So all this time I thought I came from Mesapotamia, or maybe Ancient Greece, with a few immemorable stops here and there, and one lifetime spent in the American West. But tonight I found a few missing centuries of my life, in the Renaissance period.
The art, oh! Hieronymus Bosch–I knew I loved him, and some I remembered as well: Van Eyck, Da Vinci, Botticelli, Donatello, of course, but some new ones I don’t know that I’d ever seen–Grunewald, and Albrecht Durer, unbelievably beautiful. Do forgive the spellings, I’m excited right now, and just ran them through my mind from a film that we’d seen in Civ class tonight, as I bounced all the way home with Jeremiah the Bullfrog and Joy to the World.
A reading, as well, from "The Praise of Folly," by Erasimus in 1505 (?) by our professor’s deep baritone that made all the words come alive–five hundred years later yet sharp witted and fraught with satirical meaning. What made me think these people were not worth knowing?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology