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Awaiting Nuran at the landing or focusing on the face of the clock when she failed to appear gave Mümtaz deep pleasure. It surprised him that men complained of the tendency women had of making others wait, a favorite fallback for comedians. Waiting for his beloved was delectable. Anything promising her presence was delicious ♥️

"You know what would happen to me when I was a girl? I'd have the sensation that I'd suddenly left my body. It approximated floating in emptiness. And I knew very well that I'd left it. I was extremely cold. For some reason, however, I didn't want to rejoin it. I awoke in that agonizing state, my teeth chattering wildly. You know that when I die, you'll no longer be attracted to my body."

Big ufo 🛸 photo dump by Washington. Only part 1 but still lots to see and read. Expect all the ufo books are immediately going to require updating to be stay relevant 👽

So, in that moment, all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann’s park, and the water lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and of its surroundings, taking their proper shapes and growing solid, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.
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His plates showed models in motion - leaning over, turning aside, conversing - against stylishly minimalist backgrounds. This was a new vision of women, quite different from the ramrod-straight models posed in ornate settings cluttered with plants, screens and art nouveau furniture which had characterized the fashion plates of earlier years.

Modernist art was not just about paintings 🖼️

This novel is pure poetry and color, over the top with emotion and deepest thought.

It begins in pain for Mümtaz when his relationship with Nuran shatters. The pain increases when she leaves to return to her ex and they remarry.

Then the novel returns to when they first met and how their friendship grew into love.

There is so much beauty there.

Yet even early on the pain lurks, ready to strike hard.

Matisse and Picasso had their lean years. Not selling. Few shows. But they kept going.

Matisse’s art went from shades of gray to thousands of minute points of paint working together to create an image to - after a long hot summer at a fishing village by the sea - huge swaths of color that made his pictures explode.

Picasso went from his grim Blue Period to the warmth and humanity of art the color of roses.

They’re always drinking raki in this novel! 🍇

Raki is a popular Turkish alcoholic beverage—and the country's national drink—made from twice-distilled grapes or raisins and flavored with aniseed. It is a strong, 40%–50% alcohol by volume (ABV) spirit that turns milky white when mixed with water, earning it the nickname "lion's milk" (aslan sütü)/Wiki

Mumtaz raised his head and came eye to eye with Nuran, looking at her serenely, with a glance that emanated from depths and withheld nothing.

It was a glance, as a poet he admired had written, that dressed one in garments shorn of sunlight and yearning. Like those fortress keys of yore that were given to a conqueror on a gold platter or velvet pillow, Nuran presented her entirety through grin and gaze.

I’m unable to put this book down. It reads like a novel. Romance, tragedy, heroism. These women and men are determined to be artists even if the sales and money are not there (think Van Gogh). Picasso is in his Blue Period (painting what the public saw as depressing works though I love The Old Guitarist) followed by his upbeat Rose Period (la grâce des femmes). Neither him nor Matisse can get shows or sell art.

Fascinating. I love reading about the lives of artists - whether they be musicians, painters, writers, dancers, theatrical 🎭 so long as the focus is on their art and the significant relationships in their lives (not gossipy). This book is alive with paint and and exploring new ways to create and bring the mundane (as some see it) to color and to life.

There is the Celtic belief that the souls of those whom we have lost are held captive in some inferior being, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate object, until the day when we happen to pass by the tree or animal. Then they start and tremble, they call us by our name, and as soon as we have recognized their voice, the spell is broken.
Delivered by us, they have overcome death and return to share our life.

A man wanders the streets of Istanbul singing Türkü …. Which is to say ….

Singing Türkü refers to the performance of traditional Turkish folk songs. Türkü are a deeply rooted form of music that reflect the emotions, history, and daily life of the Turkish people, often passed down orally through generations. 

Mümbatz is in anguish over his failed relationship with Nuran, a failure for which he accepts the blame, torturing himself with regret and remorse - “Bliss was a glass goblet lying in shards.” He wanders about Istanbul much as Bloom wanders about Dublin in Joyce’s Ulysses seeking resolution. The novel is a profound immersion in a culture different from any I’ve lived in, the writing intense yet meditative.

Mümtaz was no stranger to how Nuran made use of muteness, which gave her the bearing of an idol whose every line and curve had been culled and created through the visions of centuries; he was aware of the way she took refuge, by degrees, behind this forced smile and quiescent poise, and how from that coign of vantage, distressed and distraught, she peered out over the landscape and over their lives.

For Vlaminck, subjective expression was not so much an aesthetic as a personal compulsion, a private quest driven by a tremendous urge to re-create a new world seen through my own eyes, a world which was entirely pure. ‘I was poor, but I knew that life was something pure, and I realized that all I wanted to do was to find some new and profound way of identifying myself with the soil.'

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Hey. Tons of you guys are changing your profile pics and I can’t even recognize you on sight anymore! Especially when you go from photo ID to avatar. Is this some kind of spring thing? No problems, eventually I figure out who you are lol 🩵

Maybe it’s spring fever - the climax of the ice hockey season coincides with the startup of the baseball season ⚾️ - since my earlier review got popped I decided to revisit this.

I did play for a team when I was a kid. The Maytag Washers lol. But really guys we had the hottest uniforms - jet black with yellow trim. Probably why I like the Boston Bruins home jersey so much 🖤💛🖤

Day 2, Story 6

A prince is imprisoned, his family flees to an island where pirates 🏴‍☠️ anchor and capture all but the wife. Her children are taken. Half mad with grief she continues to survive on the island, eating grass like the doe she spots. Going into a cave she finds two beautiful fawns who she nurtures with her own milk. Soon she lives in a state as wild as that of the doe and fawns. Until …

She flung open her closet and laid hands on the sweet, provocative dress she had been saving for the 4th of July, dressing as quickly and efficiently as a butcher whets his knife, and she checked against a full-length mirror the way that same butcher rests his blade against his thumb. Smart, chic, confident, the lady with pretty legs and immaculate white gloves. No man she passed failed to look after her.

I waited for this in the mail which is a vibe you cannot get from an ebook 🙌🏼

🔆(ebooks have different vibes)

Fun to find a book in an envelope at the door🚪📖 💕 ahhh the scent ! and the rich touch on the fingertips of paper 📄

I believe this is the final full volume of the five. These are a great joy to hear with the various Brit voices and accents. I say, Herriot!!! ♥️