A 1935 poster, on a postcard from the Robert Opie collection, purchased from Margaret & John Pearsall (MEP Postcards).
“With light step, as if earth and its trammels had little power to restrain him, a young man in gorgeous vestments pauses at the brink of a precipice among the great heights of the world; he surveys the blue distance before him — its expanse of sky rather than the prospect below. His act of eager walking is still indicated, although he is stationary at the given moment; his dog is still bounding. The edge which opens on the depth has no terror; it is as if angels were waiting to uphold him, if it came about that he leaped from the height… He is the spirit in search of experience.”
– Arthur Edward Waite in The Pictorial Key to the Tarot (1910), card designed by Pamela Colman Smith.
I thought the postal person riding a pig, which I posted a day or two ago, was amazing, but today, I stumble upon a postal cherub astride a grasshopper.
“Being born a woman is my awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers barroom regulars — to be part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording — all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.”
– Sylvia Plath, journal
At the dump this morning, in the corner of the first building where people drop off things that are unwanted but not without value, I found a copy of The Greece of 1910-1920 by George Benteres; it was in Greek, but the pictures were universal and I thought they should see the light of day one last time.
Every picture tells a story, don’t it.
“January 31, 1854 — A walk: the air incredibly pure, delights for the eye, a warm and gently caressing sunlight, one’s whole being joyous. A spring-like charm. Felt to my marrow this purifying, moving influence, laden with poetry and tenderness; had a strong religious feeling of gratitude and wonder. Seated motionless on a bench in the Tranchees, beside the ditches with their garb of moss, carpeted with grass, I felt intensely, delightfully alive.”
– Henri Frederick Amiel, “What a Lovely Walk”