dogs for your drapes

Courtesy of the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields

Considering how alertly these hunting dogs leap upon the boars and hinds in this panel, I'm surprised at how calm the leopards appear.  The object's page at the Indianapolis Museum of Art doesn't indicate where it was made; were leopards part of the scenery there, or did a European workshop include them to show the valor of the patron's hounds? This textile was made circa 1600, and still retains luscious color. 

revolutionary dog truce

british library flickr

Germantown, Pennsylvania, October 1777:  American and British troops face each other across the battlefield. They've been doing this since the 4th of October under the commands of Sir William Howe (British) and George Washington (American).  Washington's plan was to surround and entrap the British from all four sides.  Because the American forces weren't as experienced as their opponents, this didn't quite work, and resulted in a defeat for the American forces.
The Battle of Germantown may have been an overall loss, but there was one small win for the Colonies on October 6: a short cease fire was called so the Americans could return a small dog to his owner...his British owner, Sir William Howe.  A terrier with Howe's name on his collar had been found unharmed but grubby on the battlefield.  Washington had the little guy cleaned and fed, then escorted back to Howe under a flag of truce with a note:

General Washington's compliments to General Howe - He does himself the pleasure to return him a dog, which by its collar appears to belong to him accidentally fell into his hands, and by the inscription on the collar appears to belong to his Excellency Sir William General Howe.  

Strikeouts are as in original note (and the habit of addressing nobility obviously dies hard, it seems). Want to see it?  I found it here. 

PS: Your friendly Curator has been in the middle of a major move for a while now and that's not going to settle down quite yet.  Stay tuned, and I'll post as I can. 

"on a favourite dog" c. 1715

thanks british library flickr (PD)

Mary Monck (Irish, d. 1715)  was the second daughter of the first Viscount Molesworth; the wife of George Monck of Dublin; accomplished in Latin, Spanish and Italian; and a poet whose verse was published by her father after her death.  In that slim volume, titled Marinda: Poems and Translations upon Several Occasions, there's the following short and tender reflection:

On a Favourite Dog
Press gently on him, earth, and all around
Ye flowers spring up, and deck th' enamelled ground,
Breathe forth your choicest odours, and perfume
With all your fragrant sweets his little tomb.

This was likely in honor of her father's white greyhound, who died in 1714 and in whose honor a monument was raised near the family's English estate in Yorkshire.  You can see that monument and read more on its history here. (Scroll to page 2.)

Poem found in:  Squire, John Collings, Sir, 1884-1958. A Book of Women's Verse. Oxford: The Clarendon press, 1921, p. 48.

seal of approval

2100 BC, Mesopotamia: it's another day at the brickworks, and you've just impressed the official stamp on a fresh, moist, kiln-bound brick.  So who let the dog in?  To learn a little more, here's the brick's page at the British Museum.

drink to the dogs

Gift of Ernest Brummer, 1957 www.metmuseum.org

Perhaps this was a hunting cup: one hand on your weapons, one on your wine (so, one handled), and round the rim of the cup homage to the very dogs that were helping you chase down the prey.  This is a Greek skyphos, a deep cup, dating from the late 8th to the early 7th century B.C.   See where the handle's been placed?  Imagine holding that.  It probably helped stabilize the beverage.  Here's this item's original page at the Met if you would like to learn a little more.

amsterdam blep

www.rijksmuseum.nl (PD)
http://hdl.handle.net/10934/RM0001.COLLECT.111262

Longtime Museum friends know that I often wish books still included decorations like this: at the end or beginning of a chapter, perhaps, or at the bottom of the page because why not.  This particular one was etched sometime in the mid-1700's by Simon Fokke (Dutch, 1712-84), who made his living on tiny portraits and book vignettes.  Whomever commissioned this tiny treasure must have had a sense of humor, because when you look closely....

Blep!

Or whatever you personally call a happy stuck-out dog tongue.

wordless vintage wednesday redux

from the museum collection

thoughtful

flickr, no known copyright

The holidays are over.  In January's chill, the scene at the Museum is basically this without the artistic embellishments of 1874: older dog relaxing, cats wondering what they can get into.  Have a closer look:

If you're curious, here's how this looks on the book page.  You may notice that this is one of those books of "improving" poetry of which the 19th century was so fond, which I think rolls over into the slightly grim feel of the illustrations: a sly kitty, heavy funereal-looking wreaths.

a new take on chasing a dog

In which the English cleric and wit Sydney Smith finds himself at Sir Edwin Landseer's studio chasing down a dog in the oddest way...

* * *
Sydney Smith was once visiting the Landseer studio, and his eye chanced to light on the picture of a very peculiar-looking dog.
“Yes, it's a queer picture of a queer dog. The drawing is bad enough, and never pleased me!” And Landseer picked up the picture and gave it a toss out of the window. “You may have it if you care to go get it,” he carelessly remarked to the visitor. Smith made haste to run downstairs and out of the house to secure his prize. He found it lodged in the branches of a tree.
In telling the tale years afterward, Smith remarked that, whereas many men had climbed trees to evade dogs, yet he alone of all men had once climbed a tree to secure one.

-- from Hubbard, Elbert, 1856-1915. Little Journeys to the Homes of Eminent Painters. Miriam ed East Aurora, N.Y.: The Roycrofters, 1911-12. p, 123-4.

happy new year!

found on pinterest, believed PD

(Obligatory don't-feed-your-pets-champagne statement here.)
Happy New Year, Museum readers!  It's been a year of change and fortune here, with more to come in 2019, and I look forward to it all.  I hope you too are looking forward to your 2019.
With love to all creatures in your house,
Your friendly curator

"flattery"

From Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864):

FLATTERY
"Men call you dog; now tell me why,"
A little girl said; in reply
Diogenes said, smiling at her,
"My child! how wickedly men flatter!"

After this tart little left-handed compliment on dogs, you will not be surprised to learn that the Encyclopedia Britannica's entry on Landor practically leads with "Educated at Rugby School and at Trinity College, Oxford, Landor spent a lifetime quarreling with his father, neighbours, wife, and any authorities at hand who offended him."
--Poem from Leonard, R. M. Poems On Animals. London: Humphrey Milford, 1915, p. 87.

christmas looked like this (wordless wednesday)

vintage wordless wednesday

thanks vintage printable

in which alexander pope appreciates his dog

From a letter the poet Alexander Pope (1688-1744) wrote to a friend, identified as "H.C. Esq.":

...Now I talk of my Dog, that I may not treat of a worse subject which my spleen tempts me to, I will give you some account of him; a thing not wholly unprecedented since Montaigne (to whom I am but a Dog in comparison) has done the very same thing of his Cat. Dic mihi quid melius desidiosus agam? (This seems to mean something like "How can I do any better and I'm lazy anyway" - curator) You are to know then, that as 'tis Likeness that begets affection, so my favorite dog is a little one, a lean one, and none of the finest shap'd. He is not much a Spaniel in his fawning, but has (what might be worth any man's while to imitate from him) a dumb surly sort of kindness, that rather shows itself when he thinks me ill-used by others, than when we walk peaceably and quietly by ourselves. If it be the chief point of Friendship to comply with a friend's Motions and Inclinations, he possesses this in an eminent degree; he lies down when I sit, and walks when I walk, which is more than many good friends can pretend to...

-- from Letters of Mr Pope, and Several Eminent Persons, from the year 1705, to 1711, Vol. 1 London: Printed and sold by the booksellers of London and Westminster, 1735. pp. 112-3.

wordless festive wednesday

family photo

dog. just dog

Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum,
Gift of Miss Emily Sargent and Mrs. Francis Ormond in memory of their brother, John Singer Sargent.
 © President and Fellows of Harvard College

All of 3 9/16" x 5", this pencil sketch by John Singer Sargent found its way to his sisters Violet and Emily upon his death in 1925. They gave it to the Fogg Art Museum in 1931.  My favorite part of this drawing?  The eyes. Two little heavy presses of the pencil, and you've got a perfect look at that particular weariness only a dog shows in his sleep.  Cats?  Total absence of care as they nap.  Some dogs though always look like they're guarding their universe still in their dreams.

happy thanksgiving to you and yours

John Charles Dollman [Public domain] -Table d'Hote at a Dogs' Home, 1879, detail

May each and every one of you find joy and tasty treats wherever you may be today!  

Here's my favorite bit of the painting above:

Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers! 

I'm grateful for you.

two dashing art types

www.nationalmuseum.se
Purchase 2012 by Hedda and N.D. Qvists Fund

Here's a couple of bad-ass, black-clad art types from early 20th century Sweden: Selfportrait with Dog, an undated oil sketch on cardboard by Bernhard Osterman (1870-1938). Osterman's work included graphic art, cartooning and arts management, but he's best appreciated for his portraits.  He traveled widely in Europe, and spent years practicing in Paris.  Most of his portriats are of the famous and important, and they look as formal as you'd imagine.  This self-portrait is more of an experiment, I think, in which Osterman tried his hand at a freer technique and feel that was more in line with Impressionism.  Was that his own dog, I wonder, or did he borrow him as the perfect counterpoint to his own black-clad figure?

official card-carrying us navy mascot

His name was Apache, 25 pounds, black eyes and black and white hair, rated Dog1c.  Or in any case that's what his Navy ID card said.  In honor of Veterans' Day, I'd like to send you to the Naval History Blog's article introducing us to Apache and others: the journalist Scoop, the freshly buzzcut Musume, and Rickey at attention.  Here you go.
And to all veterans, human and animal, thank you for your service!

well guarded

Purchase, The Charles Engelhard Foundation Gift, 1989
www.metmuseum.org

An evil spirit would think twice about bringing pestilence to your door once it came up against this mastiff.  Dating from the Near Eastern Kassites of the 2nd millennia B.C., this mighty fellow is a sterling example of the culture's ceramic mastery.  He's all of 16.3 x 14.17 inches, but his presence is much bigger; I fully expected to hear he was closer to 3 feet tall.  The record for this work at the Met states that he may have been a guardian figure representing Gula, the goddess of healing.  As intimidating as he appears, I remind myself that his ferocity would be a source of security against the unknown powers of disease sneaking through the door.  You want a brave friend for that; here he is.