Sunset at Sea

Pierre-Auguste Renoir
Pierre-Auguste Renoir,  Sunset at Sea, 1879





BY REMY JACOBS

Katlyn,

For Thanksgiving this year, I am going to get you this painting. It’s called Sunset at Sea. I know what you’re thinking, “Why get me a painting, why not clothes, or money, something besides art.” Sit down, relax, and let me explain.

Pierre-Auguste Renoir was a French Impressionist painter in the mid to late 1800s who started with Impressionism and moved to Renaissance in the middle of his career. Sounds boring right? Wrong. Renoir’s eye for beauty was what made him one of the most well-known artists of his time. To find his inspiration, he frequently traveled to Paris to visit the Louvre to study artist during the Rococo period. Artists such as Watteau and Boucher. Most of his paintings are focused on leisure. In the 1860s, Renoir worked alongside Claude Monet, therefore providing essentiality to the development of Impressionistic art.

I chose this painting for you because, in my eyes, you are the perfect representation of beauty and elegance. In addition, it reminds me of the trip we took over the summer for your 18th birthday. We went to the ocean every day, watched the sunset, went crabbing, and almost made it a drama free trip. That trip, was so much fun because I was with you, my sister, who means the world to me and who I would do anything for. Also, it's a picture of the ocean, our favorite place to be. I hope that in the future we can live our dream of owning a beach house and traveling the world together. I love you more than words can say. 

Thank you for all of the fun times we've had, and I hope there are more to come. 

Happy Holidays,
Remy 

  • 7:00 AM

Dance at Bougival

Dance at Bougival
Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Dance at Bougival, 1883 

 By ISABEL THOMAS

 Roman
by Arthur Rimbaud

 On n'est pas sérieux, quand on a dix-sept ans.
- Un beau soir, foin des bocks et de la limonade,
Des cafés tapageurs aux lustres éclatants !
- On va sous les tilleuls verts de la promenade.
Les tilleuls sentent bon dans les bons soirs de juin !
L'air est parfois si doux, qu'on ferme la paupière ;
Le vent chargé de bruits - la ville n'est pas loin -
A des parfums de vigne et des parfums de bière....

- Voilà qu'on aperçoit un tout petit chiffon
D'azur sombre, encadré d'une petite branche,
Piqué d'une mauvaise étoile, qui se fond
Avec de doux frissons, petite et toute blanche...
Nuit de juin ! Dix-sept ans ! - On se laisse griser.
La sève est du champagne et vous monte à la tête...
On divague ; on se sent aux lèvres un baiser
Qui palpite là, comme une petite bête....

Le coeur fou Robinsonne à travers les romans,
Lorsque, dans la clarté d'un pâle réverbère,
Passe une demoiselle aux petits airs charmants,
Sous l'ombre du faux col effrayant de son père...
Et, comme elle vous trouve immensément naïf,
Tout en faisant trotter ses petites bottines,
Elle se tourne, alerte et d'un mouvement vif....
- Sur vos lèvres alors meurent les cavatines...

Vous êtes amoureux. Loué jusqu'au mois d'août.
Vous êtes amoureux. - Vos sonnets La font rire.
Tous vos amis s'en vont, vous êtes mauvais goût.
- Puis l'adorée, un soir, a daigné vous écrire...!
- Ce soir-là,... - vous rentrez aux cafés éclatants,
Vous demandez des bocks ou de la limonade..
- On n'est pas sérieux, quand on a dix-sept ans
Et qu'on a des tilleuls verts sur la promenade.

 Editor's Note: Students were asked to match a poem of their choice with a painting of their choice. The relationship between the two shall be determined by the viewer/reader.
  • 7:00 AM

Luncheon of the Boating Party

Libby Rohr
Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Luncheon of the Boating Party, 1880-1881
By LIBBY ROHR

To a Stranger
By Walt Whitman

PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,
I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,
I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Editor's Note: Students were asked to match a poem of their choice with a painting of their choice. The relationship between the two shall be determined by the viewer/reader.
  • 7:00 AM