David Hockney, My Parents, 1977
"In this work, painted a year before his father’s death, Hockney’s style has shifted towards a closer study of human behaviour. His mother poses, attentive and graceful, while his father, who fidgeted during sittings, was painted reading Aaron Scharf’s book Art and Photography. A book on Chardin draws a parallel with intimate domestic scenes of the past, as do the volumes of Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past visible on the shelf. Piero della Francesca’s Baptism of Christ is reflected in the mirror, forming a triptych with the two figures.” — Tate
The messages unnumbered, of fond endearment fly,
At once in all directions, the wireless they out vie.
A throbbing heart is at the key, the dots and dashes sure,
For love, you are the magnet, and I the armature.
I dwell within your field of force, in that blest region where
Your strength is to distance, inversely to the square,
No influence external, can me from you allure,
For love you are the magnet, and I the armature.
At last we’ll cling together, apart no more to roam,
With hearts attuned harmonic, we’ll sing ohm sweet ohm.
One circuit never broken, while life and love endure,
Forever you the magnet, and I the armature.
— Park Benjamin, 1915
Wireless, meaningless, save that we know
that another man in a far away land
stands by the side of a gibbering spark,
punching his message into the dark.
Into the dark of a Summer’s night,
and around the world and into the light
of our brilliant Winter day
Speeds the vibrant, quivering ray.
And, caught in the web of sky flung wires,
sinks to earth, chatters, expires;
But before it dies, skillful hands of man
Have torn from it’s soul a Marconigram.
— K.G. Martin, 1904
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