Court Painter has bouts of doubt and bouts of gout. This is a moment of confluence. To mark this occasion, a deep random dive into the full colour archives will suffice to perhaps ease the passage to future productivity for Court Painter in these times of doubt & gout, getting & spending and laying waste.
The World Is Too Much with Us
English Romantic poet William Wordsworth.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. —Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
