Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Emil's Pat Carrigan

Below I show a photograph I took today of a painting stored carefully in the vault of the Museum of North Texas History. Flakes of paint have fallen off the canvas throughout the years. The staff of the Museum found the painting in such a bad condition and in need of restoration but due to cost, they may only store it as carefully as possible to halt the deterioration.
After post processing the image in the digital darkroom, the photograph below shows the portrait as it may have looked back in the [30s] when Carrigan's mother commissioned Hermann to paint a portrait of her son killed during WWI. Though the process of removing blemishes from this picture seemed a bit tedious and constrained by the lack of skill, I pursued my task just to take a look at the difference between the two versions. I can travel back in time in my imagination and look upon the painting as Hermann painted it, and look upon the un-blemished face of a young man struck down in that unspeakable war. (Or does "unspeakable war" sound redundant?) Dallas will remove the larger blemishes to make it look as if Hermann himself, with his own paintbrush, had restored the painting.

1 comment:

  1. Nice job. I've been looking for this painting for a few months. It used to hang in the principal's office of Carrigan Elementary School which I attended. I went there last month and the staff told me it had been in a closet for years before the museum took it.

    ReplyDelete

Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.