Το σύμπαν της τέχνης και οι τέχνες τ' ουρανού

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Mother Earth, José Ramón Lerma, 1988

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Νόμισμα Φιλίππου ΙΙ, 1562

 

Monstrant regibus astra viam.

Τα άστρα δείχνουν τον δρόμο στους βασιλείς.

 

Παράσταση της Γέννησης με τον αστέρα ως κομήτη.

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Multiverses, Clifford Pickover, 2010

 

APOD 14/11/10

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Multiverse, Andrei Linde, 2009

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Multiverse, Kaeltyk, Deviant Art, 2010

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Cyclic progressions of the universe

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Multiverse, Ανωνύμου

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Νευτώνιο Normand Fullum 4.25" F/6

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Sir Isaac Newton, Χαρτονόμισμα 1 Βρετανικής λίρας, 1984

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Γραμματόσημα Hubble Space Telescope, ΗΠΑ, 1999

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Γραμματόσημο Edwin Hubble, ΗΠΑ, 2008

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The Year of the Comet, Of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, George Bradley, 1992

 

Appearing like a "blowtorch in the sky,"

It lit the night, and thus the naked eye

At that time had no trouble in discerning

What seemed for all the world to be a burning

Bit of heaven, a rending of the veil

Of the firmament, though in fact the tail,

Composed of meteoric dust and gas,

Held little to combust, so that it was

Merely one more reflection of sunlight

Arriving out of darkness to ignite

Quick imaginations of idle men,

Seventy-six years past, in 1910.

For some, the comet heralded an age

Of science, in which mankind would engage

Ultimate questions and prevail, in which

Technical advances would enrich

Our lives and a benighted populace,

As seeing means belief, rise to embrace

The light of reason lately come in view ;

For others, as belief is seeing, too,

The visitation meant apocalypse,

Wherein the comet's orbital ellipse

Had brought it back on an appointed round

To signal that the earth would soon be drowned

In blood, the seals be broken, the sky catch

Fire, that helpless sinners would soon watch

A hapless world destroyed and kingdom come,

For if the biblical millenium

Was winding down, then judgment day was due.

Well, we were ripe for change, that much was true,

And both persuations, in a sense, have been

Vindicated, as modern medicine

Works new miracles to extend our years,

While modern warfare brings this vale of seers

To the point of prophecies that have gone

Before the wildest visions of St. John ;

Yet aren't they both evasions of the present,

Utopia and doom, predictions pleasant

Or otherwise, but easy answers to

The daily mix-ups we must muddle through ?

So men still mire in misery every day,

While earth still spins along its merry way,

Through days of bliss and seasons of distress

And eons of redundant emptiness.

The brightest memories occasioned by

Such hours pass in the twinkling of an I,

And once again the average life transpires

Amidst the sort of era that acquires

Historians but leaves the bard non-plussed,

Three quarters of a century that must

Like every other in its time, appear

to its inhabitants as the nadir

Of human kindness and the height of sense ;

Meanwhile, a dirty "snowball" circumvents

An end in space, accelerating through

Our solar system toward its rendevous

With sunshine, with the spectacles of men,

And Halley's comet has come back again.

I went out to look for it late last night ;

You would have laughted to see me, for in light

Of nearby towns and in my ignorance

Of stars, I didn't stand a snowball's chance

In Dante's hottest hell, where lost souls sigh

Because they cannot see the nighttime sky.

Oh, I may have seen something, I suppose,

An unimpressive squib of light that rose

In the southwest with Pegasus and might,

If it wasn't a plane, or satellite,

Or weather baloon, or simply a spot

On my binoculars, as like as not

Have been a comet ; that's the tale I plan

To tell the children of an aged man,

At any rate, how once, blazoned above,

Me, I beheld the very sign that wove

Its way into the Bayeaux tapestry

When, waiting on the tide of history,

Norman troops stood by the channel, how I

Witnessed the same sight seen by the Magi.

As Giotto pictured them in 1301,

Making their augured journey to the Son,

How light observed in Aristotle's time,

And subsequently hailed as the sublime

In the Philosopher's philosophy,

Has showered down its countenance on me,

Who have, I think, as much right as these

To light streaming like "long hair in the breeze,"

As the phrase goes whence "comet" is derived.

But truth to tell, what notions had survived

In me to the grave age of thirty-three

Of some grand cosmic continuity

Stretching across generations of men

And offering a type of order when

Life here on earth is at its most confused

Died in thirty seconds, and disabused

Of superstition, I went back inside

To soothe chagrin with thoughts that I had tried

To see it, that the world had grown too old

For auguries, and that my toes were cold.

Indoors, warming myself in the bright glow

And cold comfort cast by a picture show,

I switched the channel to the late-night news,

Where, among speeches, sports and interviews,

The audience was treated to the sight

Of footage filmed aboard a plane in flight,

Featuring what resembled a small comma

In space that punctuated the ring drama

Of its recurrence with a mild display

Of radience enhanced by cathode ray ;

And so I saw the object after all,

If not first hand, then in a crystal ball,

The second sight of this dim century,

That dispiriting medium, TV.

I watched awhile and then shut off the set,

Stood up, let the dog in, and went to get

A drink before I let the cat out, locked

The house up and turned in ; the ice-cubes rocked

In my glass, clucking sympathy, while framed

Within a windowpane, tiny stars flamed

Enormously in the immense inane ;

It seemed whatever musings might explain

The disconcerting music of the spheres

Had ceased to matter much, as no one hears

Anything like harmony in the skies

And comets are snuffed out before our eyes.

Somewhere that misplaced punctuation mark

Awaited faint distinctions in the dark,

But I had vigils of my own to keep

And made my way upstairs and so to sleep.

Leaving the melting remnant of my drink

To come to nothing at the kitchen sink

And wishing other viewers more success

When the next comet comes from emptiness

(If it does come, if our poor atmosphere

Is not pure smog, if we are even here)

To set its blazing match-head to the straw

Of human intellect and then withdraw,

Wheeling around its perihelion

And disappearing with the tail it spun.

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Das Universum, National Geographic

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The Universe, National Geographic

[Tsaprazi]

Ελαιογραφίες διαστημικής τέχνης

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Solar System, National Geographic

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Milky Way, National Geographic

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Intertwining Universe, Dave Lambert, Αυστραλία, 2009

 

Λάδι και σμάλτο σε καμβά

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Eye of the Universe, Ronda Turk, ΗΠΑ

 

Ακρυλικό

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Earth and The Universe, Chisel Art, 2007

 

Ελαιογραφία σε καμβά, τεχνική Impasto

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Mars 2020 Springtime, Nick Jacubouwski, 2006

 

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Moon Constellation, Mike Schultz, 2009

 

Ελαιογραφία σε χαρτί

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Call It Emergence, Luke Cavagnac, 2010

 

Original painting with paint drip sliced cross section bits and a flair for the dramatic organization of the constellations

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Home from Above, Expedition 24 Crew, NASA, 2010

 

Τί να πρωτοθαυμάσει κανείς...

 

APOD 15/11/10

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An Evening Cloud, John Gardiner Calkins Brainard, 1796-1828

 

Yon cloud, 't is bright and beautiful ­ it floats

Alone in God's horizon ­- on its edge

The stars seem hung like pearls -­ it looks as pure

As 't were an angel's shroud -­ the white cymar

Of Purity just peeping through its folds,

To give a pitying look on this sad world.

Go visit it, and find that all is false ;

Its glories are but fog ­- and its white form

Is plighted to some thunder-gust. ­-

The rain, the wind, the lightning have their source

In such bright meetings. Gaze not on the clouds,

However beautiful ­- Gaze at the sky ­-

The clear, blue, tranquil, fixed, and glorious sky.