Saturday, 12 May 2018

Time for Mother

Time for Mother

Mother's are precious and much loved by us all. Words can't convey enough of our appreciation. Throughout the ages, artists have rendered their interpretation of Mothers on Canvas. These are my favorite selections this year. And just in time for Mother's Day.

I wish to all the mothers out there: 

“A Happy Mother's Day”

Below is selection of Art depicting mothers:

The Sleeping Child - 1911- Mary Curtis Richardson -American, 1848-1921

The Clothes Line - Helen Allingham -English, 1848-1926

Camille Monet e criança!

Vladimir Volegov

Peek-a-Bo - circa 1900- Bernard Blommers -Dutch, 1845-1914

Charles Baugniet

Trent Gudmundsen

Reginald Bottomley   (1856-1933) A Mother and Child Looking at the Virgin and Child.

Returning from Market,1886- Charles Sillem Lidderdale-British 1830 - 1895

Edelfelt, Albert (Finnish, 1854-1905) - The Park of Luxembourg - 1887

-Isabel Guerra (1947)

Frederick Arthur Bridgman

Sorolla y Bastida , Joaquin (Spanish, 1863-1923) - The First Child - 1890

Mother and son- Pablo Picasso

Gaetano Chierici

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida, (Spagna, 1863-1923) Dopo il bagno - After the Bath (1902)

Jean-eugène buland- The happiness of the parents.1903

Steve Hanks

-Richard MacNeil .

-Vicente Romero

And finally, here’s a lovely poem: 

To My Mother

O thou whose care sustained my infant years,

And taught my prattling lip each note of love;

Whose soothing voice breathed comfort to my fears,

And round my brow hope’s brightest garland wove;

To thee my lay is due, the simple song,

Which Nature gave me at life’s opening day;

To thee these rude, these untaught strains belong,

Whose heart indulgent will not spurn my lay.

O say, amid this wilderness of life,

What bosom would have throbbed like thine for me?

Who would have smiled responsive?—who in grief,

Would e’er have felt, and, feeling, grieved like thee?

Who would have guarded, with a falcon-eye,

Each trembling footstep or each sport of fear?

Who would have marked my bosom bounding high,

And clasped me to her heart, with love’s bright tear?

Who would have hung around my sleepless couch,

And fanned, with anxious hand, my burning brow?

Who would have fondly pressed my fevered lip,

In all the agony of love and wo?

None but a mother—none but one like thee,

Whose bloom has faded in the midnight watch;

Whose eye, for me, has lost its witchery,

Whose form has felt disease’s mildew touch.

Yes, thou hast lighted me to health and life,

By the bright lustre of thy youthful bloom—

Yes, thou hast wept so oft o’er every grief,

That wo hath traced thy brow with marks of gloom.

O then, to thee, this rude and simple song,

Which breathes of thankfulness and love for thee,

To thee, my mother, shall this lay belong,

Whose life is spent in toil and care for me.

(Credits: This poem is in the public domain.

About this Poem:

“To My Mother” was first published in Poetical Remains of the Late Lucretia Maria Davidson (Lea and Blanchard, 1841). Author: Lucretia Maria Davidson)



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