Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, Smyrne Bornabat. 1873. Oil on paper, 15 x 21 cm (5.9 x 8.2 in). Private collection.
“What good's an art, said Corot, who whistled continually while he painted, what good's an art that doesn't make you happy?"
—Alexandre Dumas fils, “Letter to His Father"*
"Corot painted three thousand canvases. Ten thousand of them were sold in America,"
a curator at the Louvre quipped.
"I have only one goal in life: to make landscapes," Corot said.
He begged his mother for permission to dine out every other Friday.
Hopping on one foot, or two, and contented with his luck, he sang bits of opera and whistled while he worked.
Like Corot with his paysages
so I am with my poetry.
As happy artists, we, too, chérie,
could be buried in Père Lachaise along with Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Edith Piaf, and many another celebrity.
Fans from all over the world visiting our graves might shed a furtive tear!
Sound like a plan?
No, seriously!
*“Qu’est-ce que c’est qu’un art, disait Corot qui sifflotait sans cesse en peignant, qu’est-ce que c’est qu’un art qui ne rend pas gai?”--Alexandre Dumas fils, “Lettre à son père.”
Sunday, February 6, 2025
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