*****
Here is a collection of the images I have posted in the last seven years of astrological blogging, to help enliven my often long-winded and sanctimonious articles… Some are simple cartoons, naive drawings or digital patchworks, some are timeless works of art.
All convey, in their own way, the eternal archetypes, telling and re-telling the mythological stories we live by, day and night.
The larger collections are of Orpheus, Pandora and Europa‘s imagery, posted as separate galleries.
‘These things never happened, but are always.’
(Sallustius, Roman historian and mystic, 86-34 BC)
Viva l’Arte!
Ushishir = Hot Spring – by Juan Romero
Angel and the Moon
Woman with Veil by Odilon Redon
Moon Walker
Celestial Planisphere
Magickal Things are crafted in this kitchen by Emily Balivet
Gentileschi: Allegoria dell’ inclinazione
Sacra Famiglia by Gaetano Previati ( detail)
‘Pointing Girl’, drawing by Leonardo
‘Owl Tree’ by Kathleen Lolley
‘Monks’ Garden’ by Catherine Nelson
‘Putto’ by Arnold Bocklin
The Northern Constellation Of Gemini
‘Pasiphae Enamorada’ by Gustavo Fernández Osuna
Detail from ‘Fire in the Belly’ by Christine Robinson
Polimnia – Muse of Sacred Poetry, Hymns and Eloquence
Jimmy Lawlor – Tutt’Art@
Urania – Muse of Astronomy
Thalia
Muse of Poetry and Idyllic Poetry
Muse of Poetry and Idyllic Poetry
Divine Shepherdess
Europa and the Bull by Brian Fisher
Artwork by Helga Hornung
my Stars over Wollumbin
Belle Felloriene by Leonardo
October 19 2010The Old Growth Forest of Tasmania’sa conservation victory
evelyndemorgan-earthbound
Mother and Child by Pablo Picasso
Water Rabbit, coolest amongst bunnies January 22, 2023
My Dancer Stencil
Allegory of Bad Government, Tyranny by Ambrogio Lorenzetti (1290-1348)
Lyra Constellation
Click to enlarge
Frieze of the Prophets by John Singer Sargent
Doors by Colin Thompson
Portrait in the mirror by Margaret Olley
storm
by christine robinson
christinerobinsonart.wordpress.com
by christine robinson
christinerobinsonart.wordpress.com
christinerobinsonart.com
Major Transits January to March 2011
Major Transits September to December 2011
Transits January-March 2011
Transits June to September 2010
Transits March to June 2007
Transits January to March 2007
Transits September to December 2006
Transits June to September 2007
Transits September to December 2007
Transits January to March 2011
Transits March to June 2010
Transits January to March 2012
Transits June to September 2011
Transits September to December 2011
Transits March to June 2011
Transits June to September 2010
Transits September to December 2010
Transits January to March 2008
Transits June to September 2008
Transits September to December 2008
Transits March to June 2009
Transits June to September 2009
Transits September to December 2009
Transits January to March 2012
Garterfreunde, courtesy of Helga Hornung.
Garterfreunde Garden Fiend, courtesy of Helga Hornung (www.helga-hornung.de)
courtesy of christinerobinsonart.com
‘Childhood’ from the ‘Voyage of Life’ by Thomas Coles (1801-1848)
Willliam Wordsworth’s (1770-1850) ‘The Ode of Intimations of Immortality, from ‘Recollections of early childhood’ THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparell’d in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5 It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe’er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The rainbow comes and goes, 10 And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; 15 The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where’er I go, That there hath pass’d away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound 20 As to the tabor’s sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; 25 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea 30 Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday;— Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 35 Shepherd-boy! Ye blessèd creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, 40 My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all. O evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning, This sweet May-morning, 45 And the children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm:— 50 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! —But there’s a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have look’d upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The pansy at my feet 55 Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star, 60 Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come 65 From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 70 He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature’s priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; 75 At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother’s mind, 80 And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. 85 Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years’ darling of a pigmy size! See, where ‘mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother’s kisses, With light upon him from his father’s eyes! 90 See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learnèd art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; 95 And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long 100 Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his ‘humorous stage’ With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 105 That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul’s immensity; 110 Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read’st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,— Mighty prophet! Seer blest! 115 On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a master o’er a slave, 120 A presence which is not to be put by; To whom the grave Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight Of day or the warm light, A place of thought where we in waiting lie; 125 Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being’s height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 130 Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, 135 That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— 140 Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:— Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; 145 But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized, 150 High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, 155 Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, 160 To perish never: Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! 165 Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, 170 And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor’s sound! 175 We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright 180 Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; 185 In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, 190 In years that bring the philosophic mind. And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquish’d one delight 195 To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripp’d lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet; 200 The clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 205 Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Willliam Wordsworth’s (1770-1850) ‘The Ode of Intimations of Immortality, from ‘Recollections of early childhood’ THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparell’d in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5 It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe’er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The rainbow comes and goes, 10 And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; 15 The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where’er I go, That there hath pass’d away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound 20 As to the tabor’s sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; 25 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea 30 Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday;— Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 35 Shepherd-boy! Ye blessèd creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, 40 My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel—I feel it all. O evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning, This sweet May-morning, 45 And the children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm:— 50 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! —But there’s a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have look’d upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The pansy at my feet 55 Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star, 60 Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come 65 From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 70 He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature’s priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; 75 At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother’s mind, 80 And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. 85 Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years’ darling of a pigmy size! See, where ‘mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother’s kisses, With light upon him from his father’s eyes! 90 See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learnèd art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; 95 And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long 100 Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his ‘humorous stage’ With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 105 That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul’s immensity; 110 Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read’st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,— Mighty prophet! Seer blest! 115 On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a master o’er a slave, 120 A presence which is not to be put by; To whom the grave Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight Of day or the warm light, A place of thought where we in waiting lie; 125 Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being’s height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 130 Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, 135 That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— 140 Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:— Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; 145 But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized, 150 High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, 155 Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, 160 To perish never: Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! 165 Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, 170 And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor’s sound! 175 We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright 180 Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; 185 In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, 190 In years that bring the philosophic mind. And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquish’d one delight 195 To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripp’d lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet; 200 The clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 205 Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Pandora by Odilon Redon
Venus Conjunct Jupiter March 15 7.40 pm West-North
Copy of the Battle of Anghieri by some attributed to Raphael
Leonardo’s Study
Leonardo’s Study
Copy of the Battle of Anghiari by Rubens
Copy of the Battle of Anghieri by Geranrd Edelinck
Europa by Stefan Georgiev
Europa by Ladislaus Weiss
Europa by Antonio Tempesta
Europa Attic Red Figure Vase
Europa by Nicolaes Berchem Pietersz
Greek Europa
Europa First Century AD
Europa and the Bull by Edmund Dulac
Europa by Marcantonio Franceschini
Europa by Bob Logan
Europa by Caesar Boetius van Everdingen
Europa by Claude Lorrain
Europa by Guy Ottewell
Europa and the Bull by Paul Manship
Europa Lillingstone mosaic
Europa by Jun Pierre Shiozawa
Europa (and the Bull of Heaven) by William Turner
Europa on a bull, Pompeii’s fresco
Europa by Felix Vallotton
Europa by Guido Reni
Europa by Sabastiano Ricci
Rapto de Europa by Fernando Botero
Europa and Bull terracotta
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