Welcome to my ARTS AND LITERATURE PAGE Featured Artist - M.C. Escher

" The primary purpose of all art forms, whether music, literature, or the visual arts, is to say something to the outside world; in other words, to make a personal thought, a striking idea, an inner emotion perceptable to other people's senses in such a way that there is no uncertainty about the maker's intentions." -- M.C. Escher On Being a Graphic Artist

Maurits Cornelius Escher was born in Leeuwarden June 17, 1898 in the house which later became the Princesseof Museum. Escher completed his first graphic work in 1916, a linoleum cut in purple of his father. From 1919 to 1922 Escher attended the School for Architecture and Decorative Arts in Haarlem, Holland where he took lessons S. Jessurun de Mesquita, who was a great influence on Escher's life and work. During these years, some of Escher's woodcuts were published in the booklet 'Flor de Pascua', by A.P. van Stolk. A turning point in Escher's work happened when he took a trip to the coasts of Italy and France to Spain in 1936. He made the transition from landscapes to 'mental imagery' and between the years 1937and 1940 completed the 'Metamorphosis' and 'Metamorphosis II' . In 1946 Escher studied the Mezzotint techinique and many articles were published about him.He also met alot of people who became influential to his work. Among these were Roger Penros, a Canadian Professor by the name of H.S.M. Coxeter, Bruno Ernst and Caroline H. MacGillavry, a professor of Crystallography. Escher's last graphic work, a wood cut titled 'Snakes', was completed in July of the year 1969. During this time Escher was very ill and underwent three emergency operations and died at the age of 73 on March 27, 1972.

Poetry is a beautiful, songfull way of expressing deepest thoughts and emotions and appreciated by all who enjoy to get lost in themselves and their dreams or perhaps not that at all, some people enjoy poetry that expresses life's harsh realities, but the point is poetry is a divine language. Here are some of my favorite poems by Robert Frost. . .

My November Guest My sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of Autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She's glad the birds are gone away, She's glad her simple worsted grey Is silver now with clinging mist. The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beautes she so truly sees, She thinks i have no eye for these, And vexes me for reason why. Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell her so, And they are better for her praise.

Into My Own One of my wishes is that those dark trees, So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom, But stretched away unto the edge of doom. I should not be withheld but that someday Into their vastness I should steal away, Fearless of ever finding open land, Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand. I do not see why I should e'er turn my back, Or those should not set forth upon my track To overtake me, who should miss me here And long to know if still I held them dear. They would not find me changed from him they knew- Only more sure of all I thought was true.

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