters, and I'll give you a digest of it.
***
April 3 1821
Now to a more important subject. (He's just gotten word the King liked one of his recent pieces, but eh, moving on - Curator) You were duly apprised towards the end of the year of Othello's death. Since that lamented event this house was cat-less, till on Saturday, March 24., Mrs. Calvert, knowing how grievously we were annoyed by rats, offered me what she described as a fine full-grown black cat, who was moreover a tom. She gave him an excellent character in all points but one, which was that he was a most expert pigeon-catcher; and as they had a pigeon house, this propensity rendered it necessary to pass sentence upon him either of transportation or of death. Moved by compassion (his colour and his tomship also being taken into consideration), I consented to give him an asylum, and on the evening of that day here he came in a sack. . . .When the sack was opened, the kitchen door, which leads into the passage, was open also, and the cat disappeared . . .Food, therefore, was placed where he would be likely to find it in the night; and at the unanimous desire of the children, I took upon myself the charge of providing him with a name, for it is not proper that a cat should remain without one. Taking into consideration his complexion, as well as his sex . . .it presently occurred to me that the Zombi would be an appellation equally appropriate and more dignified. The Zombi, therefore, he was named.
* * *
The Zombi promptly showed his gratitude by hiding in the basement and screaming his head off in the wee hours of Sunday morning, for no reason anyone in the house could figure out, upon which Southey closes his letter with the questions:
* * *
1. Had he seen the devil?
2. Was he making love to himself?
3. Was he engaged in single combat with himself?
4. Was he attempting to raise the devil by invocation?
5. Had he heard me sing, and was he attempting (vainly) to imitate it?
These queries, you will perceive, all proceed upon the supposition that it was the Zombi who made the noise. But I have further to ask,—
6. Was it the devil?
7. Was it Jeffery ? (an unhappy imp, apparently - Curator)
8. Were either of these personages tormenting the Zombi?
I have only to add that from that time to this he continues in the same obstinate retirement, and to assure you that I remain, Mr. Bedford,
With the highest consideration, Yours as ever,
Robert Southey.

Southey never did find out!  Selections from the Letters of Robert Southey, John Wood Warter, ed. (London: Longman, Brown, Green, Longmans, & Roberts, 1856) pp. 241 - 23

curator says hi

Hi everyone! Just a note to say I'm still getting better from a bad back, and that's why I haven't been posting as much. But I miss everyone and plan to have a post within the next 24 hours. See you soon!

vintage photo time

somewhere in fremont

"Bumps and Mickey." That is all.

spain, 1650's: boy, dog, fleas

thanks wikimedia {PD-Art}

Pedro Nuñez de Villavicencio (1635-1700) was a student of the great Spanish painter Murillo, and this intimate work shows that he had some of his master's feel for the telling, humble detail. This is all the more wonderful to me since I learned that he actually came from an aristocratic family in Seville and meant when young to go into the military. I would imagine that he would have had next to no experience of ordinary and poorer folk, so he had to have sought them out. Or perhaps Seville at the time was just one of those cities where all people high and low happened to mix, like New York now.

What a funny face on that dog. . . is he enjoying that? Kind of?

briar in the fall

You hardly ever get a look at Briar here at the Museum. And that's not fair, so here's Briar doing one of the things he loves best*: upland bird hunting in eastern Washington state. This is his "I know we've been out all day but I don't wanna go back in the truck" face.

*other things: putting Elizabeth's head in his mouth; lying around belly up on the couch; collecting chewy hooves; going after that wily squirrel in the backyard; pointing finches

about cats: this is so unfair

It can not be denied that cats, generally speaking, are proud in their disposition, refusing to associate with strangers, repudiating familiarity, and daintily turning up their noses at common food, such as dogs would be glad to get. There is a chilling haughtiness about them, even to persons they have known for years, exceedingly repulsive, and often disgusting.
You play with them, you fondle them, you stroke their backs, and scratch their heads, and call them, Poor Pussy; but beware! They will arch their backs, and purr, and appear to respond to your kindness; but a hair turned the wrong way, a careless knock, or even a mere caprice on the part of the cat, and all is over. She becomes a fury, a fiend. Prompt as the stiletto of an Italian brigand to quit its sheath, her steel-like claws come forth from their velvet sheaths, and draw your blood in an instant.
It is pretty to see the little kitten lapping its milk with its rosy tongue, gamboling round its mother, playing with the ball of worsted, with now and then a gesture of affection to its parent, and never presenting an outline that is not extremely graceful. But this little innocent babe, this sportive, playful kitten, will in a few weeks play with as much delight—nay, more—with something very different from a skein of silk or a slipper.
The plaything now is a wretched, terrified mouse, half dead with fright, and covered with bleeding wounds; hither and thither will the cat toss it; now high, now low, now this way, now that; one moment deluding it with the hope of escape, and at the next recapturing it to renew the torture. This is the playfulness of the cat, this is its graceful sportiveness; this is the ball of cotton to-day, and the timorous, cruelly entreated mouse to-morrow.
* * *
What!? I'm appalled, I tell you!
This is from Harper's Magazine (New York: Harper & Bros), vol. 40 March 1870 p. 486. and I don't like it but it is an interesting look at another viewpoint. which is a wrong viewpoint.

a writer's cat: tascha

image by kindest permission of the artist

We have delighted in Tascha before here at The Pet Museum. Here's one of hers that is keeping my writing spirits up even on the toughest days. It's "Blue Typewriter Art Writer Girl with Black Cat," a print from its original acrylic on canvas, dated 2010.

Here's Tascha herself to say a little something:
I am a big time animal lover with a particular fondness for cats. I have one siamese cat named Lily. I grew up with cats my whole life. As an only child the cats were my brothers and sisters. As an adult with no kids, the cats have been my children.

I used to have a portable typewriter that very color. But even these days when I am either keyboarding away or wiggling my favorite black pen in the air, Elizabeth comes to watch. To cheer me on? To tell me it's time to feed her? It simply makes me happy that she's there - and Tascha understands what that feels like.

pointing to pinkham's painterly portraits

Today I'm going to send you right over to the blog Pawesome. They've recently written a post on "The Painterly Pet Portraits of Andrew Pinkham," and anything I say will be overkill. But I can't help but tell you they are majestic, mysterious, and grand. Go on and look!

a cheerful giver

thanks again wikimedia commons (PD-Art)

i love that hat

Hold it, kid! Don't give the dog that cake, it's about as big as he is! No, wait, stop - you're not going to listen, are you?

No. No, he isn't. This is the Dutch painter Jacob Willemsz. Delff's "Portrait of a Boy, Aged Two" (1581) and as we all know, toddlers are not really ace at listening. They are however great at testing you with this exact look on their faces. This beguiling, behatted fellow has an equally cute partner in crime, a pup with a collar almost too fancy for his delicate frame. I can't tell if those are bells on the collar - I hope not; the din would be obnoxious, not least for him.

Why does this little boy hold a basket of fruit? When you're looking at a Dutch painting of this time, you know at least one of the accessories has got to be there for some reason, a secret message if you will. The guess I have right now has to do with the pears on top. Pears have been used in Christian art as a symbol of Christ's love for mankind, which was a good protective charm for a child in a century where young ones died far too often. At the same time, Delff would have been mindful of Christ as the ultimate giver of good things, and I do wonder if he's been daringly tongue-in-cheek having the boy offer his buddy a cake of bread.

This is an image full of liveliness, hope, good wishes, and not least a celebration of the age-old complicity between kids and dogs. Some things just don't change, and yay for that.