A golden rule: to leave an incomplete image of oneself . . . E. M. CioranWHEN DO YOU STOP MOURNING a casualty of art? Some never do. Recall Dostoevsky, driven to the verge of an epileptic attack by Holbein’s supine, open-eyed Christ, or the men who, so moved by the excavated Laocoön and His Sons, began to writhe in imitation of the marble serpents and their prey. Here we have Oscar Wilde on a suicide in Balzac: “One of the greatest tragedies of my life is the death of Lucien de Rubempré. It is a grief from which I have never been able completely to rid myself. It haunts me in my moments of
Life and Death shows the artist engaging with his own mortality A new exhibition in Waterville, Maine, at the Colby College Museum of Art, Andrew Wyeth: Life and Death, offers the first public presentation of a recently rediscovered series of drawings in which the artist Andrew Wyeth (1917-2009) imagined his own funeral. Created in the early 1990s, the drawings, now known collectively as the Funeral Group, depict Wyeth’s friends, neighbors, and wife, Betsy, surrounding a coffin at the .
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Maine Voices: Seeing the immune-suppressed in the COVID pandemic
For people with invisible illnesses like Crohn’s disease to become a priority when vaccines are allocated, our stories need to be told.
By Tanya SheehanSpecial to the Press Herald
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For the last 10 months I have been living at home in quarantine. As college professors, my husband and I teach and attend meetings online. Our toddler spends just an hour a day at day care – outdoors, weather permitting. No one in our family sees the inside of a grocery store. When one of us absolutely needs to visit a doctor, we snag the first morning appointment and hold our collective breath for 14 days. And so it was earth-shattering when I checked into a teeming Boston hospital Christmas week, presenting with small-bowel obstructions, as COVID-19 cases hit record highs.